Seemingly By Chance
There are very few (if any), who don’t like a story, for I
guess we’re all kids at heart,
And hence why here, a fictional tale with fictional characters, I’ve
chosen to impart.
But a story is only as good as it’s lesson, for without one, such is
meaningless,
And hence why something of value here, I have tried to create, and via
poetry express.
It was one of those funny days — funny peculiar, that is —
odd, and yet agreeable,
And Martin somewhat unsure of just how he felt, although sound as a
bell, and feeling well.
It was as if he sensed something in the air — no, nothing untoward, but
not tangible,
Such made harder by his mixed emotions, or perhaps that was it — as far
as he might tell.
The day was pleasant enough — in fact, a day that promised
warmth — an inviting stroll, maybe,
A wisp of breeze making the earth seem alive, and pretty flowers
nodding approvingly.
Only the odd cloud hovered in an otherwise light blue sky, the sun’s
rays beckoning all,
And Martin now dressed, and having had his breakfast, was ready to
answer that outside call.
Merrel park wasn’t far away, and a favourite haunt given its
lush interior,
Thus, Martin causally strolled in its direction, and passed through the
gate often left ajar.
Martin, camera in hand, as was often his custom, enjoyed all his
observations,
And once again — given the many that visited that park — the passing
conversations.
Many artistically shot images adorned the walls in his flat,
and albums too,
For Martin’s eye was keen, and his mind creative (hence why in time his
ability grew).
And today, his eye had caught sight of a tramp — yes, a human wreck,
dishevelled and unkempt,
The sort that given his vagrancy, his appearance and odor, most would
view with contempt.
Slumped on a park bench, and unaware of Martin’s presence, the
tramp dozed rather noisily,
An image Martin couldn’t resist, capturing with his usual creativity.
This one, a reality
shot, one so designed to generate thought, not condemnation,
For who knows what happens in someone’s life that leads to such tragic
deterioration.
Martin, somewhat like others, would have carried on his way,
but for some reason, not today;
A conscience pang, perhaps? — aware of others indifference and
insensitivity.
Placing his camera back in its bag, he slowly approached the park bench
and sorry sight,
And as he sat down, Martin couldn’t help wondering what might have
caused this wretched man’s plight.
Today Martin had packed some lunch, not his usual habit, he
mused, contemplatively,
And was digging at the contents of his plastic container, and
unnoticed, seemingly.
Or so he thought, for as he glanced in the direction of the tramp, he
saw an opened eye,
And was very certain that he had caught the sound of a wishful but very
doubtful sigh.
Martin held out a sandwich, the wretch not only surprised at
the kind gesture, but grateful,
Whereby the chat that ensued — in-between further shared mouthfuls —
became most amicable.
Such not just due to Martin alone, for the response and depth of the
old tramp that he’d just met
Was just as much a surprise to him — and this occasion, one that Martin
would not forget.
Though dishevelled, aged, and showing it in every way, he was
very eloquent in speech,
And the likes of Martin — still only in his late twenties — so much
more about life could teach.
Thus, now lost to those who passed by, and with the tramp’s dishevelled
appearance and odor less in mind
Martin listened with considerable interest, reflecting on the folly of
being unkind.
Much was shared between the two, for much there seemed to be
to share, and time passed rather quickly,
The conversation revealing that there was much more to this tramp than
first appeared to be.
The conversation also revealed much about Martin, which seemed to
interest the tramp,
Upon whom the misfortunes of life had so obviously left an indelible
stamp.
Eventually, both having thoroughly benefited from each others
company,
Martin apologized for his having to leave, gathering his items
accordingly.
He noticed the tramp fumbling in his coat pocket, and fetching
something that looked like a cheque book,
The tramp — his back turned — appearing to scribble something, all of
which only a moment took.
As Martin stood up to leave, the aged tramp turned and reached
out to shake his extended hand,
And with the other hand, tucked something into Martin’s jacket pocket,
almost sleight of hand.
“Just a little something to remind you of me,” he whispered, his eyes
seeming somewhat moist,
And further words dying on his quivering lips that given time he might
have also voiced.
