Poetry With A Mission

...a thought provoking poetical exercise.


Bottled By A Bottle

(Do you like it straight?)

They’ve been bottled by a bottle, are often seen plastered, smashed, sloshed — not tipsy,
But hopelessly intoxicated, drunk, blotto — having boozed themselves silly.
And apparently proud of their stupidity; pub crawling repeatedly,
Throwing up on the street, abusing passersby — or later, wife and family.

Yes, bottled by a bottle, a liquid that ravages, shatters, befuddles,
A substance that has them uttering profanities, leaving smelly puddles.
A drug that strips them of dignity, and has them acting abominably,
A brew that has women degrading themselves, and men acting far from manly.

Once imbibed, it beclouds their judgment, hence how they end up acting like they do,
And how they become addicted, hooked, soon craving this unnecessary brew.
And to make matters worse, some drive under the influence — would be assassins,
Who also rob others of hospital beds, needed healthcare and medicines.

Yes, bottled by a bottle, which effectively ends up bottling others too,
They being, those on the receiving end of the carouser’s duplicitous brew.
One that’s often a lethal cocktail, a health robbing mind-bending combination,
A bubbling cauldron, one warranting a skull and crossbones classification.

Seems many can’t do without their beloved booze; even its health properties tout,
Whilst conveniently leaving its bad properties and negative side out.
“It’s fine in moderation,” the deceived say, but how many drink moderately,
And what’s their idea of moderate, given that one drink alone acts destructively?

Personally, I wouldn’t touch the stuff, nor let others somehow pressure me,
For one’s grey matter is far too precious to be pickled so injuriously.
But who needs it anyway, given there’re other drinks, and healthier drinks around,
And given that far more constructive ways of enjoying oneself can be found?

Be it beer, wine or spirits, they all leave one worse off, harmed — and others too,
For alcohol’s presence affects the innocent — criminally so, in my view.
Thus, I wouldn’t encourage any kids to drink, (youth often upping the throttle),
Lest they, or someone else in their befuddled way, gets bottled by a bottle.

Yes, its time folk got over their love affair with the bottle.

By Lance Landall

"No amount of alcohol is safe."
World Health Organization

According to the Cancer Council (Australia), alcohol is a major carcinogen and there is therefore no safe level of consumption; such causing cancer of the mouth, pharynx, larynx, oesophagus, liver, bowel and breast.

It's very interesting (and telling) how most are very quick to defend the drinking of alcohol, but when they’re accused of some sexual indiscretion, say, they’re also very quick to somewhat excuse themselves by blaming it all on being under the influence.

2.  Booze Blues


I could drink beer, but I’m just not interested, because too much is made of it,
And alcohol being a drug, and hence why with a healthy lifestyle it doesn’t fit.
Beer hardly a man’s drink, unless he’s a fool, of course, because it affects the brain,
Impairs ones judgment, puts one at risk, and why by taking it I’ve nothing to gain.

Surely you’ve seen those hangovers, that puke splattering streets, and that licentious hand,
The latter as out of order as that angry tirade, those sad things that weren’t planned.
Because alcohol takes control, befuddles, fools, degrades and sets one up, and how,
Hence that shame, that court appearance, because where some don’t grope they raise their fist and, Pow!

And who needs the stuff, it naught but an adulterated substance, kick in the head,
A mental and physical threat, and why many end up in a hospital bed.
Or those folk that they injure while under the influence, such hardly manly stuff,
And why its those who refrain from guzzling its cruel contents that really show who’s tough.


Drinking no more sophisticated than that fag in the mouth, lungs getting blacker,
And beer rotting the liver, triggering cancer, much like an internal hacker.
The evidence documented and clear, but folk still wanting their beer, toxic brew,
But not me, because even in moderation it causes things to go askew.

Hence those leer-y, bleary, red eyed looks, that unstable gait and slurred speech, drug-like state,
Which so oft wrecks marriages and families, causes mayhem or seals someone’s fate.
So, be it beer or wine, it’s all the same to me, not a friend but an enemy,
And why I’ve no time for that health robbing, people destroying pub or brewery.

By Lance Landall

"He who drinks a little too much, drinks much too much."


3.  Alcohol? No Thanks

“Here, grab yourself a beer, matey, because you've just become a man,
And join in with the others too,” which is how trouble first began,
Because as the weeks grew into months, and the months grew into years,
The alcohol that he consumed, left behind a trail of tears.


Trouble in a bottle that particularly affects the brain,
And which one's sense of what's right and wrong it can very quickly drain.
Just one glass affecting one’s judgment (documented research shows),
For once it's made its entry, it's straight off to the brain that it goes.

Thus, impairing our judgment via such, can only but invite ill,
And hence why it's best to leave it alone, exercising the will,
'Cause it also destroys brain cells, that tragically, aren’t replaced,
And other damage as well, to alcoholic drinks can be traced.

