Poetry With A Mission

...a thought provoking poetical exercise.

Some people call it karma, others call it justice — payback time, effectively,
For that which goes around, certainly comes around — cause and effect, invariably.
Oh yes, we reap what we sow, which surely we all know, or learn, eventually,
When we do to others what we wouldn’t like them to do to us, (so thoughtlessly).

Such also applies to unwise actions in general, and our foolish choices too,
For going contrary to common sense, or ignoring wisdom, oft sees things go askew.
And hence those things that bite, those things that kick us back, often very painfully so,
Leaving us with regret, wishing we hadn’t done this or that — hence tears that oft flow.

Oh yes, how slow we humans are to learn that selfishness and foolishness doesn’t pay,
That those unkind insensitive bullets we fire at others are prone to ricochet.
Bullets that we should never fire, nor even think to, but oh, how often we do,
Via those things we wrongly say and do, that over time, ill winds and heartache accrue.

Yes, hurt and you’ll be hurt, harm and you’ll be harmed, mistreat and you will be mistreated,
And as long as we continue in that vein, those consequences will be repeated.
Others aren’t for hurting, injuring, mistreating, deceiving, nor for putting last,
And oh, how things have an unpleasant way of reminding us of our erring past.

Wrongdoing isn’t a generational thing, but the bane of humanity,
More often seen in the form of selfishness, as opposed to general folly.
And hence why others suffer in the main, and invariably ourselves, and rightly,
For why should we get away with inflicting ill on others via acting unkindly.

It’s time we realized that the self-serving mentality is a destructive one,
(Not just one that leaves others shivering in the shade while we’re soaking up the sun),
And that if we want true happiness, it’s found in living selflessly, and humbly;
The past no longer surprising, nor we looking over our shoulder anxiously.

Yes, some people call it karma, others call it justice, and some, life’s carousel,
Given that what goes around, comes around, whether such be something nice or something ill.
And as to what comes around, usually lies with us, our choices, words and deeds,
For as we all know, things invariably grow, from both poorly and well planted seeds.

By Lance Landall

The Weeping Heart

Oh, the weeping heart — how it bleeds —tortured by pain that robs of joy, its invisible tears pooling within,
And there, cruelly saturating, stressing, hampering, the pumping and beating laboured in their discipline.
Oh, how the weeping heart aches, and often midst a shattering loneliness, a melancholy solitude,
Where no healing visitation is paid, but just those tears that are never welcome, and that thereby intrude.

And oh, how they intrude indeed, their dampness sombre, gloomy, wretched and chilly, depressingly clammy,
And they, too often leaving streaks that twinge, reminding of their callous entrance — yes, well after surgery —
That being, when healing balm has somehow entered those precious chambers that sustain life, and signals that all’s well,
Hope and happiness drying from the inside out, peace wiping those outer tears that an inner story tell.

Yes, the weeping heart, too often bleeding from wounds neither fair nor necessary; pain that clutches cruelly,
It’s miserable fingers gripping one viciously, squeezing both emotionally and physically.
Oh, how such distresses and impairs, the besieged heart sobbing and throbbing, drowning in a pool of sorrow,
Though longing for some lifeline, something that will release pain’s brutal shackles, usher in a new tomorrow.

And new tomorrows do come for many, the weeping heart freed of its torturer, pain’s shackles forced apart,
A gentle, soothing holistic medicine in the form of something special having healed the weeping heart.
Yes, even when things seem at their worst, and the weeping heart is feeling crushed, a joyous answer can appear,
Creatively relieving or removing that pain within, the weeping heart well, the tears gone, the way clear.

By Lance Landall

The Bridge

Father and son stood staring into the stream as they leaned on the old wooden rail,
The son deep in thought, and sometimes fidgeting with the head of a protruding nail.
Many times both father and son had stood there together, watching the movements below,
Sometimes deep in conversation, sometimes silent, the time passing quickly or slow.

Geoff turned his head in the direction of his dad, his words questioning purposely.
“Why do some folk take their life, Dad?” And after pausing, “Seems like such a tragedy.”
“Well, son, that’s a very good question, but somewhat hard to answer, actually,
Given that sometimes there’s no apparent reason — that is, as far as one can see.”

The old wooden bridge creaked as he shifted his weight, his gaze now fixed upon his son,
The surrounding trees and foliage filtering out the rays of the noon day sun.
Ducks and ducklings paddled their way up stream, their beaks stabbing periodically,
And numerous birds and insects went about their daily routine just as busily.

“Have I ever told you about John Lock, son?”  “Not that I recall, Dad.”  “Oh, okay,
Well, John Lock had everything going for him, and everything seemed to go his way.
His wife was not only very beautiful, but she had a lovely personality,
And his children were lovely too — well behaved, talented, helping out willingly.”

“Yes, John appeared to be the luckiest man on earth, pretty much envied by all;
A stable of cars, a sound business, huge mansion, expensive paintings on each wall.
But to everyone’s amazement, or perhaps I should say shock, he took his own life,
Leaving behind what most of us can only dream of; plus his shattered kids and wife.”

“What do you make of folk like that, Dad? I mean, fancy taking your life so pointlessly.”
“Well, son, I guess it’s easy to think this or that, perhaps acting judgmentally,
But we really don’t know what’s going on in another’s mind, or what’s amiss, do we?
And who of us can say we’d never do such, for one’s life can change unexpectedly?”

“Now, I’m not condoning such, son, for suicide’s not something we should contemplate,
But how we feel today could change in time, should things in our life deteriorate.
I’m reminded of those who fall in love and say the proverbial, “We won’t part!”
Only to end up divorced a few years later, and even malice in their heart.”

“Yes, it’s a brave person who says I wont do this or that, for oft folk eat their words,
And when in love, or life’s going great, heads are oft in the clouds, folk away with the birds.
And you know, son, it’s all very well for some folk to condemn those who take their life,
But what about those who pointlessly risk their life, and when they’ve children and a wife?”

“Yes, how many risk their life attempting to break some record, or just for a thrill,
Effectively acting just as suicidal, given such pointless risks can kill.
In fact, one could say they’re worse, for they’re not suffering in some way, nor wanting to die,
And very irresponsibly are risking everything, which begs the question, “Why?”

