About Clever Sparrow
Clever Sparrow Press (CSP) is the dedicated publishing imprint for the work of independent author Dustin M. Hess. CSP manages the logistics of bringing new stories to market, from formatting and distribution to cataloging and rights management.
The name itself carries special meaning to the author, pulled from the lines of his grandmother’s discovered poetry. The phrase “clever little sparrow” was found in the handwritten verse of Cathryn Hess (“Nan”), and resonated with the author’s own journey. The sparrow, an often-overlooked yet industrious creature, perfectly embodies the spirit of an independent publisher navigating the literary landscape.
Excerpt from "October - The Harvest"
By Cathryn Hess
The Southland has beckoned,
And most of the birds have answered the call
Of their own special drummer
That I can’t hear at all.
But the faithful sparrow has decided to stay
To feast on the thousands of seeds,
A harvest from the summer weeds.
Clever little sparrow!
How beautiful you are beneath the October sky.
Read more poetry by Cathryn Hess
October - The Harvest
Enter October with a golden rake
To gather the harvest from the fields and trees,
Just as has been done for centuries.
The Southland has beckoned,
And most of the birds have answered the call
Of their own special drummer
That I can’t hear at all.
But the faithful sparrow has decided to stay
To feast on the thousands of seeds,
A harvest from the summer weeds.
Clever little sparrow!
How beautiful you are beneath the October sky.
Looking about I see a painting,
A wall of color where the green mountain used to be,
A magnificent wall all russet, scarlet and gold.
I feel so small, and yes, just a bit old.
But then, our Lord has been so good to me,
For I, like the sparrow, have been privileged to share
In a harvest of beauty so rare.
And this is only a hint of what heaven can be,
For God does the painting in heaven too,
You see.
But timeless nature moves on,
And the wonders of October soon are gone,
Leaving behind a cluster of memories and a promise so clear,
The harvest will take place again next year.
Mild Winter '83
Weary dreary winter in limbo.
Not knowing which way to go.
A bit of sunshine here, and there
A meager flake of snow.
How can you bide so monstrous and slow?
Like a huge gray cloud hugging low.
Where is your pride?
Where are your great glistening drifts of driven snow?
Where are the strong icy winds that should blow?
Where is the challenge?
(I miss the challenge most of all.)
For your days, masters of slow motion,
Tumble one over the other into oblivion.
Leaving behind an emptiness
As though they had never been.
For there are no memories,
Nothing to recall.
Nothing since the brilliant days of fall.
But just when I could die from the dreary game,
I find some Colts Foot along the way.
And discover the wild deer at play.
And high up on the hill I found some daffodil,
Earthy flowers with golden sighs.
Splashing color at the sky.
Soon I shall toss from my shoulders
Your blanket of gray!
And tell you to move on, tired winter day!
There are eternal signs.
Spring is on the way!
Some Folks Like Things Orderly
Some folks like things orderly,
One lump of sugar to a cup of tea.
Dainty little houses all in a row,
Dainty little trees trimmed just so,
Square little gardens where a weed wouldn’t grow.
Now I like things in disarray.
Guess I was born that way.
But houses big or houses small,
I like them all.
And in my yard you will find
Oak trees and maple along with the pine.
They get along just fine.
My garden seems to sprawl everywhere,
With sunflowers here and pansies there,
Old tree stumps where the squirrels sit and stare.
There are zinnias, and roses and tomatoes, too,
Just to name a few,
And I’m sure God doesn’t care.
For on this earth you will find mountains grand,
And yet tiny little grains of sand.
See how perfectly they fit the Master’s plan.
Why?
Why do I awake before the light?
To seek out the star filled night.
To marvel at the drifting flakes of snow.
And why do I love the silence so?
Was I born when the Angels were sleeping?
And yet God placed me in their keeping.
I only know that I must rise,
And wander to the windows wide.
To watch the silvery Angels glide,
To kiss the stars and turn them low.
Then I see the morning glow,
Just beyond the mountain.
April and Springs
Sometimes worldly things,
overshadow lovely Springs,
but April undaunted spreads her
fields of daffodils,
and laughs with rushing streams,
and young lovers filled with dreams.
Sometimes Spring arrives dripping wet,
but undaunted April spreads her floor
with violets,
to prepare for the coming of the king,
and amid the apple blossoms bluebirds sing.
Be still my world, while young lovers dream.
Just touch your lips to a snowflake
round as a saucer,
and drink of what Spring has to offer.
For though all the earth is sleeping,
April has the crown within her keeping,
and young lovers will dream,
and I, the sparrow will write of Spring.