Looking Down The Barrel
When somebody takes a loaded gun and goes on a random shooting spree,
Or simply commits suicide, we shake our head and wonder why, don’t we?
And yet, it’s all very fathomable — there is always a reason why,
Even if such alludes us when the exact cause we can’t identify.
Nevertheless, reasons there are, and such are cause for sober reflection,
Be they depression, drugs, influences, revenge, fear, hurt or rejection.
And connected to these examples is the decay within society,
Caused by the repudiation of things once upheld — but not now, foolishly.
Usually, or often, there’s something that triggers these acts that we see,
A final straw that has folk snap, give up — enter us, inevitably.
Yes, so often we’ve contributed in some way, even unwittingly,
Hence why we should tread with great care, lest it be we aid some calamity.
After all, those who’ve been mistreated, or who consider that they have been,
Often hit back, and far more so, when they’re permanently leaving the scene.
I guess they figure they’ve nothing to lose, already feeling dead inside,
And where they’ve no belief in a day of reckoning for all, woe betide.
Yes, such ones inflict all the carnage they can, viewing it as pay-back time,
Their behaviour deliberate, hardly a case of no rhythm or rhyme.
And in their sights, not just random folk, but also those they believe caused their pain,
Or who at least contributed — links in a perceived or very real chain.
Perhaps they were treated indifferently, rather insensitively,
Perhaps they weren’t understood, nor given the time or thought necessary.
Yes, little by little, here a bit, there a bit, things that overtime grew,
Or an injury that deeply wounded, over which they began to stew.
Such people aren’t always evil at heart, but troubled emotionally,
Their lot made harder by circumstances, or a tightening net, maybe.
By that I mean, harder times, misfortune, a more restricted welfare net;
Things that no longer buffer, support, hold in check, but rather, some scene set.
Hence why some do tragic things that we wouldn’t have thought they would have, sadly,
And why we should always treat others very carefully and thoughtfully.
And why all those valuable things we once upheld should be reinstated,
Given all the damage that their wrongful dismissal has generated.
So much can contribute, so much can light a fire within, badly inflame;
A marital breakup, a broken home, child abuse, cutting words, loss, shame.
It seems we’re hell bent on hurting one another, and then we wonder why
Shooting sprees and suicides occur — and still, violence we glorify.
Oh yes, it’s all very fathomable — there is always a reason why,
So we’re wasting our time scratching our heads, as there’s nothing to mystify.
Though we may not know the exact reason for many of the things we see,
One thing’s for sure: There is one, one usually smoldering quietly.
So let’s be very careful how we treat others, lest baleful seeds are sown,
For out of such, terrible and tragic occurrences have often grown.
Be they via the barrel of a gun, or a hundred and one other ways,
All of which seem to be on the increase, and more horrific these days.
Yes, those who’re wounded are more likely to wound others — sometimes fatally,
And as long as people continue to be mistreated, this we’ll see.
Seems that few want to take ownership for having contributed in some way,
And those things that wound and fester, foolishly continue to do and say.
By Lance Landall
When Pots Boil Over
It was a rather drab day, and Dad had just walked in the door, a meal on the table for the family.
Mum passed the potatoes and Dad took his share, the rest of us waiting for grace which soon came, and gratefully.
Dad seemed more serious and silent than usual. “Everything all right, dear? Sorry, finish your mouthful.”
Dad leaned back a little and raised his head, his gaze still on his food, and he appearing uncomfortable.
“Jimmy took out six people this morning with a loaded gun, then turned it on himself. Pass the gravy, please.”
No one spoke, we all like stunned mullets, Mum mechanically passing the gravy boat. “Thanks, the salt too, please.”
The salt passed hands as Dad continued the story, we too shocked to say anything, Jimmy only thirty three.
“They say that before he fired, he was yelling something about folk not being there for him and his family…
And how they’d suffered so, he cursing those who he reckoned could’ve made all the difference financially,
Or whose pitiful token gestures he found offensive, especially when folk weren't that short of money.”
Dad passed the salt back and took another mouthful, our eyes glancing at each other, words still stuck in the throat,
We seemingly anesthetised by the news, and as if awaiting some “No, such isn’t true” antidote.
