The Secret
Only the moon seemed aware of my presence. I managed to unlock the front door.
I entered. Closed the door behind me. Quickly made my way along a corridor.
I followed the beam of my torch, heading in the direction of a certain room.
Once there, the light from my torch searched a sea of books; the room as silent as a tomb.
I slowly removed a book from its coveted place, laying it on a table,
And there, with the greatest of care, brushed off the grimy dust as best I was able.
Yes, for years it had sat there undisturbed, a veritable treasure trove of prose,
A book containing a certain secret…..What was that!? Was someone coming? I froze.
No, I must have been hearing things — too edgy, I guess. Now, back to that precious book.
I was determined to find that secret within — one that I dared not overlook.
I carefully lifted the cover, my hands trembling with excitement and tension,
For every single page would need to receive my undivided attention.
That noise again! I listened intently, barely daring to breathe, every nerve taut,
Greatly concerned that midst my secretive searching of each chapter I might get caught.
I had waited so long for this opportunity — now was my chance, finally,
And the last thing I wanted was that they return, for no other chance there would be.
No, it was probably just the old ginger tom-cat, and me getting panicky;
Oh, how one’s mind works overtime when engaged in such clandestine activity.
Back to those old worn pages. Yes, each one of them needing my careful scrutiny,
For somewhere that secret was awaiting me, and those pages indeed were many.
Ahh! Just knocked something off the table. A mug. Now my heart was beating perilously.
I waited in deafening silence, breathing laboured, torch off momentarily.
No response….Back to that book, my unsteady fingers turning pages more quickly,
My eyes scanning via the light of my torch; adrenaline pumping furiously.
Halfway through. Still nothing. Ahh! A chiming clock! Now I was feeling a nervous wreck,
My hands clammy, beads of sweat on my forehead, and hairs up on the back of my neck.
I continued searching, my hopes fading as I drew near the last few pages,
And the time it was taking for me to make my way through them seemed like ages.
I glanced at my wrist-watch. I barely had ten minutes left to find what I’d come for,
And to then exit the dwelling, locking behind me the earlier unlocked door.
My fingers turned the last page…..Oh! Rapturous joy! For there it was staring at me,
The secret I’d longed to discover: My aunty’s boysenberry pie recipe.
By Lance Landall
ADD-ONS
Watch Out, Love’s About
Love isn’t just charming, but
also most disarming, as it can catch you by surprise — yes, for round
you it will sneak, and from behind some disguise will peek, and before
you realise, mischievously surprise, or perhaps your attention seek.
Sometimes it may hide behind a little gift, one that your sagging
spirits will lift, or it’ll grab you around your middle and squeeze,
which will invariably please, for it’s the affectionate kind, the kind
that says, “I love you,” and, “Just thought I’d remind.”
Oh, it’s so impishly playful, inexhaustible, but in a delightful way,
for its intentions are pure, and its surprises reassure, as only nice
things they convey.
It simply can’t help itself, can’t be anything but
itself, hence its acts of kindness that bring joy, brighten and buoy,
and its appearances via a stunning rainbow, a home-grown flower show,
or any other means it chooses to employ.
Love cheerily appears in
many forms, an encouraging word, a chirpy little bird, a lap snoozing
pet, a gloriously inspiring sunset, a lingering kiss or hug, a cute
little ladybird bug, a bubbling brook, an enjoyable uplifting book, a
turn on a swing, blossoms in Spring, pleasant moments we share, a
gorgeous big soft teddy bear.
Yes, love seeks to please, and moments will seize, in order to
surprise, delight, enthral, thrill, beguile — be that via a friendly
wave, a little note, an encouraging quote, an unexpected visit, a
helping hand, or a pleasant smile. Or be that via a favourite cake,
cooing sounds that it may make, a warming drink, an approving wink, a
happy tune, a starry night and wide-eyed moon. Or maybe via a welcoming
bark, a cosy stroll in the dark, an amusing sight, a special invite, or
dinner for two by candlelight.
Yes, love simply can’t help itself, can’t be anything but
itself, hence its busy activity, those acts that occur spontaneously,
intentionally, consistently or randomly, and those joyously concealed
(but sometime, somewhere revealed) surprises — and oh, how each one so
aptly characterises love’s amazing creativity and endearing artistry.
So, watch out, love’s about.
By Lance Landall
Top Billing
Well hi there folks, gorgeous
gals and handsome blokes. Welcome to The Sandbar, where everyone’s a
star. Thanks for the wave. What a swell crowd. I’m your host from up
the coast, Benny Pelican, NBC’s anchorman. And assisting me up here,
like a breath of fresh sea air, the delightful Ella Puffin and Cleo
Marlin, who’ve just surfed on in. Give them a big cheer.
Without further ado, and with a round of applause too, let’s greet tonight’s crew.
To my right, bound to excite, a trio just in from Rio — Chet Cougar on
lead guitar! Charlie Cheetah on bass guitar! And Earl Puma on acoustic
guitar!
Moving along, a sextet en route to Hong Kong — Duke Armadillo on the
oboe! Ray Bobcat on the cello! Wes Penguin on the accordion! Louis
Chipmunk on the mandolin! Miles Koala on the harmonica! Dizzy Gorilla
on the viola! And straight from a sell-out gig, the quintessential harpist, Zac
guinea pig!
In the middle, itching to twiddle — Red Fox on the fiddle! Pete
Porcupine on the lute! Bud Bandicoot on the flute! Chick Weasel on the
trumpet! Dick Woodchuck on the cornet! Stan Mole on the clarinet!
Herbie Hare on the recorder! Art Beaver on the synthesizer! Max Gazelle
on the bugle! (Sparking on all fours as usual). And rushed back from
Cuba, Slam Badger on the tuba!