Little is left unscathed by this harmful, intoxicating brew,
That sees so many people doing sad things that they later rue.
And the truth is, its just not needed, and better off all would be
If we removed this danger, and instead, practiced sobriety.

Alcohol just triggers accidents, and tears families apart,
Or generates arguments, and hence why fighting will often start.
It’s responsible for crime, it badly maims, oft takes out lives.
Fills up hospital beds, and it often splits up husbands and wives.

Alcohol also degrades, hence that poor behaviour that we see
That is arrogant and rude, and so immoral sexually.
Yes, it has many doing things that they wouldn’t normally do,
And is it any wonder, for alcohol's a befuddling brew.

Yes, it flooding the brain when taken, where it rapidly impairs
One’s vision, one's speech and hearing, until tipsy one soon appears.
It also impairs balance, co-ordination and reflexes,
Hence why folk oft say, “Only a fool, drinking and driving mixes.”

And it hinders the white blood cells in their battle against disease,
Causes Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, and sexually won't please.
And the risk of certain cancers is greatly heightened by this brew,
Which also lowers melatonin, and thus enter depression too.

It weakens the immune system and leads to damaged DNA,
And also to mental problems, and addiction, along the way.
It can cause gastric ulcers and cirrhosis of the liver,
And also seizures; and swelling, which inflammation will deliver.

I've only mentioned a few of the many facts that one could share
Regarding the risks involved in one downing spirits, wine, or beer.
Nearly every major organ is affected adversely,
So, “Don’t grab yourself a beer, mate,” for that is acting foolishly.

Yes, true manhood displays wisdom, it saying “No” to harmful things.
And is guided by what’s best, as foolishness only trouble brings.
Yes, true manhood takes the highroad, though unpopular it may be,
And stands firm amongst any crowd that's seeking uniformity.

If something is bad for us, even a little will do us harm,
So with these facts that I’ve mentioned here, let us therefore ourselves arm.
Alcohol just isn’t needed, it’s simply what some folk desire,
A drink that has a taste that one is better not to acquire.

By Lance Landall

This older poem was upgraded 9 December 2017.

4.  Mind-blowing

Your brain is you, wreck it and you’re done, or seriously nobbled, a burden,
Other folk having to attend to you, and it costly, perhaps a coffin.
You draining and hindering medical facilities, and taking up beds,
And it all unnecessary, thoughtless, because drugs simply mess with heads.

Yes, the evidence clear and overwhelming, and the brain extremely fragile,
But drug takers determined regardless, addicted, or simply in denial.
And hence their smack, candy, magic mushrooms, bennies, wacky backy or benzene,
Slang for cocaine, marijuana, opiates, hallucinogens, inhalants,

Oh, the craziness of it, self-destruction drip-fed, “Take this!”, society,
Because it sure wrecks havoc, and oh, how those callous suppliers make money.
And who knows who’s on something, and that’s a very scary thing, a loaded gun,
And why anybody with so much as a lick of sense such poison will shun.

By Lance Landall

5.  When Silence Descends

(Dedicated to the hearing impaired)

This world’s full of many who have suffered at its hands, and amongst them, those whose hearing has suffered injury,
And thus they not able to enjoy anymore what most take for granted, and even put at risk, foolishly.
Oh, how hard such is to deal with, life seemingly shutting them out, for so much is experienced via one's ears,
And then there’s tinnitus — twenty four seven — noises that can rob of peace and sleep, drive one crazy, bring to tears.

Oh yes, the noises often worse than the hearing loss, constant and loud, like hundreds of cicadas in a tree,
Or like a jug on the boil, a flushing urinal, a leaking air hose — permanent tension —no break, no mercy.
On one hand, the inability to hear what one used to, and on the other, an insane cacophony,
Sirens, hisses, bells, hums, even what sounds like an unintelligible radio station — yes, misery.

Hence why many become like hermits, withdrawing from society, they irritable, angry, tired and stressed,
And often feeling unable to cope, and adding to such, others’ seeming lack of thought-cum-disinterest.
Yes, it’s the same old story: Until folk suffer from such too, they don’t show the thought they should, even get annoyed,
Fed up with that — “Sorry, what was that again?” — when a little more volume or clarity they could’ve employed.

Then there’s Hyperacusis, hearing damage that leaves one hypersensitive to noises, let alone one's loss,
For oddly, both can go together, and tinnitus with them, hence those folk who’re carrying such a dreadful cross.
Yes, they struggling to cope, and even depressed — people who shouldn’t be subjected to insensitivity,
For hearing loss can be a heavy burden, a serious loss, it affecting one's life considerably.

And as for hearing aids, they’re hardly like one's natural hearing, only go so far, and have their issues too,
Though in many cases they’re a blessing, but a mixed one — and who can afford such, pursue such an avenue?
And no, they don’t work for all, especially those who’ve as good as no hearing at all, and need a miracle,
For all they know is silence — complete silence — they seemingly in solitary confinement, tragically.

So please, mind how you go.