“Surely if anyone’s worthy of condemnation, it’s such as these, in my view,
And yet, they’re oft applauded, lauded, are even given trophies for what they do.
Thus, as I see it, if anyone is selfish and thoughtless, it’s far more so these,
For the one who’s ill, confused, or distraught, neither clearly nor rationally sees.”
 
“What do you think, son?”  “Well, now that you mention such, Dad, I can’t help agreeing with you,
And I guess you’re glad I’m not one of those risk takers, nor suicide would pursue?”
“Indeed, son, even though you’ve had some rough years, reason to consider such,
But please know this, son: I would miss you terribly, for I love you so very much.”

“Thank you, Dad. I’ve always enjoyed our chats on the bridge, and it’s so peaceful down here.”
“Yes, me too, son. There’re times when we bottle things up, when such we really need to air.
Life has its rugged patches, but that’s all they are, son — that is, in the scheme of things,
For just as there’s sun after rain, there’s dawn after night, and that little bird that sings.”

“Well, son, I guess we’d better head back, ay?”  “I guess so, Dad, but first I’ll grab a stick.”
Okay, son, I’ll saunter ahead — and if you’re as hungry as I am, you’d best be quick.
Knowing your sweet mother, son, she will probably have the table set already.”
“Sure, Dad, I won’t be long.” And so saying, he was lost in foliage immediately.

And there, he reached inside his jacket and withdrew a handgun — both loaded and deadly,
His pocket now free of the offending object, and his hands moving purposely.
The bullets removed, he flung all into the deeper water upstream, much more concealed,
Where there in the murky shadows, hopefully his secret would never be revealed.

By Lance Landall


Note: Names mentioned are fictitious

Be Kind And Gentle

Yes, learn to be kind and gentle to all, even if some aren’t so to you, for who knows why some aren’t so,
And bearing in mind as well, that their behaviour could well be due to some injury that doesn’t show.
For many have borne the brunt of another’s wrong doing, be such rape, incest, violence or other,
All of which not only their joy, but even their feelings for others, can somehow deaden or smother.

So many who have been injured develop an armour clad shell, one into which they often withdraw,
And they, thereby seeming cool and distant — their wounds still weeping, their emotions still highly strung and raw.
Or even though victims themselves, they can sometimes lash out at other folk — and once again, who knows why,
Though I suspect that given all that they have been through, and the help that they need, such is an inner cry.

By that I mean, an inner cry for help, and perhaps an unconscious one, but a cry nevertheless,
Whilst meantime, in order to cope, they oft behave in some unfortunate way that is anyone’s guess;
And they, as mystified as us, and seemingly unable to help themselves, and hence that need for care,
For responding just as negatively will only delay their healing, and act like another spear.

Yes, learn to be kind and gentle to all, even if some aren’t so to you, for who knows what they’ve gone through,
Or how much damage they may have suffered, even had compounded — and dare it be, even more via you.
And bear in mind how we all have our issues, and how we all can do with help at times — though more so they,
But another reason for being kind and gentle is, that their plight and injury could well be ours one day.

By Lance Landall

Dear Afflicted One

I believe with all my heart, that those who destroy the lives of others, or who make them suffer terribly,
Will one day get their comeuppance, and that their punishment will be appropriate — and they, then cease to be.
And though I base this on the Bible, something inside of me hollers that such simply could not fail to be,
So please take heart, dear afflicted one, for those who carry out such evil, will surely pay, ultimately.

For as much as there’s an evil force, one that’s bathed in darkness, there’s also a loving force that’s bathed in light,
And such isn’t just my opinion, but a fact, one that’s clear for all to see, for all know there is wrong and right.
And I cannot believe that good will not triumph in the future, but that it’s letting evil have its day,
So that the entire universe will soon see its ultimate plan, and never again, think to go astray.

For after all, the kind of loving force I see, would hardly try to make robots out of humanity,
Unlike the evil force, to whom absolute control is no doubt paramount, and such seeking actively.
For how else could it enforce its will, knowing that there are those who’d never willingly accept its dictates,
For such a force, despite any candy coated disguises, just chains, troubles, deceives, scares, harms, lies and hates.

So, no matter what this force may do, (or what the future brings), don’t succumb to its allures, nor buy its plans,
For should you do so, you’ll sell your soul to the devil, alias vile men, and greatly suffer at their hands.
And then, may even suffer the same fate as they, for rest assured, dear afflicted one, that there’ll come a day,
When the loving force that’s bathed in light, alias truth, will finally and rightly so, have the final say.

By Lance Landall

Try, Try Again

In this sad and rough old world where so much thwarts our best intentions, it’s so easy to give up and give in,
And why those who get back up again, and keep on trying, (despite their setbacks), are a true hero or heroine.
And the reason why is, because so many heroes or heroines are simply momentarily so,
And that meaning, just heroes and heroines of a particular moment, who only that moment know.

Yes, it’s amazing what folk do on the spur of the moment, and when a surge of adrenaline kicks in,
But it’s really that getting back up again, and again, that determines a real hero or heroin.
For were those momentary heroes or heroines given more time to think before they act as they do,
Many of them wouldn’t be heroes or heroines at all, they thus saving their own skin, not me or you.

So take heart, for our setbacks and trials give us the chance to be a hero or heroine every day,
And all such takes is that we try and try again, rise from any fall, and this, each time something goes astray.
For these everyday vexations — tests — are the hardest battles to fight, the truest test of inner strength, and,
Who doesn't applaud the tryer, the get back up type, who valiantly deals with setbacks, trials, or the unplanned?

Sometimes everything seems to come at once, or stormy clouds threaten to engulf us, but they’re our chance, you see,
For should we rise to the occasion, and not give in to defeat, a hero or heroine we would be.
And a true one, or more so a hero or heroine, and we’d remain one if such were our response each time,
Hence why we should always try and try again, or if we’ve tumbled, grasp hold of hope's rungs and then upward climb.

I know such isn’t easy, and many are disadvantaged to begin with, hence kind and thoughtful we should be,
Always seeking to encourage the struggler, the one who’s tumbled or stalled, or wringing their hands anxiously.
For it’s amazing what a comforting and cheery word can do, as opposed to criticism and frowns,
As we never help folk when we rub their noses in their failures, or piously flap our self-righteous gowns.