On my left side, once again with pride — Ed Moose on the banjo! Count
Hippo on the piccolo! Oscar Rhino on the piano! (A rhythmic dynamo).
Quincy Gnu on the double bass! (Another fresh face). Fats Rabbit on the
drum-kit! (Always a big hit). Freddie Chimpanzee on the ukulele! (An
evolving celebrity). The zany Loons and Raccoons on the spoons! The
amazing Yaks on the sax! (One of our regular acts). Slinky Joe Lynx on
the vibraphone! Our very own Chad Bear on the trombone! And last but
not least, Mister Smooth himself, organist Jimmy Wildebeest!
Also known to the locals, Nat King Wolf and Frank Coyote on vocals!
Special guest, nothing but the best, Shooby Meerkat, the king of scat!
Along with tonight’s backing singers, Sammy Macaw junior, (a rising
star), Dean Cockatiel, and Billie budgerigar! And dare I forget, from
Phuket, the Aardvark bell ringers!
And by popular vote, and musically famous too please note, our current
conductor Thaddeus Eel, who for the first time tonight, for your
delight, an electric arrangement will reveal!
Take it away, Maestro!
By Lance Landall
Orchestral Overexertion
The
members of the orchestra, (clutching their repertoire), had arranged
themselves on stage, but from what one could gauge, there was a
discordant air — yes, a rather crotchety atmosphere, a distinct lack of
rhythm and harmony, (more a chorus of discontent, just quietly), be it
over something minor or major, (and probably minor, I’d wager), but
nevertheless, as you no doubt could guess, such was starting things off
on a bad note, and thus the chances of an agreeable grand finale rather
remote.
One of the violinists, who was wearing a bow, and quite
in tune from top to toe, seemed to be rather highly strung, and
somewhat operatic, judging by her shrill and busy tongue, and for some
strange reason, was fiddling with her case, seemingly ruffled and
flushed in the face, all of which was bothering the drummer, who seemed
to be looking glummer, and who lest there were repercussions, or
strident discussions, beat a hasty retreat, thus avoiding a clash, or
something rash, which might result in defeat.
Even the ivory haired but clearly ill-prepared pianist seemed keyed up,
judging by her tone, not to mention her flitting back and forth like a
metronome, which only served to treble the tension, and further draw
the maestro’s attention, who felt they weren’t conducting themselves
very well, and their excitableness sought to quell, as he raised his
baton in order to bring order, before their performance went even
further downhill, not to mention, up a decibel.
But before he could rap, (perhaps I should’ve said tap), or even say a
word, another commotion was heard, for the guitarist had tripped over
the kettle drum, and midst rather lyrical but sharp accents, was flat
on his back nursing a fractured thumb, now unable to strum — and to add
insult to injury, (as far as one could see), was receiving a certain
harmonic distortion from the saxophonist, who, due to the guitarist’s
unfortunate forward pitch, had elbowed and winded the trombonist, who
in return, elbowed and blasted the saxophonist, as if to settle the
score, which rather than creating peace, simply created a rift, an
unpleasant drift, an ominous prelude, given the ensuing feud, which
turned into a full-scale war.
Oh dear, what a sight to see, musicians acting anything but
melodiously, a right royal cacophony — yes, each terribly out of tune,
shockingly way off key — in other words, wildly improvising musically,
or should that be vocally?
Soon instruments littered the floor, and even musicians what’s more,
midst a mixture of classic and contemporary sounds and movements, which
certainly left room for improvements, all of which the maestro couldn’t
contain, and in the interests of his health, even wealth, thought it
better not to remain — so, not having a bar of it, (and why should he,
what’s more?), he quickly marched out the door, as fiery fugues,
booming canons, crazy concertos, contemptuous rhapsodies, disparaging
sonatas, audacious overtures, cheeky minuets, and a climatic symphony,
(if you please), began to soar.
Yes, what a commotion, so much pent-up emotion, and needless to say,
given their getting so carried away, there wasn’t any practice done
that day, for by the time they had finished, their energy was
diminished, and their battered instruments weren’t able to play.
Oh, what a tall tale, you might well say, and quite rightly so, at the
end of the day, for it’s simply designed in order to remind: That no
matter how much one’s stressed, it’s all in the way it’s expressed, and
that there are far better ways to unwind.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to harp on.
By Lance Landall
More of the latter can be seen by clicking on the row of buttons positioned near the top and on the right hand side of the poem list page.
Click on the link below for a naughty little poem — no, not that kind of naughty!
Reveal allHide poem...
Joking
I
jokingly asked, “Will you marry me?” and she took it very seriously,
and now we’re wed, which just goes to show, what one should surely
know, that it oft pays to mind what’s said.
I jokingly said,
“Let’s have kids,” and soon there were three extra heads, which meant I
hadn’t learnt, and thus a further lesson earnt, for who likes changing
nappies and making beds?
I jokingly offered to bake, a serious mistake, for she happily said
okay, which gave me less time to laze, and also at the TV gaze,
seemingly destined to learn the hard way.
I jokingly said, “I’ll do the dishes,” which soon saw me fulfilling her
wishes, and thus slaving over pots and pans — yes, a victim of my own
folly, and soon feeling very sorry, for to be honest, I had other plans.
I jokingly said, “I’ll do the washing,” which yet again, had me in
water sloshing, and regretting what I’d said, for I had to peg and iron
too, rather than more fun things do — oh, why didn’t I stay in bed?
Naaa, I’m just joking.
Sorry dear…..ouch!
I said I was just joking!….ouch!!
By Lance Landall