By Lance Landall

6.  Why Am I So Cranky?

Well, I dare say you would be too, if you lived with noise twenty-four-seven, and dreadfully so,
Yes, a maddening cacophony within your ears-cum-head that cruelly refuses to go.
A din that grows when it’s exposed to more noisy situations, or some sudden loudish sound,
And that an already tense, tiring, distressing and depressing affliction is sure to compound.

And that affliction? Tinnitus! Something that many would refer to as hellish, a nightmare,
Such worse when things are quiet, such worse when exposed to noises — a racket-cum-commotion in each ear.
Oh, the misery, and why it can drive folk crazy — and sometimes, I’m sure quite literally,
And hence why I’m so cranky, for there’s nothing that I can do, which just raises the anxiety.

So please, I really would like your understanding — some leeway here — your overlooking some things,
For every day within my ears-cum-head there are hums, hisses, bells, sirens, cicadas and rings.
In fact, an orchestra, but not as commonly heard, for there’s no melody, no harmony,
But rather, a bedlam of sound, a heavy metal band on steroids torturing evilly.

Yes, a heartless enemy, and there, every single moment of every single night and day,
Such being like a punishment for some unimaginable crime — so there, imprisoned I stay.
Yes, a shocking life sentence — well, from its beginnings, that is — and therefore, no release in sight,
And why that merciless cacophony continues to harass me each day and sleepless night.

Don’t damage your ears!

By Lance Landall

7.  Loud, Deep And Damaging 

I walked past someone’s house one day, from which a loud, thumping, low frequency sound came, and which further down the street,
Continued to disturb — and I, thus left pondering on the thoughtlessness and harmfulness of such strong beat.
For despite those pleads for consideration of other folk, and evidence that such bass is very harmful,
The younger generation continues to selfishly upset, and injure their ears, as if they’re unmindful.

Oh, and the ears of others subjected to such, be they children who’re imprisoned in cars, or those folk who’re near by,
That is, their neighbours, or those pedestrians whom booming, vibrating vehicles irritate and terrify.
And hence why the younger generation will pay a very high price for their thoughtlessness and clear-cut folly,
For ears weren’t meant to be subjected to such bass and volume, which soon or overtime, kisses hearing goodbye.

Even at low volumes such low frequency sound can harm, and certainly over time, and yet, that beat goes on,
Destroying the quality of life of many, who, gain no relief until such offenders have left and gone.
And in many homes where such nerve shattering thumping is heard, are innocent babies with very tender ears,
Which, thanks to their parents, will be unable to serve those poor young ones well for their three score and ten something years.

Yes, a rebellious generation, who though warned of such danger, (be that via such bass or amplification),
Is seemingly determined to prove the truth of such, just not listening, showing no consideration.
And oh, how they’ll suffer, for hearing loss isn’t fun, which these young folk won’t appreciate until it’s too late,
But what a cruel thing, that due to their thoughtlessness and selfishness, many innocents will suffer the same fate.

By Lance Landall

8.  Mercy Killing 

Though sympathetic to those who’re wanting Euthanasia — "Mercy killing," they say —
I cannot support legalized killing of any sort, and err some people may;
The death penalty a case in point, it having claimed some innocent lives, sadly,
And such laws just playing into the hands of issue-bound Hitlers who act madly.

So, best we not legalize what’ll cause a crack that some might prise open one day,
Despite all the checks and balances — for oh, how so many like to scheme and play.
And this why, despite our compassion, and concern over such suffering, such pain,
We shouldn’t take that path that subtly endangers, because folly is evil’s gain.

And you know, judges having discretion, which hopefully they would all use wisely
Where someone caved into their loved one's plea, thinking they were acting humanely.
Not that I’m personally sanctioning that, but it’s better this than such a law,
Which would thereby tweak the doctor’s Hippocratic Oath — and given time, maybe more.

If life’s not seen as sacrosanct even to the bitter end
that period of pain
We will endanger it by degree, and some credibility to killing lend.
And thus mercy killing becoming dicey killing, and we but the axmen, who,
Though not wielding that dubious axe ourselves, give it to somebody else to do,

And once given, it’s all the easier for anything else that they may well do.

Believe me, friend, I do know what it’s like to suffer, and to want to end it all,
Having gone through serious mental and physical pain, and a taxing long haul.
But despite having been there, I know that the bigger picture must be kept in mind,
Lest in time, we once again reap the consequences of that erring of mankind.

By Lance Landall

9.  Another Gig

Another day, another night, another gig, for I'm so hooked on the fame and adulation,
And hence why there is always another venue, hotel, city, or even another nation.
Yes, I’m addicted to the buzz, thrilled by the attention, and thus am caught on a merry-go-round,
As even my name isn't my own — oh well, that’s show bizz, they say — and one reason why I'm booze bound.