And you know, sometimes we handle something major well, but not some smaller thing though, and unsurprisingly,
For something smaller can prove more aggravating and stubborn, and hence that little saw that fells a large tree.
And by that I mean, we letting those smaller upsets and trials cut away at our resolve and good intentions,
And why greater and longer effort is oft required, lest those smaller things take on far greater dimensions.

But that’s what makes a true hero or heroine, they toughing out the smaller things, prepared for some rougher sea,
They rising when they fall, they bravely trying again and again, come any setback or adversity.
And when hit by a wave of tsunami proportions, they float rather than sink, eventually reach land,
And there, having endured and overcome, having gained greater strength, they rebuild and victoriously stand.

By Lance Landall

Nothing Or Too Little

Yes, there are so many people in this world who haven’t received the thought and help that they should have received,
Or to put it another way, who haven’t received the degree of thought and help that they should have received.
And, let me add here, thought and help that hasn’t come from their siblings-cum-family either, tragically,
Or once again, the degree of thought and help that they should have received, which can lead to animosity…

An animosity that all should take care to prevent, for such can see the aggrieved one acting badly,
Such meaning: Injuriously towards those who didn’t show the thought and help that they should have, foolishly,
For resentment, bitterness and anger can fester midst the aggrieved one’s struggle that could’ve been relieved,
But that wasn’t relieved, excuses coming thick and fast, and hence that baleful web that’s far too often weaved…

And that can result in those news items we see, those incidents too often seen within society,
All due to an unattended boiling pot that eventually flipped its lid, and not surprisingly,
For many who struggle, also have personal issues which need the same thought and help, but that isn’t there,
Others too busy, distracted, indifferent, selective, even ignorantly and coldly severe…

The latter meaning: They unable to see that those with issues can’t always show the same wisdom as they,
Thanks to emotional scars that cloud, ill health that dogs, daily battles-cum-traps — oft caused by others, I must say.
And hence why amidst complexities that plague the lives of many, sound judgment is prone to going astray,
But they hardly worthy of condemnation, for hey, how can we expect otherwise, at the end of the day?

Yes, it’s so much easier to make the right decisions and do the right things when all’s well with us, or
To put it another way, when we aren’t afflicted as they are, and nor the same person as they, what’s more,
For certain things can affect people differently, and backgrounds too, even where the same, unsurprisingly,
For we’re all unique individuals, our inner self still largely unexplored-cum-still a mystery…

And therefore, we simply don’t know what nothing or too little may result in, though some of us can no doubt guess,
Given what we’ve seen occur, or have experienced ourselves, be such a tragedy or deepening mess.
And why thought and help that isn’t forthcoming, or those mere token gestures, are often perilous mistakes,
Or at the very least, a slap in the face of those already stinging, whom despair often overtakes.

Yes, little or nothing, when there should be something substantial or more often, and more so from siblings, who,
Like the rest, oft don’t make the effort they should, don’t give until it hurts, and nor some understanding pursue.
But rather, sit in judgment, resenting the justified complaints from those who’re given nothing or too little,
And who in time may flip their lid, or simply just continue to struggle, and why so often all’s not well.

By Lance Landall

They're All The Same To Me

I don’t care whether someone is rich or poor, black or white, a waiter or a surgeon, a Muslim, Jew, atheist or Christian,
As they’re all the same to me — humanity — my brothers and sisters, and as far as my life and circle go, not out but in,
For all have a place in this world, and are no less worthy, no higher or lower — and I, always there should they call upon me,
As such is how I believe things should be, and just how I would like them to treat me, and given that we’re all one big family.

Therefore, I won’t betray anyone, dob them in, kick them when they’re down, talk behind their back, stab them in the back, nor hold them back,
And I won’t lay a hand on them, fool them, rob them, spurn them, mock, knock, threaten or manipulate them, nor somehow get my own back,
For what would such say of me? — and all it would do in fact, is just drag me down to a level that would hardly benefit me,
A level I choose not to sink to, for it’s a dead-end street, something that works against rather than for, injuriously.

Yes, I don’t care where people are from, what their past was like, whether they’re short, tall, slim, fat, bald, cross-eyed, missing a limb, or ugly,
As they’re all the same to me —  humanity — my brothers and sisters, worthy of my time, effort, thought, wealth, love, care and mercy.
And on their behalf I will speak or stand, hoping that they would do the same for me, and if they didn’t, it still wouldn’t stop me,
For I must be true to myself, my conscience clear, my actions transparent, impartial and fair, and I thus acting honourably.

And I’ll decide for myself what someone’s like, not what I’m told is so, allowing them to defend them self, and overtime grow,
Bearing in mind that we all make mistakes, and deserve another chance, and that when it comes to others, what do we really know?
And hence why I refuse to label or pigeonhole people, or misjudge them, and why I don’t care if they’re three or ninety three,
As they’re all the same to me — humanity — my brothers and sisters, and all deserving of the same freedom and liberty.

By Lance Landall

Why Winning Isn't Cool

Sandy was deep in thought, her father both near and smiling as he observed the serious look on her face.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he chirped. Sandy’s head turned in his direction, her eyes no longer staring into space.
“What’s so wrong with competitive sports, Dad?” she questioned. Her father sighed. “Well, there’s quite a lot, actually,
Of which many are very ignorant, not having bothered to research or consider such carefully,”

“But,” he continued, “First bear in mind that competing and competitiveness aren’t always one and the same,
For though we compete for jobs, we don’t really have a say in such, unlike involvement in a rugby game.
After all, we have to work to live, and applying is quite different to competing, (as in rugby),
Though having said that, there're those who when it comes to the workforce, who adopt a similar mentality.”

“And hence those things we often see within companies, like those “yes” men and back stabbers, let alone the lies,
Or those embellishments, (verbally or written), when regarding some position, someone duly applies.
But such are the acts of those who’re devoid of principles, or whose standards vary with the situation,
They being, people who're prepared to bend, twist, falsify or cheat, oft using faulty rationalisation.”

“And all in order to achieve some selfish end — such here being, preventing someone else succeeding somehow;
Hence those underhand tactics that have always played a part in competitive sports, and even more so now.
For competitive sports are all about achieving something via another’s loss, ensuring they don’t win,
Which is not only a flawed foundation upon which to build anything, but is of callous origin.”

“That is to say, its linked to cruelty, for losing’s no fun on the sports field, hence those angry scenes we oft see,
Those protests over faulty refereeing, which makes a farce of things, and sees games won or lost unfairly.
And then there’re those crashes which see drivers out of a race, and someone wining who’s no where near as good as they,
Which once again makes a farce of things, for they won more by luck than by skill — a hollow victory, I say.”

“I’m not quite sure I understand what you mean by cruelty, Dad.”  “Well, Sandy, when we rejoice over our win,
We’re effectively rejoicing over someone’s loss — and oh, how some people love to rub such a loss in.
But whether folk rub it in or not, its still sad to see others losing, losing being a cruel consequence,
A consequence that leaves many bitterly disappointed, feeling like they’re the victim of some offence.”

“And to be honest, they kind of are, the victim of someone’s self interest, which the loser always is,
Not that they’re in the clear themselves, for weren’t they trying to win, grab the cup from someone, be it hers or his?
And that’s the problem, for its all about self at the expense of others — yes, hoping that others won’t win,
And we doing all that we can to see that they don’t, but hey, not liking a taste of the same medicine.”

“But don’t some good things come out of competitive sports, Dad?”  “Well, Sandy, it’s the basis of such that’s not good.
You see, it’s faulty at the core. Thus, you’re talking peripheral positives, and I don’t think that we should.
If competitive sports are built on a corrupt foundation, and produce so much that is destructive,
Then surely that's reason enough for shunning them, and given that they are more negative than productive.”

“Otherwise, its like watching pornography to gain a sexual education, and such you would gain,
But not a healthy education, and one that mixed with inflamed excitement, would be a truck load of pain.
Well, eventually — for just like coming off drugs, or losing a game, pornography has its downside,
And, just like competitive sports, is based on a corrupt foundation — yes, its ice-cream laced with pesticide.”

“So much that seems great on the surface, (at least to some), and that seems to produce good results, contains much ill,
Which only the discerning see, and which only the receptive shun, knowing that some things aren’t worth the thrill.
Yes, folk may win, but its always at another’s loss — so how can that really make someone feel good inside?
Unless they’ve convinced them self otherwise, ignoring those wails and tears, behind which, even malice can hide.”

“Given what you’ve told me, Dad, how come Christians are into competitive sports?”  “Well, Sandy, they shouldn’t be,
For competitiveness is all about “Me,” and the Christian message all about others — acting kindly.
In other words, the Christian message is all about putting others first, and obviously ourselves last,
And thus the Christian way very different, which means that where there’s hypocrisy, there’s hardly that contrast.”

“And by that I mean, that one cannot preach selflessness-cum-self-sacrifice-cum-putting other people first,
And at the same time rejoice over beating someone else via competitive sports — nor they for winning thirst.
But whether one’s a Christian or not, competitiveness is hardly something to endorse, and not for me,
For I’ve seen and experienced the negative results of such, and realise it’s packaged deceptively.”

“Speaking of negative results, Dad, I can’t help thinking of Clive, and how worked up he gets watching some game,
Especially when the team he wants to win is looking like it might lose — in fact, sometimes it’s to his shame.
That being, given his ranting and raving, his cursing certain players, who’re no doubt doing the best they can,
And I guess it’s the nature of competitive sports that certain things don’t always go according to plan.”

“Yes, Sandy, and as for Clive — that’s exactly how competitive sports can affect folk — most, undoubtedly,
Given everyone wants to see their favourite team win, and the other team lose, and understandably.
For at the end of the day, that’s what such is all about, Sandy — winning, beating — coming first, and others last —
Which is why competitive sports is something I no longer follow or condone, but have left in the past.” 

By Lance Landall

Billie Joe MacAllisters

I guess you’ve all heard about Billie Joe MacAllister, who, on the third of June, and up there on Choctaw Ridge —
(And all this according to the haunting lyrics of the Bobbie Gentry song) — jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge?
Well, there’s no question that in pretty much every country ’round the globe, (and more so, in some), there’s a Choctaw ridge,
Yes, a mountain of heartache, depression, and seeming hopelessness, and a too often used Tallahatchie bridge.

And let’s not forget this: That there are thousands of people "pickin' " flowers up on those Choctaw ridges as well,
For those who jump off Tallahatchie bridges have loved ones and families; and it’s seldom that they say farewell.
And why they choose to act this way is oft anyone’s guess, but nevertheless, something sees them take that sad road,
And hence why we need to be very attuned to others’ needs, and lovingly so, and thereby help ease their load.

Yes, there are far too many Billie Joe MacAllisters, and those who're left to pick up the pieces of their life,
That is, after such loss, be they a friend, or some relation — yes, a brother or sister, a husband or wife.
And added to this, is oft the stigma of suicide, and that “never had a lick of sense” mentality,
Which can have more to do with ignorance and indifference, and which may even aid some such fatality.

Yes, such tragic tales are too oft just casual meal-time fodder, they told midst the passing of those “black-eyed peas,”
And those who take their life, often just the butt of those suicide jokes that are found amongst so much night-club sleaze.
And why suicides will continue, for aside from those loads many bear, are too many folk who don’t seem to care,
Or as good as such, given the sad lack of interest they show, and how some load they leave another to bear.

Yes, "Mama said it was a shame about Billie Joe, anyhow," and Mama was also correct when she said:
"Seems like nothin' ever comes to no good up on Choctaw Ridge," and that's so true, without speaking ill of the dead.
For the truth of the matter is, that suicides are such a waste of someone's life, and a painful legacy,
And too often happen when folk are "choppin' cotton" or "balin' hay" — yes, too unconcerned, distracted, or busy.

By Lance Landall


Bobbie Gentry's song "Ode To Billie Joe" was recorded in 1967. Bob Dylan's song "Clothesline Saga" is a parody of the song.

Regarding suicide, you may like to read my poem called “Life” which speaks to the situation more fluently. You can access that poem via the buttons on the right hand side and near the top of my poems list page. Or you may like to read my poem "Death That Haunts" which is found in my secular poem list, and closer to that sections end.

Here are the lyrics to Ode To Billie Joe:

It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day
I was out choppin' cotton and my brother was balin' hay
And at dinner time we stopped and walked back to the house to eat
And Mama hollered out the back door, "Y'all remember to wipe your feet"
And then she said, "I got some news this mornin' from Choctaw Ridge
Today Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge"

And Papa said to Mama as he passed around the blackeyed peas
"Well, Billy Joe never had a lick of sense, pass the biscuits, please
There's five more acres in the lower forty I've got to plow"
And Mama said it was shame about Billy Joe, anyhow
Seems like nothin' ever comes to no good up on Choctaw Ridge
And now Billy Joe MacAllister's jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge

And Brother said he recollected when he and Tom and Billie Joe
Put a frog down my back at the Carroll County picture show
And wasn't I talkin' to him after church last Sunday night?
"I'll have another piece of apple pie, you know it don't seem right
I saw him at the sawmill yesterday on Choctaw Ridge
"And now you tell me Billie Joe's jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge"

And Mama said to me, "Child, what's happened to your appetite?
I've been cookin' all morning and you haven't touched a single bite
That nice young preacher, Brother Taylor, dropped by today
Said he'd be pleased to have dinner on Sunday, oh, by the way
He said he saw a girl that looked a lot like you up on Choctaw Ridge
And she and Billy Joe was throwing somethin' off the Tallahatchie Bridge"

A year has come 'n' gone since we heard the news 'bout Billy Joe
And Brother married Becky Thompson, they bought a store in Tupelo
There was a virus going 'round, Papa caught it and he died last Spring
And now Mama doesn't seem to wanna do much of anything
And me, I spend a lot of time pickin' flowers up on Choctaw Ridge

And drop them into the muddy water off the Tallahatchie Bridge

My Jigsaw Puzzle

Welcome to my jigsaw puzzle — my life — where even I can’t put all the pieces together, though I’ve tried,
And then there’s that frustration, that inability to convey thoughts and feelings that I have deep inside.
I’m sure that I manage to convey a degree, though even then, perhaps not always that successfully,
But it’s only a portion of what’s within, and probably confusing, for it’s not the whole picture of Me.

Yes, there’s so much I’d like to say — oh, if only I were an artist — for a picture’s worth a thousand words,
But then, some artist I’d need to be, one who could paint that Me within, not just landscapes and the likes of birds.
I have turned to pen and paper, the standard form of expression outside of attempting such verbally,
But oh, how oft words fail to come, and when they do, they simply scratch the surface, and hardly speak masterly.

I've even wished that I could project my inner self onto a screen, one where chapters of my life could be seen,
And thus I much better understood, the agonies and desires within my heart and mind filling each scene.
And midst it all, the creativeness within me, those abilities not yet tapped, and talent not yet seen,
All crying out for release and fulfilment — I not wanting to lament what could’ve been, or should’ve been.

Sometimes I feel like a painting that someone’s lost interest in, the canvas cracked and peeling, the brushes dry,
Or perhaps a sketch that has been smudged, one where the likeness is amateurish, and there’s no rubber nearby.
And I almost cry, feel like I am being passed by, when all I desire is to be valued and understood-
Cum-wanted as much as anyone else, but in such low times thinking to myself, “What’s the likelihood?”

Yes, welcome to my jigsaw puzzle, pieces scattered here and there, and some possibly never to be found,
My life a mixture of this and that, good and bad things, fair and unfair things, influences, genes and background.
I’ve no desire to harm, but rather to love and care, and be the best that I can, but often I despair,
For those thoughts and feelings within, and whatever else — need expression — which I struggle to convey and share.

And there are things that I’ve done that I can’t understand, things I wouldn’t do now, not that I’m beyond mistakes,
For though I’ve learnt and grown much, I’m still battling with things within, things that hamper — and more time is what such takes.
And hence I guess I’m an unfinished book, one too often judged by its cover, many not wanting to wait,
And other folk merely scanning the odd page, taking things out of context, and failing to rightly translate.

Oh yes, how I wish that I could convey more of what’s within me, and thereby, a truer picture of Me,
Not one that’s glossed over, but simply more accurate, one that would soon see others thinking differently —
Well, hopefully, that is — for the more pieces that are found by both others and me, both in their lives and mine,
The much better things will be, for frustration, depression, confusion, falsehood, indifference….will decline.

By Lance Landall

Take Charge

Don’t let anyone kill your spirit, steal your soul, play with your mind, nor trample all over your hopes and dreams,
For your life is your life, not theirs, and hence why you shouldn’t give up, give in, no matter how tough it all seems.
And nor should you let anyone weigh you down, pull you by the nose, treat you like a puppet or as a pawn,
For you’re your own person, a free agent — a right that you automatically received when you were born.

And hey, don’t shoot yourself in the foot by doing your head in via drugs or via booze, nor harm your body too,
(Be it via this or that), for you’ve a whole life to live, and there’re so many possibilities to pursue.
And hence why you should learn what you can, seek to achieve, strive to be better, give, share, help, support and forgive,
For the wiser, kinder and more positive that you are, the healthier you’ll be, and the longer you’ll live.

And remember: Your value as a person is inestimable, your potential considerable,
And you, a power plant of rhythmic, dynamic, creative energy, a living breathing miracle.
Yes, you’re a world of your own, full of emotions and feelings, a scientific and medical marvel,
A being who has the power to choose, and in order for things to work in your favour, you need to choose well.

You’re no one's property, your heart, mind and body are your own, and your conscience only as good as you choose,
And hence why you should only seek the very best of paths in life, and anything that’s injurious refuse.
For at the end of the day, it’s our choices that largely determine the outcome of our lives, good or bad,
And whether we’ll look back with much regret and sorrow, or over such, and our decisions, be very glad.

By Lance Landall

Serious Fools, And Then There's Sex

Mike turned into the drive and pulled up barely an inch away from the garage door,
His friend watching from an old veranda, mock concern showing from his gaping jaw.
“Close call, mate. Keep that up and you’ll be in for a new door, and a panel job too.”
“Naa,” Mike laughed, “It’s what you call skill.” — which had Matt laughing now, though in this case, such was true.

Matt’s full hand rose toward Mike. “Here, have a can, mate. I’ve just been enjoying the sun.
I thought I could do with the break, given all the lifting and shifting I’ve just done.”
“Finally got around to it, ay,” Mike replied, lifting the can to his waiting lips.
“Yea, and I’m glad I did, as it was badly needed,” Matt muttered in-between sips.

