Introduction
"Be nice to people on your way up, because you might meet them on your way down."
Alexandre Dumas Pere
TO SAY WE WILL AND FAIL TO DO SO, ACTING DISHONESTLY, BREAKING A PROMISE, EFFECTIVELY,
AND EVEN WORSE, NOT GIVING A REASON WHY, OR MAYBE JUST A POOR EXCUSE, WHICH
UNDERMINES CONFIDENCE, QUITE CLEARLY, IS TO SHOW THAT WE'RE NOT THAT TRUSTWORTHY,
THAT WE DON'T ALWAYS TAKE THINGS SERIOUSLY, AND THAT OUR WORDS CAN BE MISLEADING
AND LOOSE.
IF OUR "YES" IS NOT OUR "YES," AND OUR "NO" IS NOT OUR "NO," WE MIGHT BE CONSIDERED
A LIAR, NOT WORTHY OF HIRE, SLACK IN THE LITTLE THINGS, NOT WORTHY OF BIGGER THINGS,
AND HENCE THAT "GOODBYE" INSTEAD OF "HELLO."
1. Best Give It Serious Thought
If there’s a test of our character, it just has to be the poor and needy;
In other words, how we respond, showing charity or culpability.
We either helping or worsening, ’cause doing nothing equals the latter,
And hence this being why our response here is more than a serious matter.
The truth is, that as we help others, we help ourselves, for what goes ’round comes ’round,
Such acting like an unseen law, and why here, one’s destiny is surely found,
Because if there’s a God, as I believe, such would have to be His litmus test,
And thereby, our response here, resulting in us being either cursed or blessed.
By Lance Landall
2. Wishing, Wishing, Wishing
Have you ever wished for something? I have! A home, but really for my wife’s sake,
We having rented all our life, though the best of those homes having tried to make.
Such not like having your own home, and shift we’ve had to — a bother, I must say,
Unable to put any roots down, and before getting much older and grey.
But it’s not worth wishing one’s life away, better to count one's blessings instead,
A roof above, an adequate pantry, a glowing heater and cosy bed.
One always making the best of things, home cooking, friendships, and strolls in the park,
Not to mention cuddles on the sofa when the sun goes down and things get dark.
By Lance Landall
3. The Tree
It’s a beautiful large tree that has stood for many years,
It’s photographed, it’s admired, it’s worthy of the stares.
It has withstood searing heat, blasts of hail and gale force wind,
It’s a strong tree, a tall tree, a tree that’s very thick-skinned.
It’s the children’s favorite, they can climb it easily,
Its trunk has many branches arranged most supportively.
Its trunk has nooks and crannies that give hands and feet a grip,
But even though that be so, sometimes shirts and pants still rip.
They clamber up its branches, far too high for their own good,
And no doubt a lot higher than their mother said they should.
They treat it as a lookout, they rock branches to and fro,
And midst delight and horror, there’re thumps on the ground below.
It’s the home of nesting birds whose chorus is heard at dawn,
It’s a high-rise nursery crowded with noisy newborn.
It’s a lofty launching pad where baby birds quickly learn
That flying comes naturally, and they only get one turn.
It’s the playground of spry cats, who soon scale its height with ease,
And when they can get the chance, those winged creatures love to seize.
They’re ever on the lookout, and they have the expertise,
Though when they’ve been successful, they still seem to have to tease.
It’s a haven from canines, a feline sanctuary,
It’s a place to laze and perch ’neath the chirping symphony.
It’s a place to sharpen claws and survey the scenery,
Or to shelter from the sun midst the shady greenery.
If this tree could speak like us, there are tales that it could spill,
But trees are not like humans, they’ve no way to kiss and tell.
And therefore, things that it has witnessed, metaphorically,
It is keeping to itself — now, isn’t that gentlemanly.
By Lance Landall
4. The Tragedy Of Desire
Oh yes, the tragedy of desire, which so often thwarts contentment, and
Has us complaining despite many blessings — no, must have that designer brand.
And thus rather than gratefulness being heard, it’s a string of negative sighs,
A destructive, self-centred circle, want hardly being where the answer lies.