Yes, the worse for drink, for that is how I deal with the shallowness and artificiality,
And given that I don’t know who I am anymore, but seemingly just who they want me to be.
It’s pretty much just a game, some momentary fame, for one’s only as popular as the day,
And every day’s a roller coaster — up and down, up and down — press start, press stop, and now press replay.

Oh, how I love those highs, but not those lows, for in-between each gig, it’s just back to being plain old me,
Which means I have more time to think, more time to drown demons in drink, hence why booze comes naturally.
Yes, such is just part of the scene, and becoming more routine, and how I deal with the fantasy,
For it all seems just like an act, something that's more bound to subtract, and tear the soul right out of me.

And thus it could be the death of me, for it's stolen my identity, and simply for their sake,
For I always have to please, forget about my unease, as well as mind those ones who're on the make.
And hence why I’m wanting out, just can’t grasp what it’s all about, and yet, here I am so hooked on such,
For I’ve been beguiled and enslaved by an ego stroking siren — yes, each gig's got me in its clutch.

Thus, another gig, another fix, for the rush I get from such is so much like a drug to me,
And hence those withdrawal symptoms — that is, when the crowd's gone home and we've packed up — and I'm alone with me.
And out comes that bottle again, another drug, one that seems to have just as big a grip on me,
For gigs and drugs seem to go together — and I, can't live without the limelight being focused on me.

Yes, another gig....

By Lance Landall

10.  The Stage

It seems as if everyone wants their moment of fame, hence that somewhat obscene rush for the stage,
Where with an adoring and applauding audience they can egotistically engage.
And as to what drives such, who knows? — though I suspect a number of things, and all propelled by one,
That being, a desire to be some focus of attention, or famous, when all is said and done.

When it’s all boiled down, such is an introspective desire — narcissism, possibly,
For it’s tied in with personal glory, hence the shame oft associated with such, sadly.
That is, that mad scramble over the top of others, the tantrums and tears, accusations too,
All part and parcel of this territory that sees so many who make it going askew.

Though many may claim differently — the truth is as I’ve stated — despite any exception,
For how many would bother if they didn’t get that adoring and applauding reception?
And hence why even in churches these days, applause is desired far more than a humble “Amen,”
Not that I’m condoning entertainment in churches, for there would go that self focus again.

And that’s what it’s all about — believe me — for it’s simply delusional thinking otherwise,
And why in regards to the stage, so many seek and dream of such, and over such fantasise.
After all, it’s an adrenalin rush, one that has folk seeking more, until they’re not desired,
And then what? — given that their everything was built on that buzz, on being applauded and admired.

Yes, there’s nothing more shallow and artificial than the limelight, and more delusional too,
Given that it fills one with pride, an overrated sense of importance, one that isn’t due.
For often those in the limelight are corrupted by its seductiveness, and thus less worthy,
And even a great power for evil, given they so often influence negatively.

When all is said and done, the stage is all about “Me,” the selling of humans commercially,
And those who fall at the feet of such idols, fall victim to the image maker’s artistry.
For were those on stage found amongst those on the street, they’d hardly be noticed perhaps,  even ignored,
Given they’re no better or different to you and I, and often as seriously flawed.

Yes, so many people — most, possibly — are blinded by the distorted rays that bathe the stage,
And seeming just as seduced by its razzle-dazzle, and would find it hard to disengage.
Hence those who perform and those who follow, and those who dream, wishing that it was them on that stage,
Given that that “Me” inside of most would rather not be in the seats, but up front, I would wage.

By Lance Landall

11.  The Aging Singer

Yes, the aging singer, his beguiling voice no longer able — at least, not like it could before,
Yet, he still doing the circuit, running on past popularity, and years of built up rapport.
Now no longer able to hold those notes as long, nor quite reach the highs and lows that are still required,
But so loath to leave the limelight, the adulation, even though age and health have cruelly conspired.

Yes, an aging lion, his breathing laboured, his movements less nimble, and his presence less commanding,
Yet, so reluctant to relinquish his throne, and steady ticket sales showing that he can still sing.
But not like before, and such not unnoticed too, thus time now his enemy rather than his friend,
And he a crooner, a singer of past romantic ballads, now well and truly bucking the trend.

Yes, the aging singer, so wanting to soar, but his wings somewhat clipped, the lights no longer as kind,
Thus, what once delighted, now less a reality, and each passing year falling further behind.
And perhaps he has lingered too long, his departure thus overdue, and his audience too kind,
But lost in their memories of days gone by, they’re loath to see him go, and seemingly do not mind.

Yes, the aging lion, singer, younger ones casting their shadow, but not quite a shadow like his one,
For despite their popularity, he’s in a league of his own, and despite that red setting sun.
And in the hearts and minds of those who adore his voice, he will continue to remain on his throne,
For even after his departure, and via their own home, they’ll still savour that lilting baritone.