Mike put his can down. “I hear Sandra left Daren?” Now Matt put his can down. “Yea, mate,
I saw that one coming, especially given the way I’ve seen him operate.”
“Yea,” Mike responded, “He can be pretty thoughtless at times — lacks sensitivity;
He’s actually quite a selfish guy, seemingly more concerned about his money.”

Matt nodded his head. “It’s a common theme.”  “How do you mean?” Mike asked, interestedly,
And he picked up his can again, took a long sip, and looked at Matt questioningly.
“Well, there’s some really lovely women out there — and many, very attractive too;
Yes, women worth their weight in gold, who just about anything for their man would do.”

“The problem is, they end up with guys who really don’t appreciate the wife they’ve got,
And to be quite frank, some of these guys I’m talking about, aren’t that difficult to spot.
It really amazes me, given that these women can pick and choose, but there you go;
Is it just poor judgment? Are they conned? Have they a self-esteem issue? I just don’t know.”

“When you get a woman like that, indeed any woman, but more so one so good,
The last thing you do is mistreat her, or somehow, act differently to what you should.
You don’t go taking such women for granted, but rather, treat them like priceless treasure,
And by so doing, will receive in response, a joy and happiness beyond measure.”

“So many guys need to get their act together, and treat their wife like a princess,
Rather than letting her down, causing her pain, unnecessary worry or stress.
Seems they’re far too busy, are out with the boys, or childishly trying to impress,
And sad to say, seemingly only attentive when they’re wanting her to undress.”

“On that note,” Mike chipped in, “Do some women fuel such, given the sexy way they dress?
I’m talking about women in general, who publicly, are baring more, not less.”
“Oh, for sure,” Matt replied, “And that’s why women are oft just seen as sex objects, I guess.
And to digress: I was feeling bad about our middle-aged neighbour, Bill Cleary,
And how some young women called him a pervert when he cast a glance their way recently.”

“It’s okay for us young males, seemingly, but woe betide males somewhat elderly,
Who, at the end of the day, are still males too, and males can’t help being males, quite frankly.
Knowing Bill, I’m sure he meant no harm, and the sexy way most girls dress now, dear me,
It’s pretty hard not to look — thus, I think Bill might have taken it rather badly.”

Mike unfurled his long legs, sipping from his can of lemonade contemplatively.
“Oh dear,” he replied, “I’m sorry to hear that. He’s a lovely guy, wouldn’t harm a flee.
And he was probably thinking back to his younger days, and no doubt pensively,
But you know, it must be hard for these older guys now, given the sexuality.”

“By that I mean, things were hardly like this in their day — women dressed far more modestly,
And today, there’s so much promiscuity, girls leading guys on quite blatantly.
I guess some of these older guys must feel that they’re missing out, rightly or wrongly,
Thus, it must be pretty tough on them — so in their face — and doesn't seem fair to me.”

“I agree,” echoed Matt, “And it must be hard on married guys too, quite honestly,
Given one can dial a prostitute — or via a computer, bring up pornography.
Such must be quite a temptation, which is why I guess many act unfaithfully,
For even if they’ve a gorgeous wife, they’re confronted with teasing bodies daily,
All of which is adding to the issue of men’s behaviour, and most destructively.”

“Having said that though, and getting back to what we were talking about previously,
Such still doesn't give men an excuse for treating any woman injuriously.
It’s the old story, we should always treat others as we would like them to treat us,
And if we all adhered to such wisdom, there wouldn’t be half the trouble or fuss.”

“But why some men trample on a partner they’re so blessed to have, really baffles me,
Thus, not only destroying her joy and happiness, but their own, effectively.
And often, as a result, losing her eventually, such never to regain,
A cost that’s not worth paying, and one that leaves them without any right to complain.”

They both looked up as another car turned into the drive, a young woman at the wheel,
And the pleasure on both Mike and Matt’s face was something that neither lad could conceal.
Rushing to the convertible’s door, they reached to open it, laughter in their eyes,
Provoking a bewildered reaction, “Okay, okay, what’s going on you guys?”

By Lance Landall


Note: Names mentioned are fictitious

Don't Knock Beneficiaries

Grant raised his head and looked at his dad who was wistfully looking out the window;
A man who’d seen the best and worst of life, and those changes that so oft come and go.
His father was a good man, who sought the best for all, believing such right and fair,
And as far as troubles and heartache go, Grant's father had certainly had his share.

“Why are folk so hard on beneficiaries, Dad, some political parties too,
That single out those on welfare, and midst anti-welfare cries, tougher lines pursue?”
“Well, son, in my experience, such is often linked to some ideology,
One that’s seriously flawed, but attractive to those who’ve a certain mentality.”

“And, I might add, who tend to vote for those parties that view welfare negatively,
Picking up on that anti-beneficiary sentiment, very ignorantly.
Many have no idea what’s going on in the life of some beneficiary,
Yet, just like jackals, or armchair critics, attack or pass judgment injuriously.”

“Not everyone’s hard on beneficiaries, son, it’s just a certain quarter who are,
A very vocal group, who when they get their way, invaribly take things too far.
And as a result, they simply exchange one problem for another — a worse one,
For when folk have their backs against the wall, they turn to anything, perhaps a gun.”

“You see, when folk are fearful, unable to cope, they do what they can to get by,
Which sees lawfulness fly out the window, and criminality diversify.
Don’t get me wrong, son, I’m not condoning such, and not all will turn their hands to crime,
But one thing’s for sure, troubles by the bucket load are only a matter of time.”

“The welfare system is the country’s heart, son, and that heart needs to beat really well,
For there’ll always be those who’re out of work, those who’re unable to cope, those who’re ill.
Yes, better a fence at the top of the cliff, than an ambulance waiting below,
Which any with a genuine love for humanity, son, well and truly know.”

“When we’re harsh on beneficiaries, we also adversely affect their family,
Which simply causes ripples in the pond, ripples that reach deep into society.
And hence why we’re better to err on the side of wastage and generosity,
Which means leaning a little more left than right, given balance seems a rarity.”

“What about bludgers, Dad?”  “Oh, you’ll always get those, son, but they’re a minority,
A very small number in the scheme of things, who’re surely sorted out easily.
But they’re not the only ones ripping off the system, for so are the majority,
Be that via so-called little sins, or larger ones, that siphon and drain just as badly.”