Dad broke the silence again. “He was as angry as a riled hornet, screaming how little folk really cared,
And how they’d treated him as if he were a joke, just because he’d struggled with things, even certain things feared.
He mentioned something about how they could’ve at least helped his wife and kids, not punished them because of him.”
And we all glanced at each other again, we wondering what guilt might lie with us, our expressions somewhat grim.
Mum rescued the patties from the oven, she finding her voice, “But hasn't he just worsened things for them, dear.”
“Well, when a pot boils over, it hardly switches itself off, and it can often badly burn whoever is near.”
“Patties, dear.” “Yes, thanks — and in such a case as this, those who boil over can turn on those they view as guilty,
One of his victims being someone else we know — Zackary — but that’s the inevitable reality.”
Dad’s knife parted his pattie, the rest of us merely picking at our food now, though Dad’s fork raising its load,
But before his mouth engulfed such, he paused. “At the end of the day, we just don’t know when someone might explode.”
The load disappeared, Mum finding her voice again. “I hate to think how many more Jimmys there are out there.”
Dad motioned to the gravy which came his way again. “I suspect there’s quite a few, and no surprises here.”
He spooned the gravy. "So many are in need of help one way or another. Wouldn’t mind another pattie.”
“Sure, dear.” Dad rested his fork and Mum fetched the tray. “You know, it surely pays for us to act more thoughtfully,
And by that I mean, we taking a greater interest in those around us, even going without too,
Well, at times, that is — in order to ease another’s lot, and lest ill feelings fester, and things go askew.”
Another family member found her voice. “Yes, many of us don’t do as much as we could, I must say.”
Dad’s fork probed the other pattie. “That’s right, Jean, and there’re far to many excuses at the end of the day.
We oft don’t appreciate how blessed we are, or fail to see our shortcomings, and too conveniently,
Our sad oversight or thoughtlessness encouraging or triggering those loaded guns, inevitably.”
“While such doesn't excuse their dreadful act, it’s often a contributing factor, a fact we can’t ignore,
One fuelled by that growing gap between the rich and poor, the haves and have-nots — which could be eased if folk helped more.
And by that I mean, in any way folk can, be such via their time, skills, contacts, possessions, or their money,
Which, when it’s all boiled down, simply amounts to a love that everyone of us should have for humanity."
“Many tragedies could no doubt have been prevented if folk had responded with the appropriate care,
They taking the time to help such ones, such oft only amounting to being an attentive listening ear.
In other words, just being there for those who’re struggling in some way, but where people can, they doing what they can,
And not waiting to be asked either, but seeking with charitable eyes that the width and breadth of Earth scan.”
We all nodded our heads in agreement and the room fell silent except for the chatter of knives and forks,
Such certainly not the usual subject matter come our family meals and around the table talks.
Mum’s voice finally broke our quiet ponderings. “Such a cost,” she said, “And then there’s his wife and children, oh dear.”
And as she began to clear the table she looked at us all, as mothers do, and there flowed a little tear.
Well...
I’d known Jimmy for years, the family too, but more from a distance, a nod of the head, a wave of the hand,
And he seemed a nice enough guy, I now wishing I’d got to know him better, for such I could understand.
We’d had our struggles too, and well knew that cool air of indifference, something that really rubs when life’s low,
And why some unfortunates who’re seriously struggling, and dealing with goodness knows what, suddenly blow.
By Lance Landall
When Anger Burns
When most get angry over something, their anger is singular — of that moment-cum-current injury,
But when damaged folk get angry over something, their anger is oft plural — past and present injury;
In other words, all that anger that’s been bottled up over time is oft mixed with the current injury,
The previous anger being stirred up by the current ill as if in protest at that further injury.
Hence why when damaged-cum-hurting folk get angry over something, they oft overreact, or blow their top,
They akin to a fermenting bottle of something, or a balloon being filled with too much air, until, pop!
And yes, the fallout can be severe, that pressure within having been there too long, and very deep as well,
And why we should treat folk with care, for who such folk are, or how much pain lies within, we can’t always tell.
In fact, such damaged people need our care and attention before others, for others can wait, but not they,
As such folk have usually been left far too long as it is, and dare we their healing further delay.
For who knows where the hands are on their ticking clock, and what might suddenly happen, be such suicide or
Serious injury coming someone’s way, for those who’ve been mistreated often try to even the score.