A bag a bag, say, and thus pride often having too much say, nose in the air,
A cheaper bag providing money for other things, and leaving more to share.
Yes, desire getting in the way of both contentment and others, sadly,
And all how it becomes a tragedy, dogging the steps of humanity.
By Lance Landall
5 A Wintry Night
Flames lick at the glowing wood thus sending warmth into the room,
Where curtains cover windows thus shutting out the winter’s gloom.
And someone’s sitting in a chair that’s beside an open fire,
They sipping from a steaming mug in their winter night attire.
Icy wind rattles latches and whistles around draughty doors,
Sending its chilly tentacles into darkened corridors.
Hail raps on the window panes and misty showers come and go,
Midst bouts of angry thunder that shakes the house where lights still glow.
Someone has dozed off in their chair, snoring rather noisily,
Draped in a woolly blanket and lost in dreams of life at sea.
The fire’s slowly dying, so soon the temperature will fall,
Thus stirring the old sleepyhead, who, into his bed will crawl.
Kitty is curled up on the floor in a fury little ball,
Catching all the heat she can, 'cause there’ll soon be none at all.
Her backs turned to the fire where now just dying embers glow,
And inside the house she will stay until outside she must go.
An ancient, grey grandfather clock stares out from its lofty view,
Standing guard inside the room, at the ready to chime on cue.
And the hands on the old clock’s face reveal that midnight is near,
And so, as soon as midnight comes, its loud chimes will fill the air.
There are mice in the kitchen nibbling at a large piece of cheese,
While kitty’s soundly sleeping, dreaming of these mice she will tease.
But right now, they are enjoying all the cheese that they can eat,
Though listening most intently for the sound of paws or feet.
And when those midnight chimes ring out, old sleepyhead will awake,
And also little kitty who will stretch and then a walk take.
And sleepyhead will make his way to the old four poster bed,
And shortly, little kitty, no doubt smug and very well fed.
By Lance Landall
6 Questions
Tell me, why do penguins waddle, why do elephants lumber,
And why do bears in winter relax, curl up and slumber?
Why do rabbits have big ears, why do pigs have curly tails,
Why do mockingbirds mimic, why is there a shell on snails?
Why do lizards shed their skin, why do puffins have bright bills,
Why do barn owls hunt at night, why do fish have fins and gills?
Why do moles love eating worms, why do humpback whales sing,
Why do vipers have long fangs, and why do jellyfish sting?
How do hummingbirds hover, why do platypus lay eggs,
Why do centipedes and millipedes have so many tiny legs?
Why is a giraffe’s tongue blue, why do albatross have wide wings,
Why do horses enjoy oats, why do magpies nab bright things?
Why are cicadas noisy, why are turtles very slow,
Why do beavers create dams, why do roosters always crow?
Why is a slug so slimy, why do vampire bats seek blood,
Why do termites build towers, why do hippos love the mud?
How do tadpoles become frogs, why do meerkats stand on guard,
Why are pigeons rather plump, why is rhino skin so hard?
Why do carp fish suck up mud, why do leopards climb up trees,
Why are vultures scavengers, and who put that jump in fleas?
How does a woodpecker drill, how do bees produce honey,
And why do domestic cats pinch places warm and sunny?
Why do panthers like to swim, why do condors fly so high,
And why are gorillas hairy? Please tell me how and why.
By Lance Landall
7 Literary Speaking
Now, when furthering our literary education,
It also pays to improve upon pronunciation,
'Cause such an approach greatly assists articulation,
Which is important when it comes to communication.
At the end of the day, it’s all about motivation,
'Cause one needs to study and apply determination.
One won’t get far by just wishing, or mere contemplation,
But rather, by application and assimilation.
Thus, I hope you’ll follow up on my recommendation,
Which inevitably leads to one’s edification,
But only where there’s preparation and cultivation,
And a genuine thirst for constructive information.
Yes, illumination’s the outcome of revelation,
And it greatly enhances creative inspiration.
It’s a fertilizer that stimulates germination,
A helping hand, that’s strengthened by careful observation.
