Poetry With A Mission

...a thought provoking poetical exercise.


Beyond The Pale

We seem to be living in a world where sense is declining fast,
And where acts of sheer folly, (some would say madness), are unsurpassed.
Daily there’s someone doing something that could maim or kill them, and,
Simply doing so in order to be the first on sea or land.

They attempt to beat some speed record, better some endurance feat,
Climb a cliff face without any gear, walk over glass with bare feet.
Or they sail around the world on their own — yes, even youngsters too,
When none of it is necessary, nor sensible to pursue.

So many seem to want to leave their mark, have their moment of fame,
Be it due to ego, feeling unnoticed — and could we be to blame?
Partially, that is, given many are encouraged to do these things,
Or are fired up by being ignored in life, from which even worse springs.

But whatever may do the prompting, the fact still remains the same,
That folk are pointlessly risking life and limb, for some pointless aim.
Hence those deaths we hear of, those terrible results, those missing limbs,
That joy in the lives of risk takers, and their families, snuffs or dims.

And what for? Fame? Some cheap thrill? An experience? Even a dare?
Which makes one wonder: How much do some want to live? Where’s healthy fear?
Such isn’t worth losing limbs over, nor one’s life — yet, there folk go,
And surely guilt falls on applauders, who surely better should know.

Better to applaud those who do something worthy in society,
Those who find cures for diseases, ease suffering and poverty,
Yes, those who’re good role models, and whose contribution is worthy,
Those whose focus is others, and whose life is lived very humbly.

Yes, those who’re doing something constructive, not pointless, nor silly,
Like those Evel Knievels — adrenalin junkies — that just can’t see,
And who thus encourage others to go down that same mindless track,
Many to return terribly injured, or to never come back.

Yes, life’s too precious to risk, and can be gone in a whisk.

By Lance Landall

Those Windflowers

There is something about the mysterious, the unknown, and even the occult, that seems to attract so many,
And hence their fascination with such, their questions and their dabbling — the latter, often very injuriously.
For while questions can have their place, one’s dabbling can be quite another thing, and often is, as many folk have found,
And only to their misfortune, for there're things and forces that are best left alone treated as if forbidden ground.

But just like those signs that say, “Wet Paint,” many can’t seem to help checking in order to see if such is really so,
Only to end up with wet paint on their finger, or where street drugs are concerned, they soon very sorrowfully know.
For just like in that haunting Seals and Crofts song that’s entitled “Windflowers,” they soon get caught and then carried away,
Unable to withdraw themselves from whatever’s beguiling and insidious clutch — so oft the cost when folk play.

That is, with those things that they shouldn’t, or where there is evidence for concern, as there is with the mysterious,
And certainly so when it comes to the occult, for the consequences of dabbling in such can be serious.
And why such shouldn’t be encouraged via the likes of Harry Potter, for who knows where such entertainment may end,
Given that via such, younger ones are enjoying many evils that wisdom and a loving heart cannot defend.

At first it’s simply fun, and then a much deeper interest, and in time, something that has them being carried away,
Yes, another windflower, one that's simply in a different form; and why everything we should carefully weigh.
And why some things are far better left alone, and why one should just concentrate on the trials and duties of the day,
Thus dealing with realities, rather than getting lost in the mysterious, only to get carried away.

By Lance Landall

Here's the lyrics to Windflowers:

Windflowers, my father told me not to go near them, he feared them always,
Said they carried him away.
Windflowers, I couldn't wait to touch them, to smell them, I held them closely.
Now I cannot break away.
Their sweet bouquet disappears like a vapor in the desert. Take a warning, son.
Windflowers, their beauty captures every young dreamer who lingers near them.
Ancient windflowers, I love you.

And here's a link to the song: