Stop Eating Us!
I would like you to imagine that all the creatures on this
earth
Had gathered at a meeting and were protesting for all they’re worth.
And that with their banners held high, were hollering their discontent,
Which I duly recorded, and here — with much sympathy — present.
-------------------------------------
“It’s high time that humans were put on trial for crimes
against our kind,
For they've a history of butchery and callousness, I remind.
The proof? Just look at their shop shelves, in their fridges and
freezers too,
For they’re bulging with body parts that they boil, roast and barbeque.”
“Yes, that’s your brothers and sisters, and your mums and dads, don’t
forget,
With the exception of course of those ones that they take as their pet,
For on the one hand they pamper and take us to a pet boutique,
And on the other, they slaughter us, and then gorge on us all week.”
“They also fatten us with food that many of their own
kind need,
And then when we are looking healthy, they slay us — betrayal indeed!
What gets to us is, they have their own food —
veggies, grains, nuts and fruit,
So why polish us
off? After all, they do have a substitute.”
“But oh no — it’s us that they want, for they’ve a taste for flesh and
blood,
Hence why we're destined for a bullet, and a quick violent club.
Or death by whatever other means they very cruelly enlist,
Like a nasty slash across the throat, or a sudden wrenching twist.”
“And then they talk about love with our bodies sitting on their plate,
And groan over all the violence — yet, over us salivate.
They deplore wanton killing, and yet, stab us with their knife and fork,
And the very next day, with a loaded gun, more poor creatures stalk.”
“Yes, they cut us into pieces, treating us as if we’re just
meat,
When we're living creatures also, and not food for humans to eat.
They’ve perverted their taste buds, and have justified killing as well,
All in order to devour us — when with them too — we’re meant to dwell.”
By Lance Landall
The Sheep Truck
Whilst sitting in our car waiting for my wife, I saw a truck
go past full of sheep — a sight that disturbed me,
For there the poor things were, the day hot, they no doubt crammed
together for ages, and scared — abject misery.
And to add to that sad picture, they unaware that they would soon be
slaughtered — though sensing some
ill, probably,
And all this because of us, and when there’s no need for such cruelty,
such predatory barbarity.
It’s strange how we view animals so differently, even though they’re
living, breathing, and feeling creatures too,
In other words, pretty much just like us, as opposed to nuts, grains,
fruit and veggies — yes, sounds silly but its true.
Thus, despite them having a face, a body, and even a personality, we
kill them quite happily,
And chomp on their charred body parts — they once alive and running
about — which sounds so Jekyll and Hyde to me.
Yes, love some, kill some — and there the poor things were, all jammed
in the back of some truck, their eyes staring out at me,
And I knowing where they were heading, a few hours of their life left,
and they powerless — trapped, actually.
Yes, no last moments of affection, but rather, a sea of motorists
behaving indifferently,
Who, once back at home, and over time, would devour truck load after
truck load — their stomachs a cemetery.
And what’s it all doing to us? — more so, those of us who eat these
creatures, and feel no concern, no pangs of guilt,
Despite the suffering that these creatures go through, and often right
from birth until their innocent blood’s spilt.
After all, we’re not dealing with things,
but creatures,
creatures that we raise to kill, and tell our children to eat,
Which all our talk about non-violence, peace, love, care, compassion
and kindness, must surely somehow defeat.
Yes, the sheep truck, a tragic sight indeed, full of living, breathing
creatures who’ve as much right to life as we,
A right that’s denied them, and all because of our lust for meat, food
we’re told we need — a lie, actually.
One that’s perpetrated by those who’ve a vested interest, and one that
is swallowed all to readily,
Which is why those sheep trucks keep on delivering their prisoners to
those death camps blighting many a country…
And
once they’re there, they’re slaughtered while flushed with stress and
fear, which the injurious results, flesh eaters soon bear.
By Lance Landall
Bizarre And Confused
Tell me, how can love on the one hand pet, and on the other
hand maim and kill, talk of better ways and yet,
Create fear-cum-culpability share, for those who don’t do the killing
still eat
those creatures, don’t forget.
Yes, on the one hand pamper, and on the other happily devour — such
surely being bizarre and confused,
And we wondering why not just creatures but humans too, are lightly
regarded, tortured, killed and abused —
For where’s the line? — and I guess that’s why this world has seen more
than one Hitler, given we pamper or swallow,
Spare or kill — both man and beast — thereby making all that hollering
about love and peace ring very hollow.
In other words, those calls for an end to violence, (some folk even
against smacking) — but kill a creature?
Well, seems that such is fine, which surely makes a mockery of those
reprimands coming from any preacher.