“There’re so many on the make, son, including many who are higher up the scale,
Who very hypocritically point to beneficiaries and hard done by wail.
And there’re those who’re doing nicely, who should be counting their blessings, but oh no,
Seems they’re far too busy counting losses, and pointing the finger at so-and-so.”

“Too many think they’ve the answers, or can’t see past their pocket, behaving selfishly,
And are ignorant of the complexities in the life of some beneficiary.
Many on a benefit, and who hate being on one, are trapped by circumstances, and,
Rather than harsher measures, need our understanding, or a larger helping hand.”

“Too many people, including politicians, are out of touch with reality;
They're living in a world that is far removed from that of the beneficiary.
And far too often, those who hold the purse strings, have an accountant mentality,
Only thinking in terms of things financially, and effectively, inhumanely.”

“The welfare system is necessary, son, and only one drain financially,
But for some reason, it’s a convenient scapegoat, maligned and hammered unfairly.
Some things are best just lived with, son, rather than picked on, and at the end of the day,
Too many see things in just black and white terms, when things are often a shade of grey.”

By Lance Landall

And hey, where are the appropriate jobs?


You may also like to read my poem "On Welfare?" which is accessed via the buttons on the right hand side, and near the top of the poem list page. Or, you might like to read my article entitled "Welfare" which is found on my Bits 'n' Bobs page.

I'm Angry Today

Yes, I’m angry today, so angry that many poor souls are going without while others have far more than they need,
And as if that’s not enough, the latter flaunt their wealth, callously indulge in extravagance while the others bleed.
It’s wrong! It’s cruel! And so unfair! Hence why the world needs a shake up, or at least those who are acting so dreadfully,
Gorging themselves materially while others starve and die, suffer through not having, or live in poverty.

And to add insult to injury, many who’ve enough are still seeking more, bemoaning the amount of tax they pay,
While the others can’t afford to visit the doctor, put the heater on, get things they need, day after stressful day.
And then to put the boot in, many with enough or more, turn on the welfare system and those in need of such,
And at that money that’s sorely needed for the protection of the ill and vulnerable, criminally clutch.

Yes, not content with their lovely home, (or have they two?), their expensive cars, yacht, shares in some company, and so on,
They complain about others draining their pocket, whilst holidaying in the likes of Spain, France, Russia or Saigon.
And whilst even on the make, for those with wealth are often the biggest takers, drainers and wasters, and yet cry, “Foul!”
When it’s the unfortunates who haven’t got and are going without who have more of a right to holler and howl.

And why on their behalf I rage here, for many need health care they can’t afford, and not through any fault of their own,
Or they haven’t a house, even a car — and as far as holidays go, you’ve got to be kidding — and then there’s that zone;
That is, that district that those who’ve more than enough won’t buy in, (even though it’s quite okay), thanks to their snobbery,
Which is oft another word for the middle-class and upper-class, though not all such folk act as pathetically.

And then there’re those family situations where some have and some don’t, and where those who don’t, struggle financially,
That is, while their siblings manage fine, and seldom help, if at all, caught up in that same selfish mentality.
And some even thinking that they can’t when they can, though such might mean going without something in order to give,
And that something being something they don’t need — but oh no — which as far as I’m concerned, is a horrible way to live.

Yes, while the poor suffer, many who’re wealthy, (and thanks to pure indulgence), drain resources, strip supplies; and charge sky-high,
Or are on appalling wages — CEOs — many draining tax payer’s money, greedily scoffing at the pie.
And yet, how oft the finger’s pointed elsewhere, whilst money lines the pockets of an elite and even secret few,
Where the real power is, and some hidden agenda, one designed to gain control of us all, and some evil pursue.

Yes, I’m angry today, as it’s hardly right that others suffer or die while others waste what could relieve and save,
While others just party, live in despotic luxury, wade in their self-importance, indifferently behave.
And thereby, thus join the ranks of the selfish, callous and thoughtless who have cursed this Earth throughout its sad history,
For such folk have no heart or conscience, or very little of each, and are effectively foes of humanity.

Yes, I’m angry today — and rightly so, I say.

By Lance Landall

Life's Autumn Years

Oh, how time passes, and you see the inevitable telltale signs, the body beautiful much less so,
Yes, pretty and handsome hardly heard the same — that’s if they were, of course — and now not many years left to go.
And even they may be cut short, though it’s still a blessing that you’ve lived this long, for many aren’t so lucky,
Though I guess their fate is oft better than living longer but miserably with some painful infirmity.

And yes, some of us age quicker than others, outwardly and inwardly, health problems coming sooner than thought,
Such due to misspent youth, foolish choices or misfortune — who knows which or what — which this or that tends to thwart.
And adding to that, the sadness of seeing those you grew up with now aging too — some of them having passed away,
Which is hardly comforting, a reminder of your own mortality, hence that hair now silver or grey.

And there’re those who cross your path whom you haven’t seen for years, they looking so different to how they used to,
And hence why you would never have recognised some of these folk if they hadn’t kindly thought to approach you.
And amidst the humorous banter, perhaps, you feeling not so cheerful, for age isn’t always that kind,
And why you can’t help but shake your balding head over those who say that age is simply a matter of mind.

Which reminds me — there’re those memories — yes, it’s strange how some things just wander in and out rather randomly,
Things forgotten in the mist of time, some not so welcome, others hauntingly nostalgic — smells too, funnily.
And you find it hard at times, for you’re still the same youngster within, are you not? — but simply much older now,
Who, upon the stage of life, still wants to be noticed, valued, loved and liked, before that final curtain bow.

Yes, adored as a babe, even a toddler, but in the autumn years of one’s life it’s oft another story,
The older set the butt of cruel jokes, and even being seen as a bother, or neglected by family.
All of which you may well have experienced, including loneliness — not to mention insecurity,
For age makes you feel more vulnerable given your fragility and ever decreasing energy.

Well, life’s autumn years come to all, and as with everything, acceptance is your best friend, and worry your foe,
Which I’m sure you’re well aware of, though such is easer said than done, for trials and issues can ebb and flow.
But still, there’s much you’ve learnt, much you’ve gained, having done your bit and played your part, and having raised those children too,
All of which gives you a worth that’s priceless, and why more than ever, folk should surround and your knowledge pursue.