Yes, there’s nothing like a constructive imagination,
Aided by quality literary stimulation.
For such will soon bring an intelligence escalation,
And produce many a wonderfully penned creation.
Thus, I would suggest that you begin an exploration,
Yes, a passionate literary investigation.
And given time, you may well produce your own publication,
A most likely outcome, not a mere exaggeration.
Yes, fall in love with literature, deep conversation,
Pick up a pen and paper with purpose, dedication.
Lose yourself midst worthy words, and earnest concentration,
And enjoy the buzz of literary intoxication.
By Lance Landall
8 Chuffed With Language
Language is a magic thing, something to appreciate,
Something that can captivate, motivate, and activate.
It’s the content of a speech, chat, song, lecture, debate,
The content of prose, a poem, story, news we circulate.
Yes, language is a really great way to communicate,
Abbreviate, hyphenate, punctuate, accentuate.
Or to negotiate, elaborate, extrapolate,
In fact, verbally speaking, it’s the best way to relate.
Language can also be used very badly, I must state,
To procrastinate, irritate, aggravate, fabricate.
Or to denigrate, nauseate, exasperate, deflate,
Insinuate, retaliate, intimidate, berate.
But all in all, language is something we should celebrate,
And those who use it correctly we should congratulate.
And where possible, its advantages accommodate,
Lest it deteriorate, suffer some terrible fate.
There’re many words that in one’s mind a picture will create,
Like vaccinate, renovate, luxuriate, marinate.
Or like overweight, underweight, featherweight, levitate,
Dislocate, extricate, detonate, hibernate, gyrate.
But wait! There’s more! After all, I’m trying to educate,
In the hope that the joys of language you’ll investigate.
Or that you will at least such seriously contemplate,
For the merits of doing so, I just can’t overstate.
Yes, language is exciting, so I wouldn’t hesitate,
Rather, meditate, let your creative buds germinate.
And shortly, artistic expressions will accumulate,
That your skills will elevate, and your efforts compensate.
By Lance Landall
9 A Little Tip
Don’t come between a cell phone and its owner; seems you’re treading on sacred ground,
'Cause should they be texting, scanning the web, or listening to its tinny sound,
Your interruption, even very presence, could see you deemed an enemy,
And as a result, you stared at, glared at, ignored or admonished severely.
Some say it’s a modern marvel, others nothing but a curse — I one of them —
It oft assaulting mealtimes and conversations, but hey, mind you don’t condemn.
'Cause it appears that it has oft become a part of someone’s anatomy,
And were it removed from them, oh my, how they’d be deprived emotionally.
By Lance Landall
10. A Precious Thing
Too many of us pluck the petals off a rose, hurt and damage those we love,
We seemingly descending like a sharp clawed eagle rather than a cooing dove.
And thus the ground full of petals, even trampled underfoot, squashed, crushed and scuffed,
Flowers that we should’ve gently breathed upon, but over which we huffed and puffed.
Yes, it’s sad but true, blooms shortened by hands far too callous for a pretty rose,
One meant to be savoured, its beauty beheld, its sweet scent delighting the nose.
And when chosen from the garden, it placed in a vase, nurtured until its end,
'Cause every rose is a precious thing, something we should thoughtfully mind and tend.
By Lance Landall
11. Words Are Only Words
I would rather be shown love than just told all about it,
Because an example is of far greater benefit.
And at the end of the day, words are just words, nothing more,
Until, that is, love in person comes walking through the door.
And what colour's love, I wonder? Could it be wounded red,
Terribly blue, even green, or naively pink instead?
Or is it not coloured at all, just our feelings, maybe,
Because shouldn't love be neutral, transparent and stain free?
By Lance Landall
12. Don't Be A Joy Thief
Though we’re living in a world that’s coming to pieces, there’s too much doom and gloom,
And by that I mean, all that’s negative is being given far too much room.
Though needing to face things, we shouldn’t dwell on ills more than is necessary,
Otherwise we’ll rob ourselves and others of any happiness that could be.