Yes, it’s clear that the slaughter of creatures hardens the heart — the
eating of them proving
so — for how could
we,
That is, dine on a living creature that once lived and breathed like
us, without losing some sensitivity?
It seems we’ve perfected the art of making the abnormal seem normal,
and the incorrect seem correct,
All of which when it comes to life, is no doubt why both man and beast
are given so little thought and respect.
And why we have human predators, and why so many of us have had cause
for anxiety and fear,
Emotions that no human at the sight of another should have reason to
feel — but oh, how some folk scare.
And why most creatures fear man, and yet others not so, some being
pampered and cherished, mourned when they pass away,
And others being caged, experimented on, or stalked — which surely some
kind of double standard must convey.
Were there no alternative
food, and no access to such, the killing of a creature could be
justified,
But hardly where the opposite
is so, given life is life, and not just there to see one’s desires
satisfied.
And that is the criminality of it all, for taking a creature’s life for
appetite rather than need
Must surely rank among the most callous of acts, and therefore, only to
negative consequences lead.
Meantime, farming is the most unproductive usage of land — and the good food they’re
fed, a terrible waste;
Let alone the medical and scientific evidence conveying why flesh food
shouldn’t be embraced.
Hence why many avoid such, not fooled by the propaganda coming from
those with a vested interest,
Nor that advice coming from the well-meaning, who at the end of the
day, and in this
case, don’t
know what’s best!
Well, it’s your choice — but as for me, I’m a vegetarian, as petting
and devouring doesn’t gel with me,
For such is akin to betrayal, and I don’t wish to align myself with a
predatory act, quite frankly.
At the end of the day, we’re either looking for better ways or not,
improving things or worsening things,
And hey, we’re hardly pursuing a better path by eating anything that
has paws, hoofs, fins, scales or wings.
By Lance Landall
What A Fish Would Say
They say that we have no feelings, that we’re just fish — a
thing,
Thus, in our direction, a nasty hook and line they swing.
When we chomp on it, they yank it hard, drag us through the sea,
While we thrash about fighting for our lives desperately.
When we’re landed, they tear that hook out, leave us lying
there,
Hence we suffer further, gasping, convulsing, going nowhere.
Or they club us, and later on gut us, unfeelingly,
And they call this sport — a way to unwind, amazingly.
The bigger we are, the more excited they get, ghoulishly,
Dragging us for hours ’till we’re exhausted, at their mercy.
Then they string us up, parade us egotistically,
And they call this sport — well, we
don’t, we call it misery.
Yes, don’t let them kid you that we don’t feel a thing — we do!
For we’re living creatures, we’ve nerves, even flesh and blood too.
Hence why we thrash about when hooked, jerked, dragged through the sea,
And they call this sport — well, we
don’t — no — we call it cruelty.
By Lance Landall
Animal Cruelty — And Who's Guilty?
We wonder why so many are cruel to creatures, (and often
younger folk) — and yet, we eat
creatures, don’t we?
That is, after we’ve often kept them in squalid and confined
conditions, treated them abominably.
Yes, after we’ve kept them permanently lactating, hacked them to
pieces, and displayed their parts, (grossly),
Thus allowing folk to choose which organ or limb they’ll take back home
to roast, boil or fry — and so gleefully.
And then there is vivisection, all in the so-called name of what? —
whereby creatures are treated shockingly,
That is, experimented on, tortured, and even though the evidence shouts
we’re doing so pointlessly.
Yet, day after day, such evil is perpetuated, after having been
sanctioned, unbelievably,
And then we have the cheek, (do we not?), to rage about animal cruelty
— now, isn’t that hypocrisy?
Doesn’t such send a terribly confused message? — one which I’m sure the
younger set are very quick to spot,
Yes, “Don’t you dare
treat a creature like that!” — and here we are, tossing their body
parts into some pan or pot.
And then there are those who take their youngster hunting, or who teach
their youngster how to hook, club and gut a fish;
And midst their conversations about the growing violence, some
creature's organ is oozing on their dish.
Well, I don’t know about you, friend, but there’s something about this
whole scene that seems terribly askew to me,
For on the one hand we’re condemning
cruelty, and on the other hand are happily engaged in cruelty.
And, I have to say, all of it unnecessary, (despite the propaganda
pushed so vigorously),
And all of which must surely make a mockery of our words, and why
cruelty we’ll continue to see.
By Lance Landall
Stumped
No matter how hard I try, there is something that I just can’t
get my head around, given the irony,
And that is, how those who take care of creatures in some way, can also
chop, fry and eat them quite happily.