Yes…
Too many people avoid such hard to fix cases, which hardly speaks well of them, for how deeply do they care?
Aside from the fact that their indifference amounts to foolishness, for at the consequences they sneer,
Well, effectively, that is — their understanding and compassion stunted, or they too busy-cum-distracted,
Such all adding to the reasons why so many damaged people have very injuriously acted.
Oh, when anger burns…
By Lance Landall
Punching The Punched
“Here we go again,” Peggy muttered crossly, “Another case of child abuse. How such really angers me.”
Her friend glanced at her in a way that had her wondering. “Well, there’s far too much of it, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, I’d agree alright,” Dawn responded, “And such upsets me too, but then it comes as no surprise to me,
For abused children are oft the product of parents who’ve been abused, and why we need to tread carefully.”
“There’re those who would string such parents up, (if they got half a chance), but that would be acting just as terribly,
For abusers who’ve been abused themselves have somewhat been programmed to do the same — enter psychology —
And why they should be treated sensitively too, though I’m not condoning their dreadful actions, believe me,
But at the end of the day, what’s love? Is it something we only show to the loving? — because if that’s so —
It doesn't sound like much of a love to me, and going by that criteria, how much would people show,
For how many are squeaky-clean when it comes to the way they treat others? Well, not too many that I know.
No, they wouldn’t hurt their darling children, perhaps, but oh dear, most aren’t beyond hurting somebody out there,
Including the likes of those poor parents who have been abused themselves, and whom the tragic scars of such bear.”
“So what do we do then,” Peggy questioned, “Do we just let them off?” “Well, I’m hardly suggesting that, Peggy,
But we do need to be looking at more constructive approaches as opposed to punitive ones, surely.
It’s all very well to jump on offenders, but bear in mind that their abused children will no doubt err too,
And thus all we’ll be doing is locking up the lot, they all suffering again — so much for our IQ.”
“It seems to me that we’re either too soft or too harsh, and are unable to do things in a balanced way, sadly,
And too often are simply fixated on certain things, like that “Let’s make prisons tougher” mentality.
For pity help the wrongly accused who ends up in such a harsh jail, given there’s been so many of them,
And why knee-jerk reactions, draconian measures, and insensitivity-cum-ignorance I condemn.”
Peggy found her voice. “I see what you mean, Dawn, we effectively punching the punched.” “Yes, Peggy, exactly.”
By Lance Landall
In Defence Of Men
My, how the world has changed, though some things never change, and hence why I speak in defence of men, and rightly so,
For it’s so easy for men to be wrongly accused, and many haven’t recovered from such a cruel blow.
What am I referring to? Well, a woman only has to cry rape, and some innocent man is in strife,
Be that accusation coming from a treacherous stranger with an agenda, or his very own wife.
And if it isn't rape, it’s some other sexual infringement, including sexual molestation,
But whichever one of these it is, what chance does a man have against such a serious accusation?
Hence why many men can feel uneasy about being alone with some woman, or a child, tragically,
Lest he soon find his life tipped upside down, (and despite him being innocent), such happening so easily.
And unbelievably at a time when the world’s in love with promiscuity, and full of pornography,
Thanks to a sexual revolution where just about anything goes-cum–a certain hypocrisy,
For men are so often teased and led on, hence those blurred demarcation lines, and then there’s the angry girlfriend,
(Or wife), who should she have it in her mind to, could sexually accuse, and some man’s happiness thus end.
Hence why men can also feel uneasy using a public toilet, or being alone with their grandchildren too,
They fearing coming under suspicion, given that there are betrayers who paedophilia pursue,
Yes, those men who make it hard for other men, who, though innocent, are at risk of some wrongful accusation,
An unfair sword that awaits every man’s neck, they meantime taunted by so much sexual stimulation.
Yes, the truth of the matter is, that while a woman’s always at risk of being assaulted sexually,
A man’s at risk of being accused sexually, and also of looking when he shouldn't be, apparently.
And as for the latter, men scratch their head, for when women dress up sexually — in other words, sexy —
Isn’t such in order to attract a man’s gaze? — and indeed it will — so why do women complain? — laughably.
By Lance Landall