By Lance Landall

12.  Thinking Of Karen Carpenter

It’s always a tragedy when someone’s life is cut short, and seemingly even more so when they have a gift,
And here, I’m referring to an exceptional voice, a voice that has the ability to move, touch and lift.
And Karen’s voice certainly did move, touch and lift, and now this Earth is the less for her gifted ability,
One which conveyed an unaffected and natural beauty so rarely seen today, given its quality.

Yes, so many folk can sing — indeed us all, one might say — but truly gifted singers are more a rarity,
For though there are in fact many good singers, few singers come under what one might well describe as heavenly.
And it’s just the same with musicians, for though many can play exceedingly well, not so many have the touch,
And as a consequence, their playing and ability fails to move people, or to affect them quite as much.

And that ability to move and touch was where Karen’s voice excelled, and why her death seems a far greater loss,
And the reason that I say “seems” is, because everyone’s life is just as precious as hers, and as much a loss.
However, there are those who leave behind something extra special — that is, in the way of their ability,
And as far as I’m concerned, Karen certainly did just that, affecting many very emotionally.

Yes, it’s always so tragic when someone’s life is cut short — and as in her case, the world all the less for that voice,
And here, I’m talking solely of her voice — not all of which she sang — for songs are very much a personal choice.
But suffice to say, that Karen touched the lives of so many, and hence why we should always treat other folk well,
Lest their life be cut short, and their gift to us be lost, for what’s going on in someone’s life, we can’t always tell.

By Lance Landall

Karen Carpenter died in 1983 at the age of 32, her death being due to an eating disorder — anorexia nervosa. The song "Now" which was recorded in April 1982, was the last song that Karen Carpenter recorded.

13.  Lesser Mortals

Take an everyday boy or girl that one passes in the street, and that one hardly gives a second thought to,
And build an image around their ability to sing or play, and soon they’re no longer like me and you.
But rather, someone seemingly out of reach, though desired and sought, even cried over, ridiculously,
Which has me scratching my head, for it’s simply an orchestrated illusion — a game, quite frankly.

Many who become idols, (singers or musicians), aren’t near as good as many who are still on the street;
That is, their talent and star quality is surpassed by many who haven’t made it, whom we daily greet.
And yet, no one bats an eyelid whilst passing these seemingly lesser mortals destined for obscurity,
Who, had they made it too, would’ve received the same generated attention, and more deservingly.

Yes, so many who make it aren’t that great at all, but oft beating those more talented come competitions,
Which aside from being very unfair, and having me scratching my head again, leaves one nursing suspicions.
It’s clear that certain judges, (and members of the public), aren’t up to the job, hence those performances we see,
That come from those who’re hardly deserving of the limelight, or less deserving, whatever the case may be.

Then there’re those inflated egos; those ways not worth emulating that come from many of the  favoured few,
Who, given their sad influence, would’ve been better left on the street, unlike others waiting in the queue.
Others who on top of their greater talent, would’ve been better role models, and less affected by fame,
And nor professing to be Christians whilst behaving in a way that’s contrary — such only to their shame.

By Lance Landall

14.  Rock And Beauty Opposites, To Me

Many years ago now, I had an interesting conversation or two with a female psychologist,
She being somewhere in her twenties, I guess, very attractive, and with a really lovely personality.
Her attractiveness and charming personality really stood out, and it was such that truly flummoxed me,
For she told me that she was very much into serious rock music — you know, loud, harsh, anti and angry.

Well, that’s as I remember it, for as I mentioned, it was many years ago, though it’s remained in my mind,
And still niggles me, for such beauty and pleasantry, and rock music, together I didn’t expect to find.
How could such be, I’ve often asked myself, especially when someone has such a pleasant personality,
Or perhaps I’m confusing such with one’s character — such being far more important than one’s personality.

Any music bias aside, or personal preference, rock music is hardly synonymous with beauty,
Nor with character beauty, or that which is orderly, harmonious, uplifting, beneficial or lovely.
For how can it be, given its mind numbing, body assaulting beat, and those screeching, howling, whining guitar sounds,
Which, rather than being restorative, simply create an unhealthy state — let alone rock’s lack of moral grounds.

That is, those debasing, destructive, negative lyrics — along with all that rock’s associated with too,
Let alone that sound, all of which just doesn’t sit with a sound mind, nor with psychologists who mental health pursue.
And personally, nor with a very attractive young woman with a really lovely personality,
For that which is in one’s mind, (one’s character), and desired, should surely be just as beautiful and lovely.

Well, so it seems to me, for if one's only looks and personality, that's just window dressing, arguably.

By Lance Landall

“Rock has always been the devil’s music, you can’t convince me that it isn’t. I honestly believe everything I’ve said—I believe rock and roll is dangerous. … I feel that we’re only heralding something even darker than ourselves”
David Bowie (1947-2016)

“When buying a used car, punch the buttons on the radio. If all the stations are rock and roll, there’s a good chance the transmission is shot.”