Things can be upsetting enough without upsetting ourselves or others more,
And given that life must go on, and that negativity we weren’t born for.
But rather (and more so given the state of things), we dwelling on the brighter,
So that midst any woes or burdens, our lot and that of others might be lighter.
By Lance Landall
13. Good Is Good!
No one’s perfect, without fault, free of getting something wrong, so err we do and will,
And hence why we should be accepting of all, thus only ignoring wrong or ill.
In other words, it’s not the person we shun, nor everything they’ve said, penned or done,
Because everyone has their good side from which good flows spreading blue skies and sun.
Therefore, utilize that good, don’t worry who it’s from, because that would be a shame,
We often placing too much emphasis on someone’s associations or name.
Good is good! So take it, use it, share it, not getting hung up over trifles,
That silly bias or prejudice thing, that rather than cheques, just produces bills.
By Lance Landall
14. I Would Much Rather Err...
Oh yes, I would much rather err on the side of being too soft,
On the side of going easy, midst holding justice aloft.
That’s right, I would much rather err on the side of showing love,
Even where love’s not deserved, taking the higher ground above.
But who could err showing love, kindness, compassion and mercy,
Or err by granting forgiveness, befriending an enemy?
Yes, who could ever err, blunder, by taking the higher ground,
Rolling with the punches, holding back, turning evil around?
Yes, friend, I would much rather err on the side of holding back,
Rather than another person unduly hurt or attack.
Yes, I’d rather not push my point, even win the victory,
If it turned them against me when it wasn’t necessary.
It takes a man to walk away, to die to self, save the day,
It takes a man to hide his pride, let another have their way.
It takes a man to bite his tongue, shoulder insults, turn the cheek,
It takes a man, a man who’s strong, never a man who is weak.
Oh, yes, I would much rather err than be holier than thou,
A Pharisee, a legalist, petty tyrant, and how!
'Cause to be so heavenly minded that I was no earthly good,
Would only be to my shame, so please let me err where I should.
Yes, let me cut others slack, and go easy on those who err,
Given that I err too, even knowingly, and costs incur.
Though there’s a time and place when one should speak up, and stand their ground,
I won't ram my point home, crack a whip, jostle, shove, shout or hound.
No, I would much rather err on the side of being too soft,
On the side of going easy, midst holding justice aloft.
Oh yes, I would much rather err on the side of love and grace,
'Cause who could err in doing so? Unless, wisdom they misplace.
By Lance Landall
15. Sorry Is The Saddest Of Words
Yes, sorry is the saddest of words, wrong having preceded it, or some pain,
And hence that need of it, some picture having been blighted by some thoughtless stain.
And why no matter how sincere that “Sorry,” it can’t erase what has been done,
'Cause surly clouds or acid rain have appeared where there was once blue skies and sun.
All why sorry is the saddest of words, and it oft said too casually,
Given that behind its utterance there’s always another casualty.
Someone who’s been hurt, wronged, betrayed, neglected or slandered, unfortunately,
When such could’ve been avoided, and thus there no need for that frequent, “Sorry.”
By Lance Landall
16. "I'm So Sorry"
As much as we like to hear it, as much we don’t — yes, those words, “I’m so sorry,”
Our dislike of them being because of their need, occurring too frequently
(If you get what I mean) — oh, that too oft repeated scene that shouldn’t be so,
But yes, there they go again, another injury, when better they should know.
Yes, “sorry” is all very well, but when it keeps needing to be said, oh dear,
It can go from being appreciated to something we’d rather not hear,
And I meaning, why another injury? How genuine were they before?
All why that “sorry” sometimes doesn’t mean much, and becomes like a squeaky door.
By Lance Landall
17 Ain't That A Shame
“Don’t feel like treating no one good until they’ve done good to me.” Well, ain’t that a shame,
'Cause such an attitude will get you far — I don’t think — and Mr Nice Guy, you can’t claim.
Best you do some reappraising, give that unfortunate point of view the heave-ho,
'Cause such will dog your steps, ensure that less good comes your way, 'cause we reap what we sow.