Yes, on the one hand saving, sheltering, and taking care of them, and
on the other, acting contrary,
Which every single code of decency appears to violate, or at least
that’s the way it seems to me.
For isn’t such hypocrisy, betrayal, a kind of schizophrenic behaviour —
loving them, killing them,
And as I understand it, (if I’ve got things right), the kind of
behaviour that we’re very quick to condemn?
For after all, don’t we abhor those who love their own, and yet quite
willingly kill others cold-bloodedly?
And don’t we all desire to live in peace, free from all the warring and
violence that plagues humanity?
And yet, after the slaughter houses and butchers have done their worst,
out comes the flesh eater’s sharp knife and fork,
And there, right in front of their darling pets, they dissect and
devour their fish, chicken, duck, lamb, beef or pork.
And as they fill their mouths with some charred creature — “No dear!” —
they holler at their child who is tugging Fido’s ears,
Which somehow just rings hollow, for that creature they’re chomping,
didn’t just get its ears tugged — and who shed tears?
No, I just can’t figure this one out, for I can’t equate killing with
love — that is, one’s our pet, one’s our food,
Or to put it another way, how folk can happily see one pampered, and
then happily see one stewed.
And hence why I shake my head whenever I spot folk chewing on some part
of a creature’s anatomy,
For I have arms and legs myself — and a heart — yes, one that refuses
to act so contradictorily.
By Lance Landall
You may also wish
to read these other poems of mine that cover much the same
territory:
"Something Just
Doesn't Gel"
"What's Good For
The Goose..."
"Appealing To
Logic"
"As Close As It
Gets"
"Toxic Adrenaline"
"Meat? No Thanks"
"Addicted?"
"Vivisection"
"The Puppy"
"It's Weaning
Time"
"A Sad Tradition"
"Poles Apart"
"Heartless Confinement"
"Wrong Is Wrong, Period"
Follow the colour
code throughout the secular poem list, and don't forget the
poem below that's about vivisection.
Beyond Belief
Behind many closed doors
there’s an animal
hell, where vivisectionists carry out their outrageous ill — in other
words, where they coldly torture, wickedly inflict pain, where they
willingly and deliberately act inhumane, where helpless innocent
victims they permanently detain, where integrity and human decency they
daily profane, or to put it another way, and the facts more clearly
convey, where the equivalent of Nazi death camp activities reign, each
vivisectionist acting like another Saddam Hussein, and all in vain.
Yes,
let’s not kid ourselves, nor turn a blind eye, and ignorantly, “It’s in
out best interests” cry, for it’s not, (that’s rot), we’ve simply been
spun a lie, one that only benefits those with a vested interest, who
want us to think that vivisection is for the best, and who as a
consequence, though it doesn’t make any sense, all manner of horrid
concoctions on animals test, (and years of unhealthy energy, and
shameful amounts of money, grossly invest), despite the protests of
doctors of note, who hours of opposition to such devote, and evidence
of its harm to humanity, and its pointless and heartless insanity,
often quote.
Yes, behind many closed doors there’s an animal hell,
a concentration camp, an Auschwitz, with many a miserable cell, and
many a cruel Josef Mengele, (their torturous equipment
state-of-the-art) — yes, contemporary torturers refining their art,
seared in the mind and cold in the heart, and who effectively act like
a Jekyll and Hyde, who behind some so-called noble pretext hide, and
who even if sincerely deluded, with forces of evil have colluded, and
thereby, stand just as guilty too, for no one such brutality should
pursue, and surely if they’re sound, such would not do.
Oh,
how those animals must suffer, so atrociously treated, and on death
row, each day a hellish existence, deprived of affection and
assistance, and no escape from their foe, who just turns a deaf ear to
their cries, and their misery callously multiplies, injecting them with
this or that, and in order to operate, pinning them flat, until after
constant experimentation, (another word for sadistic mutilation), they
slump in their tiny cell, scared witless, shaking, chronically ill, and
in the same cage that they began their life, (so full of misery and
strife), slowly and painfully die, and why “Foul!” every single human
should cry.
Yes, vivisectionists have no good reason, no
justification, no defence — it’s cruelty beyond belief, terribly
sadistic, a horrific and widespread offence, and how they can do it,
completely escapes me, for it’s nothing more than outright perversity,
something that brings shame on humanity, and why all should condemn its
practice vehemently.
Do I hear your voice?
By
Lance Landall
"There
is no way in the world to extrapolate animals to human circumstance.
Animal research is cruel to the animal, dangerous to the public and
misleading to the scientist."
Dr
G. Dettman