Larry Lujack

15.  Sullied Talent And Misused Blessings

Handsome and gifted vocally, he struts the stage with his shirt open to the waistline, and with sweat soaked body,
At times dodging panties that his female fans throw, their desires clear and public, their actions vulgar, arguably.
And a few who’re plucked from the mass, are treated to a raunchy encounter, one that they’ll continue to savour,
That is, as it replays in their mind well after the event, they still swooning, dreaming, idolizing — in awe.

Well, I don’t know about you, but such doesn’t impress me, for I would rather see folk retain their dignity,
Something that is lost when both singer and admirer act so ridiculously, let alone so shamefully.
For where’s the restraint? Is he a singer or a bawdy act? — his manner suggestive, his shirt yawning, chest bare,
And no doubt some of those women are married women, even mothers, who, lost in desire, seemingly don’t care —

Yes, their thoughts just on that singer, who, as a memento, passes back, (laden with sweat), what he chooses to share.

No, that’s hardly my kind of singer, regardless of his voice or the melody, for such is far from manly,
Something that is more akin to what goes on behind some school shed, where some boys and girls act just as shamefully.
And amidst such childish expression, there is often suggestive banter, and lyrics equally unworthy,
And he, a married man as well, who, I venture to say, later would be acting even more unfaithfully.

And to think that he’s admired — for who on Earth would admire such crassness? — surely only those who’re equally as loose,
And it seems clear that these women falling at the feet of their god are women that he could easily seduce.
A mere man, but a handsome man, one who though gifted vocally too, simply lets it all down via his antics,
And thus sullies his talent, misuses his blessings — and others too? — who, from such titillation get night-out kicks.

By Lance Landall

16.  The Comedian

Yes, he’s very funny, the gags coming thick and fast, and there is that way of his — and oh, how they all laugh,
But is he really such a comical guy, and could it be a case of, “If only people knew the half?”
But then again, they could hardly be expected to know, and aren’t they just there for the laughs, a cheery night?
And he, having to make a living, having to work the crowd, until once again it’s time to shout, “Goodnight!”

Yes, the funny man, the jester, clown, seemingly gifted at his craft, his wit as sharp as a surgeon’s knife,
The crowd like putty in his hands, his antics turning them into rag dolls — such fooling now his way of life.
But in the quietness of his home, off comes the mask, for the funny man isn’t always laughing inside,
Given that behind the hilarity, an emotional rollercoaster and insecurity oft hide.

And aren’t we all a bit like that, or many of us, hiding behind the jocular, even waggish,
Not so confident within, hurting perhaps, lonely maybe? — yes, the truth quite another kettle of fish.
And we, feeling inadequate, so wanting to be liked, or could there be something else that’s amiss within,
And that even a desperate cry for help lies behind that jesting, that clowning, that laugh or cheeky grin?

Yes, the world is full of comedians, some working via the stage, but most, just an everyday type of clown,
Who, via the hilarious, seeks to break the boredom, draw attention, or some misery attempts to drown.
Yes, the wit coming thick and fast, and that amusing way that has folk doubled up in fits — oh, how they laugh,
But if only they knew what was so oft behind it all — yes, if only those laughing truly knew the half.

By Lance Landall

17.  Ribald Stand-Ups

I know a good comedian when I see one, (and I love a good laugh just like anyone else), but hey,
When they succumb to crudity, foul language, and somehow taking other folk down, I’m off and on my way.
At the end of the day, a good comedian can make it without going down that sullied avenue,
One that any fool can get his laughs from, for there’re plenty who applaud such, thereby lowering themselves too.

My idea of a good time filled with lots of laughter doesn’t include smut — in other words, whatever degrades,
Which is why I leave such stand-ups to it, given that one’s presence there, such a smutty outpouring simply aids.
And besides, what goes in our mind remains there, for our minds are computer memory banks, effectively,
And also where we live mentally, and why I like keeping that place clean, for what resides there, speaks of me.

So no, no back street alley for me, alias bawdy, blue, below the belt, callous, cheap shot comedy,
Which the comedian who wishes to retain his dignity avoids just as vigilantly as me.
For why would he sell himself short, thus gaining fame from what can betray the inner man, and soil those who hear,
Who, doubled up with laughter at such crudity, the very next day and often thereafter, go and share.

Yes, I enjoy a good laugh, but I don’t like to leave feeling soiled, and hence that old expression, “Good clean fun,”
For there’s nothing more regenerating, nothing more healing for body and soul, when all is said and done.
And, let me add, it’s lovely to hear others laughing, and if it’s us who’s making them laugh, I hope all’s well,
And by that I mean, that what we are saying or doing, in another’s mind will very healthily dwell.

By Lance Landall

18.  I'd Mind Those Lyrics

Within this world in which we live, there are clearly two forces operating, and affecting everything,
That is, either for the better or the worse, including all those songs that we listen to, or even sing.
And hence why we should pay a little more attention to the lyrics of any song, for one thing is clear:
Those lyrics are the product of either force, and therefore good reason to mind what it is we choose to hear.