And you’ll soon reap a truck load, dumped and deep, 'cause you’re just thinking downright selfishly,
Far too absorbed with a little word that’s far too often used, one that hollers, “Me!”
Well, ain’t that a shame, 'cause who knows where such will get you, and it won’t be very far,
'Cause with a sad attitude like that, chances are, that you’ll just remain where you are.
“Don’t feel like treating no one good.” Man, where did you catch that from? 'Cause that’s one mean bug,
One that needs a bag full of change, an injection of sense, and some might say a slug.
“Gonna wait until they’ve done good to me.” Well, ain’t that a shame, no small tragedy,
'Cause few trains will call at your station, and what’s that sign again? Oh yes, Me! Me! Me!
Yes, little good you’ll do, 'causeor it’s all about others and not pity party “Me,”
And why you won’t see results until you start doing good to them, and willingly.
After all, little comes from little, if anything at all, and ain’t that a shame,
'Cause given your flawed thinking, nought or little will come your way, and you’ll be to blame.
By Lance Landall
18. When Just Enough Must Do
Not everyone will tell you everything, some things being too personal to share,
So mind those questions, show a little understanding, and long with others bear.
For life is oft about easing, not solving, nor learning all there is to know,
Another’s woe sufficient reason for kindness, that “Yes” rather than that “No.”
Best we err on the side of believing, some things not easily understood,
And why there’s often only so much said — though much more, folk wishing that they could.
All why some answers may seem muddled, further probing aiding and abetting,
And hence why that help that so many sufferers need, they’re not fully getting.
By Lance Landall
19. Boils
Did I upset you? — Oh dear, and even more than once — Well, I’m truly sorry,
But we do have our bad days, and hence those unfortunate words that came from me.
Sometimes we say the stupidest of things, act in the poorest of ways, sadly,
Not that we mean to, but things build up due to this or that, unfortunately.
Sometimes we’re like a boil that needs pricking, and something comes along that does so,
Not that it’s always someone’s fault, as such, but nevertheless, we up and blow.
And out comes all that poison, and it needing to, ’cause such pus is unhealthy,
But it such a shame when it splatters others, has them responding as wrongly.
So please, mind how you react when someone’s boil is pricked (hopefully not by you),
Because such boils aren’t all that uncommon — which maybe you, friend, can relate to.
And after those boils have burst, we, if it’s us, most regretful, really sorry,
And hoping it will be dismissed for what it is, just a boil, momentary.
By Lance Landall
20. What's Up With Us?
Most of us know right from wrong, at least to a certain degree,
We’re intelligent enough, we can figure things out, can’t we?
Yet look at how we’re acting, it just doesn’t make sense at all;
In fact, some of our behaviour is completely off-the-wall.
People don’t want to be ill, yet they take what they know's harmful,
Shortening their life, harming their health, via their skin or mouthful.
Whether they eat, drink, snort, or inject it, they keep on doing so,
And then wonder why they’re so ill, or lacking get-up-and-go.
People don’t want to die young, yet they indulge in high risk things,
Things that often take their life, or incapacitation brings.
Some just do it for the money — as if a life is worth that —
Or simply for excitement, or who’s a clever copycat?
Women don’t want to be seen as objects, yet is such surprising,
Given how many dress sexy (and the percentage is rising)?
They display what stimulates and stirs men (some beyond control),
'Cause such is most men's weakness, it’s explosive, and hence the toll.
People don’t want to be duped, yet they don’t do thorough research,
They don’t study for themselves, hence why down some wrong path they lurch.
They’re so easily conned, led astray, or ripped off, as they say,
And so much so, that for charlatans, such is just like child’s play.
Yes, it's odd how most don't want a violent society,
Yet produce or watch violence, share aggressive activity.
They do so via some sports, computer games, TV or movies,
Much laced with the sexual, a cocktail that trouble guarantees.
Yes, people drink and drive, teach kids how to shoot guns, peruse porn,
They show very little sense, don’t apply logic, and wisdom scorn.
Though most know far better, what is better, they choose not to do,
Hence my title — What’s Up With Us? — and where’s it all leading to?
By Lance Landall