Martin didn’t give it too much thought, but thanked the old
man and wandered on his homeward way,
Thinking how pleasant it would be to catch up with that same old man
some other non-work day.
Back home, the sleight of hand forgotten, and the urgent calling, his
jacket wasn’t even hung,
And until another busy week had passed, that jacket remained just where
it had been flung.
Now Martin grabbed at that same lightweight jacket (which
pretty much went wherever Martin went),
For today — another pleasant one of many recently — Merrel park was his
intent.
And there, he hoped he might spot the old tramp, and once again, share
both conversation and food,
For he was sure that going by their last encounter, that tramp would be
full of gratitude.
Despite his spending a good portion of the day there, he never
came across the old man,
Which wasn’t surprising, for he’d only seen him the once, hence the
wishfulness of his scan.
As he neared the park gate, he thought that he would ask the groundsman
who was standing in the shade,
A cup in one hand, and an arm resting on the wooden handle of a turf
buried spade.
“The old fella passed away,” the grounds man replied, “Around
about a week ago, right here.
Nice old chap. I’d seen him a few times before, and it’s rumoured that
he was a millionaire.
Well, who knows, though it sounds pretty far fetched to me, for I just
can’t imagine it, can you?”
“No,” Martin nodded, sadness now written all over his face, eyes
elsewhere, his thoughts too.
He moved past the gate, his thoughts turning to the loss of
his aged parents a few years ago,
And recently, the loss of his only sibling, “Killed on duty,” they’d
said — a triple blow.
Such sadness seemed his lot, he mused dejectedly, not to mention
struggles financially,
For his family hadn’t been well-off, and funeral costs has indebted
heavily.
The girl he was seeing was the love of his life, but his
finances a barrier though,
One that made a future wedding look unlikely, and more so, a marital
bungalow.
But despite all he’d been through, and was faced with, Martin refused
to succumb to self-pity,
Retained his dignity, and always responded to others with much
sensitivity.
Martin’s mood was somewhat melancholy, his pace much slower,
and his thoughts indeed many —
Amongst them, a subtle remembrance of that sleight of hand, “Something
to remind you of me.”
He now reached into his jacket pocket, fingers fetching the folded
paper hidden there,
And the grateful words of the disheveled tramp now registering more
strongly in his ear.
The folded paper retrieved, and looking every bit a
cheque, he then opened it up to view,
Whereby disbelief more than surprise showed on his face, for the figure
just couldn’t be true.
Perhaps it was the tramps own way of conveying what he’d like to do, odd as
it may seem,
Or was it just some delusion on his part, mental decay, an old man lost
in some dream?
Martin couldn’t help but smile, for after all, we’re all lost in our own
dreams, he reflected,
Hence why when one is elderly, something like this isn’t all together
unexpected.
The cheque certainly looked genuine enough, and the old tramp seemed
very genuine too,
But come on, Ten million? And he smiled again, thinking that he’d share
his amusement with Sue.
Well, you know how it is with women, don’t you? They’re not so
dismissive of such, rightly so,
Hence why men should pay more attention to their partner’s thoughts.
Women have instincts too, you know.
Thus, despite her own doubts, Sue strongly suggested that Martin (now
being ushered down the street),
Should pay a visit to the city bank — discreetly like — lest there, a
certain mirth he meet.
Well, not one to argue with a lady, and more so, one
physically propelling him,
Martin headed in the bank’s direction, feeling foolish that he was
acting on some whim.
Hardly wanting to face some bank clerk’s mirth, he asked if he could
see the bank manager, “Please?”
Who duly appeared, and then ushered them through a door, poor old
Martin feeling ill at ease.
The bank manager listened as bank managers do, glancing back
and forth between the two,
And then asked if he could see the cheque, which Martin fetched from
his pocket for Mister Cribbs to view.
Now Mister Cribbs’ glances were going between the cheque and the
couple, and a smile emerged,
And within the hearts of both Martin and Sue — feeling sheepish now — a
certain “thought so” surged.