Yes, so little thought is given to lyrics, which may have their basis in the occult, or a disturbed mind,
Or they may simply be the product of silly and faulty thinking that’s so typical of humankind.
And yes, they may seem quite harmless, but consider how often they can run through our mind, or us parrot them;
Words and sentiments that leave an imprint, which rather than entertaining, we would be wiser to condemn.

Or certainly should condemn, for certain sentiments can stir and fuel an unbalanced or rebellious mind,
And is it any wonder when behind such lyrics, a certain wildness and very angry beat we find.
Or a composition that excites lustful passions, be it via its rawness or its sophistication,
And thereby appealing to the lower rather than the higher, thus aiding a deterioration.

Yes, we really need to watch both, but certain lyrics being repeated in our mind, or via us vocally,
Can stain, soil, taint, or injure, for words have a power of their own, and certain sentiments especially.
Hence why I’d mind those lyrics, for repetition is often used by mind manipulators, who well know
That certain phrases oft repeated in the mind, baleful seeds can sow, or better thoughts and thinking overthrow.

By Lance Landall

19.  The Scriptwriter

The purpose of life is to not only make the most of it, but to lose oneself in that which is worthy,
Daily saying, doing and producing what is truly beneficial, acting soundly and constructively.
Otherwise, we’re just wasting our allotted time, and even that of others, time that’s too precious to waste,
Which the scriptwriter so oft does on both accounts, polluting minds and widening the couch potatoes waist.

Yes — the scriptwriter — he or she behind those soaps and sitcoms that are so full of anything but what’s best,
Actors relaying their frivolous or debasing lines, coupled with same antics, in which stooge-like viewers invest.
They mentally manipulated, shamefully educated, and in a sense, programmed-cum-hypnotised,
Which most viewers would no doubt strongly deny, for such is often so subtle that it isn’t recognised.

Oh, the hours these scriptwriters must spend penning such, when far better things could be written, their effort our loss,
For all such does is steal precious time, assault or foul the mind, and too regularly another line cross.
Yes, inroads, breaches, trespasses that viewers even come to demand, having become bored with lesser ills,
The scriptwriter only too happy to oblige with more rubbish that one’s conscience eventually stills.

And so it goes, they misusing those precious hours far better spent on that which would far better educate,
That which would improve rather than worsen, that which would rightly inform and uplift rather than titillate.
And they thus using their talent in a way that would leave behind a positive, valuable legacy,
Their time well spent, their time on Earth a blessing, and we all the better off for their wisely used ability.

By Lance Landall

The following poem is based on the assumption that Dynamo is genuinely doing what he is doing and that it has not been staged somehow.
This poem also contains a degree of Christian content necessary for the purpose.

20.  As For The Likes Of Dynamo

I know a man who once was involved in the occult, he now a Christian, one
Who before his conversion attended a Satanist church, which all should shun,
For many who get caught up with the likes, soon find that when they desire to leave,
Wicked spirit beings seek to prevent such, beings who love to ensnare, harm and deceive.

Yes, we’re talking about fallen angels here, both they and their master very real,
This having been verified by folk who encountered them, went through that ordeal.
And this being why we shouldn’t play with the occult, but take it seriously,
And why I’ve more to convey here, for believe me, it’s evil territory.

Okay, back to that man I mentioned…

Well, on him becoming a member, professing faith in Satan openly,
Accepting him as a great god, supreme ruler of Earth, (all being heresy),
He was able to claim one of many gifts then bestowed; and these on any,
Who, according to this man, do likewise, their desire being granted instantly.

Yes, we’re talking about something supernatural, and enter Dynamo,
He a well known magician from whom the supernatural is seen to flow.
And hence his doing what humans aren’t capable of, other than as I’ve said,
He levitating, walking on water, reading minds — all why his fame has spread.

And I, convinced fallen angels are supporting, lifting and feeding him, and,
Responsible for some of those things that some might still consider sleight of hand.
And I, given the rapid, rampant, widespread increase in such activity,
Convinced humanity’s being set up, such fulfilling biblical prophecy.

And hence the proliferation of mediums and psychics, they being fed too,
In order to mislead mankind who no longer truth and right seeks to pursue.
Well, far less so these days, thus most more apt to follow the likes of Dynamo,
Who puts on a very convincing but devilishly orchestrated show.

And thereby folk kneeling before the altar of a devil, and blind as bats,
They wandering after New Age gurus and mystics, those modern Cheshire cats,
Those who’re often endowed with certain powers like Dynamo, or are aided,
And whose borrowed signs and wonders far too many souls and homes has invaded.

The truth is, that fallen spirit beings know all about us, and thus pass such on,
Enter the likes of those mind readers and crystal ball gazers who simply con.
And some of them even thinking that they are gifted when they’re simply being used,
And why all those deceptions of Dynamo and company should be refused.

Given spirit beings know no walls or doors, and can reach through such, it’s very clear
That some magicians are being aided, and psychics fed what such beings know and hear.
All why those who dally with such beings and then seek to be free of them soon find
That such beings aren’t working in anyone’s best interests, nor those of mankind.

