The Poem

Poetry With A Mission

'Poetry With A Mission' is purpose based poetry,
Poetry that cares about our planet, humanity.
Love — using poetry as a vehicle — to express
Its concern over many things we need to face, address.

Yes, poetry that is wanting the best for you and I,
Which is why it’s concerned over things that are going awry.
And why it’s attempting to play a part, via rhythmic rhyme,
As changes are needed — we’ve rivers to cross, mountains to climb.

Hence its thought provoking content, that hopefully you’ll dwell on,
Lest silence or inaction see the likes of liberty gone.
And freedom too — for both will go — if they’re not protected,
And also, if subtle erosions go undetected.

Our choices, individually or collectively,
Determine not only ours, but this planet’s destiny,
Whether crime will rise, wars continue, strife, or poverty,
And whether good or evil will triumph, ultimately.

There’s no question that this world’s in a mess — heading downhill,
In fact, there are those who consider it terminally ill.
But whether that’s so or not, it’s clearly in a bad way,
Hence things we need to face, address — not tomorrow, but today.

Sometimes we need to be shaken out of our apathy,
Or we’ve our head in the sand, or believe something falsely,
Or we’re biased, prejudiced, somewhat programmed, wrongly fed,
Or simply don’t do or say anything because we’re scared.

Yes, fear’s understandable, sometimes — but it won’t get us far,
Unless we want to be controlled, for those who let fear win, are.
Life without freedom and liberty, is just existing,
It’s kowtowing, capitulating, tyrants assisting.

Today, and more than ever, we need those who’re not for sale,
Those who can’t be bought or sold, who’ll see right, not wrong, prevail.
Those who call a spade a spade, and remain honest and true,
Those prepared to make a stand, despite what they might go through.

Sometimes, straight things need to be said, need to be heard, or read,
And more so, where folk only want to hear nice things instead.
Reality should be faced, lest some danger overtake,
Which it will, if we’re falsely lulled, have a closed mind, aren’t awake.

We may not like what others say, but we shouldn’t stop them,
And all attempts to halt freedom of expression condemn.
It’s only via such freedom, that truth can ever be found,
Hence why those with something to fear, want truth gone, tightly bound.

There are medicines we hate, yet need, in order to get well,
Which only fools would refuse, and whom we would soon farewell.
Yes, “No pain, no gain,” is true — thus, medicine we should take,
Be it via tablets, or admonition — lest we suffer, ache.

Thus, with the greatest of respect, and via poetic tradition,
I humbly present my website — 'Poetry With A Mission.'
But please be aware — that invariably — it will reveal
An open, inquiring mind, or a closed one, an Achilles heel.

May this website enlighten, and thereby, many lives brighten.

By Lance Landall

I'm No Hero

When I was a youngster, I lived in a world of my own,
Playing on a river bank, for hours on end, and alone.
And there, I lived adventures, acting out things read and seen,
Creeping through bushes and trees, with ears and eyes, sharp and keen.

Yes, I was a cowboy — a sheriff — Colt 45 in hand,
Or nose down in its holster; just a toy, you understand.
I was on the lookout for any with evil intent;
A crack shot, upholding law and order, hot on the scent.

With growing stealth, I patrolled my bushy territory,
As a defender of right, facing dangers, fearlessly.
Yes, there beside the river, locked in childish fantasies,
I battled forces of evil, with daring, skill, and ease.

Well, friend, time has moved on, and I’m no hero, believe me,
And I’m a hater of guns — I’ve met with reality.
Yes, it’s just a pen I wield now, still doing what I can,
For defending what is right, is what truly makes a man.

Now, I’m the same as anyone, and could fail, ultimately,
But meantime, while I’m able, I’ll make a stand, openly.
That is, I won’t be silent, I’ll use my voice, or my pen,
To warn of foolishness, danger, those evil schemes of men.

Or to enlighten, for wisdom’s getting lost, being rejected,
And therefore, ignorance is rampant, as would be expected.
And trouble’s hot on its heels, along with heartache and pain,
Which, I and others, are trying to halt, reverse, contain.

Yes, just like others, I’m doing what I can, while I can,
Acting unselfishly, showing thought for my fellowman.
To not speak out, when I can, would be far more cowardly
Than failing in the future, due to greater threats, should such be.

But, I hope and pray I won’t fail, when push comes to shove, and,
That in the meantime, wherever needed, I’ll make a stand.
For silence, where silence shouldn’t be, is cowardice, and,
Such won’t build muscles, that later on, give one strength to stand.

Yes, times have changed since I was a boy, (playing on that bank),
And behaviour and attitudes have too, to be quite frank.
Most appear caught up in a shameful self-preservation,
That once, friend, would have received the strongest condemnation.

Thus, due to selfishness, peer pressure, indifference, or fear,
There are fewer voices speaking out, less folk that seem to care.
And should those voices become even fewer, where will things end,
And who of us will share the blame? So, please think it through, dear friend.

As I said, I’m no hero, I’m just a man — made of clay,
But having said that, friend, what is a hero anyway?
Could heroes simply be those who are doing what they can,
On behalf of, and out of deep love for, their fellowman?

In other words, an everyday person, with a good heart,
One who is making a stand, speaking out, playing their part.
Yes, not remaining silent, despite the deep frowns of men,
And doing so, midst their own struggles, via their voice or pen.

May strength prevail, weakness not assail, and raised voices never fail.

By Lance Landall

I Can't Talk?

Yes, I’m no better than you, mess up too, even get scared, you know,
Don’t want to be disliked, struggle with things, and I often ebb and flow.
And I too, can put my big foot in it, act rather wrongfully,
All of which concerns me, given what I’m expressing via poetry.

However, not just I, but all, have a duty to express things
That from a healthy inner realization, and disquiet, duly springs.
For should those things not be mentioned, even more remiss one would be,
Aiding and abetting, via silence, wrongs within society.

We can’t wait until we’re perfect examples to speak, obviously,
For such we’ll never be, (though we should try to be, naturally).
Thus, we’ve got to speak out now, do what we can, despite all our flaws,
Lest, in the meantime, things get far worse, and we’re faced with closing doors.

Hence why I’m doing what I can, while I can, midst my own mistakes,
And despite any affliction, that my little world rattles and shakes.
For how could I not do so, given what could happen to you and I,
And given that this planet we’re on, is sadly going awry?

I can’t talk? No, but I must — and so must you.

By Lance Landall