And when that final curtain call comes, you’ll still live on in hearts and minds, and in your offspring’s looks and ways too,
And in anything worthy that you’ve left behind — a poem, song, book, painting — or good deeds you chose to pursue.
So don’t lose heart, for you’re a link in a chain, one that’ll always remain, your birth assuring that such would be,
Yes, another precious member of humanity that’s its older folk should treasure, treat respectfully.

By Lance Landall


You may also like to read my poem that's called "The Elderly" which is found in my secular section on the poem list page. Or, my poem called "Simply Older" which can be accessed via the Poetry and Prose buttons found on the right hand side and near the top of my poem list page — secular button section.

Don't Forget The Grieving

In this sad old world in which we live, the loss of loved ones is part and parcel of it all, a burden that we share,
Well, at least a burden that we should share in the sense of being there, but oh, how quickly people seem to disappear.
Yes, it’s not that many weeks after the funeral that they’re no longer around, and when help is perhaps needed more,
So tell me, why is it that after the initial fuss and affection is over, there’re far less knocks on the door?

After all, the pain of losing a loved one hardly ebbs away as quickly as many unthinking people do,
Who forget that when all the attention has dropped off, a greater emptiness can surround, and there're those night-times too.
And many grieve for a very long time, and suffer terribly from such loss, thus needing as much help as before,
That being, as much help as they got initially when people heard the sad news; and in many cases, need far more.

The loss of a loved one can be devastating, one of the hardest things to bear, and for some, it is the hardest,
Hence why they need support throughout, and given that for some folk it’s all too much — yes, they no longer want to exist.
And such a state isn’t always clear to those around them, for folk can bottle things up inside, things that they may not share,
And hence why when it comes to those who have lost a loved one, they should continue to receive our thought, time, love and care.

Yes, that drop in attention after a number of weeks is a very sad thing indeed, adding insult to injury;
Along with the fact that many after the loss of a loved one are also faced with difficulties financially.
And, let me add, burying a loved one is hardly cheap — a cost that seems an injury in itself, quite frankly,
And why things should be set up in such a way that no one benefits personally from funerals financially.

Well, in my mind anyway.

By Lance Landall

Homophobic? No, However...

What’s all the fuss about? — because if folk have an issue with homosexuality, such is their right,
Or do we no longer have freedom of expression, and once again, that same old battle to shout and fight.
And bearing in mind that the homosexual condition is clearly not normal — something plain to see —
Given that their general anatomy-cum-sex organ remains the same, no changes there, quite clearly.

Thus, folk are not so much anti-Gay, but anti-same-sex sexual acts, and giving such normality,
They knowing that such isn’t normal — however, there are those who do treat homosexuals badly.
But such folk have always been — they muddying things — for who would deny anyone their basic human rights?
And this gender malfunction being something that most of them seem born with, and why the other sex hardly excites.

But as sorry as we may feel for them, such is not a reason for condoning homosexuality,
For once we sanction the abnormal, it effectively ceases to be abnormal, and why worse we see.
Yes, we no longer able to discern between right or wrong, the acceptable and unacceptable,
Our feelings getting in the way of sense, our compassion erring unhealthily — the outcome far more ill.

History conveys that where such has happened, society’s always gone downhill, and disastrously,
For where there’re no boundaries and clear distinctions between this or that, folk lose the ability to see.
And that meaning — clearly — they losing their way, and here, losing sight of the consequences until it’s too late,
They having confused sound reasoning and a valid argument with homophobia-cum-cruelty and hate.

While I don’t approve of same-sex-sexual acts, and don’t believe such should be sanctioned legislatively,
I’d never treat a homosexual badly, though they may disagree given my stance, ignorantly.
For there’s a big difference between drawing conclusions based on one’s research, beliefs and conscience, and plain hate,
As the latter is purely the behaviour of foolish and callous people who more injury create.

Given that nature clearly intended that sexual attraction only occur between opposites —
And hence the complimentary sex organs, it’s clear that only a man and woman relationship fits,
And therefore why only marriages between a man and a woman should be the bedrock of society,
And no legal alternative confusing the issue, nor creating some aberrant morality.

At the end of the day, we can’t have an anything goes society-cum-a please all society,
Which is what happens when we cave into every desire and whim, and here, also sanction aberrancy.
And why hard as such folk may find this, there’s no safe and acceptable alternative, nor logical too,
And why all opponents of such — and without protest — should be allowed to express their own beliefs or view.

It also needs to be borne in mind that there’s a clear attempt out there to blur the gender distinctions, and
So much more, largely courtesy of feminists determined to reduce us all to a sexless wasteland.
Hence the feminizing of men and the masculinizing of women that we’re seeing — oh yes, unisex —
And why sanctioning and legitimizing same-sex-sexual acts only sees more foreboding muscles flex.

Let’s be honest with ourselves: When men marry men and women marry women, we’ve a weird society,
Even if such doesn't seem weird to them, (or others), and such weirdness we’ll pass on generationally.
When nature herself makes it clear how things were designed to be, how backward it is when we, humanity,
Go and act differently — yes, we nature’s crowning glory — but here, hardly thinking intelligently.

Yes, to sanction such via civil laws, rather than such remaining behind closed doors, is more than just folly,
And hey, what if there were a Creator who abhors such aberrance, and takes such very personally?
Well, when society loses its way, and from the path of sense and wisdom is seen to stray, woe betide,
For there’s always consequences as a result, and why we should never encourage or applaud Gay-pride.

As far as the homosexual and lesbian condition goes, who knows how such occurs exactly,
Though no doubt during the embryonic stage, and by that I mean, things going astray somehow internally.
And then there're those hormones that are injected into those creatures that we eat, (or that they’re fed) — plain folly —
For there, could be where one answer lies, and what else might we be taking in that's causing this aberrancy.

Well, in some folk, that is.

And to think that law changes could be being made on the basis of such — ignorantly, that is — and foolishly —
But were homosexuality a choice, not a condition, such would be acting inexcusably.
For as I said, if nature herself is clear on the matter, what on Earth do we think we are doing here.
But hey, history has a way of repeating itself, and that it is repeating itself, is very clear

By Lance Landall

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