“There’s quite a story behind this cheque,” Mister Cribbs
volunteered, “Yes, quite a story indeed;
Oh, by the way, you’re a very lucky man, Martin, for this cheque’s
certainly guaranteed."
Now a surge of a completely different sort bounced in the hearts of
both Martin and Sue,
Their glance at each other conveying, “Did you just hear what I thought
I heard?” and, “What, you too?”
The manager continued, “Mister Chapman was a regular customer
at our bank,
Not only very wealthy, but most kindhearted, a man who we all referred
to as Hank.
However, despite his wealth, lovely nature and kindheartedness, he was
very lonely,
A man hurting very deeply inside, for he’d tragically lost his whole
family."
Mister Cribbs paused for a moment as if letting that sink in,
(such hardly lost on Martin).
“I’m not sure of all the facts, though he did share that much — it took
its toll, hence his medicine.
Thus there were times when he was barely coherent, and even unsteady
physically,
But not vague or uncertain about one thing that he signed and shared
with his lawyers and me.
Mister Chapman had no next of kin, which added to his grief,
and given all his wealth too,
Which would’ve been passed onto his son, who was killed with the other
family members too.
I think it may have had something to do with some revolution, but he
was rather vague,
Hence he was looking for someone special, and you may have reminded him
of his son, Craig.
The idea was that he would dress as a tramp, living the part
as well — at lest for a spell,
He figuring that that was how he’d find someone genuine, and he was one
who such could tell.
We advised against such, of course — after all, anyone could take
advantage of a tramp,
And given his health, he could hardly afford to catch a chill, made far
worse by getting damp.
The person he found would then be given a cheque, which wasn’t
just going to anyone,
As it had to be someone who had the same caring and noble attributes as
his son.
Someone he sensed or knew was struggling with loss too, and also
needing help financially,
And who, once they presented the cheque to us, would certainly benefit
substantially.
Mister Chapman was no fool — therefore, your actions and words
must have struck a very deep cord,
And thanks to his generous but eccentric ways, both his estate and
money are your reward.”
Martin and Sue looked at each other again, and stunned couldn’t be a
better word to use,
And hence why we all should ponder on our words and actions, and on
those daily paths we choose.
Well, a wedding duly took place, and what a wedding it was,
and what a bungalow too,
For Mister Chapman’s home — though modest for a millionaire — was a
mansion with a sea view.
But though living in such a home, Martin and Sue never lived nor acted
like many rich folk do,
But rather, used their wealth to benefit others, and to other noble
pursuits pursue.
Had Martin not stopped to show an interest in an old tramp,
many would not have been blessed,
Given Martin and Sue’s selflessness and generosity, their desire to
reinvest.
For in the lives of others, they utilized their wealth, their
possessions and ability,
Thus giving others a hand too, and thereby, opportunity and possibility.
The true condition of a person’s heart, and inevitably, the
contents of their mind,
Is manifested in their deeds and words — in other words, in their
treatment of mankind.
Thus, the moment someone lifts a finger to hurt another, or uses their
tongue likewise,
They not only display some flaw, and align themselves with evil, but
folly advertise.
And hence how we so easily and often give ourselves away, and
thus reveal the truth,
Be that in loving or unloving deeds, selflessness or selfishness — such
conveying proof.
And that old tramp being one example, for how many people choose to act
just like Martin,
Thereby aligning themselves with the forces of good and light, the hero
or heroine?
At the end of the day, a human’s a human, and hence why we
should always act humane,
And why we, nothing but the kindest and noblest of thoughts toward
others should entertain.
For therein lies the truth of who and what we are, the true condition
of our heart and mind,
And whether with powers of hate and darkness, or powers of love and
light, we’ve thus combined.
Yes, there’s really no in-between — no middle ground — for
either consciously or unconsciously,
We place ourselves on one side or the other via our words and deeds —
even our thoughts, quite clearly.
For, “As a man thinketh, so is he,” it’s said, given that a man’s words
and deeds stem from his thoughts,
Whereby, that which is loving, humane, right, true and sound, he (she)
either encourages or thwarts.
By Lance Landall
This
poem was penned May 2011