Folk can laugh at the Bible and its warnings, but hey, why are such coming true,
And all its warnings about reaping and sowing? — hence those things many now rue.
And then there’re those things afflicting society, those dark clouds looming ahead,
And all because sense, wisdom, truth, light and selflessness has largely up and fled.

I admit that many magicians are very clever, even Dynamo,
But some things cannot be accounted for, and with him, I believe such is so.
Yes, there’re devised things that see one walking on water, seeming to levitate,
Which he no doubt uses too, but there’re some things that no human could orchestrate.

So beware those Dynamos, for who knows who or what’s behind them come those acts,
And I believing an evil force that watches with interest, and oft backs.
For trickery and those evil spirit beings have long been bedfellows, you know,
And hence how they con, and more seeds of error, confusion and destruction sow...

Just like many programmes on TV.

By Lance Landall

“Now war arose in heaven, Michael and His angels fighting against the dragon [Satan]. And the dragon and his angels fought back. And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world — he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him”
(Rev 12:7,9, ESV).

“The coming of the lawless one [anti-Christ] is apparent in the working of Satan, who uses all power, signs, lying wonders, and every kind of wicked deception for those who are perishing, because they refused to love the truth and so be saved” (2 Thess 2:9,10).

“And I saw, coming out of the mouth of the dragon [Satan] and out of the mouth of the beast [past cruel power] and out of the mouth of the false prophet [End-time cruel power], three unclean spirits like frogs. For they are demonic spirits, performing signs, who go abroad to the kings of the whole world, to assemble them for battle on the great day of
God the Almighty” (Rev 16:13,14, ESV).

21.  Hi, Frank

Hi, Frank, I have to say that you certainly got far more attention than me,
But then, you were on the stage, and I just some Joe at home with his family.
Yes, no one taking much interest in me, and hey, probably not you too,
Had you not become famous and all that, many swallowing that ballyhoo.

You sure sang well, and attracted the ladies, but you no different to me,
Just another man, just as flawed too, but oh, how you got treated differently.
All one has to do is become famous, huh, and then you’re something else, it seems,
A god of sorts, suddenly desirable, unreachable, except in dreams.

Yes, it’s crazy, I say, ’cause only yesterday you were just a bloke like me,
No woman turning her head, but come stardom, one’s got it all, apparently.
Yes, it’s a head scratcher, ’cause were you pumping gas, folk wouldn’t get out their car,
And I guess that’s why so many shallow souls reach for that very same flawed star.

And many so young, it going to their head, though they’re hardly alone in that,
But it’s sex, booze, drugs and who knows what else, they not having a clue where it’s at.
It pretty much a lie, you see, because it promises what it can’t fulfil,
It mirage-like, something that is and isn’t so, and yet, how it casts its spell.

Yes, you did alright, Frank, they still remembering you fondly, but hardly me,
I home come nights, don’t go away much, aren’t so tempted to act unfaithfully.
No, I just another man, and few will remember me, but hey, that’s okay,
’Cause death puts us all on the same footing again, we soon humbled by Earth’s clay.

By Lance Landall

22.  A Lament

It seems that those days are gone where crooners graced the air-waves, and had us listening like some captive slave,
Yes, beguiled by singers who truly knew how to sing, unlike those over which the younger set now rave.
Oh, how we appreciated the beauty of a gifted voice, a song well sung, and easy on the ears;
Singers and songs that have faded into the background, or that have sadly disappeared over the years.

Yes, there is nothing like a beautiful voice, or a harmonious blending of talented voices,
And given the many good singers and great material back then, we were spoilt with teasing choices.
And also with lush orchestrations that backed those singers, and that fell with giddy favour on the ears,
Only to lose out to the commercial, money driven groups and bands, that have robbed of those pleasant years.

Yes, times have changed, and few young people have such an appreciation, having never known such beauty,
Their ears tuned to music that knows nothing but beat and noise, and they, more than happy with banality.
And as a consequence, now amongst the crowds whose hearing is damaged, given amplification rules,
And where a desire for music that’s worthy to be called such, and beneficial to the soul, quickly cools.

No, the music wasn’t perfect way back then, for that time had its less than worthy singers and songs too,
And backing that also yielded little growth, but rather, stunted ones taste for better, hence that, “No thank you!”
Yes, those curled up lips at the thought of such beauty that once graced the air-waves, now lost to much younger ears,
And isn’t that the way, for as the years go by, more and more of anything worthy slowly disappears.

By Lance Landall

23.  The Cost Of Today's Music

Gerry passed the requested spanner to his father who used it to tighten the sump nut — the oil change done —
A father and son combined effort, and Gerry’s father most appreciative of the help of his son.
They duly tidied up and both washed their greasy oil stained hands, a hot drink and biscuit waiting patiently,
Such gratefully seized upon as they rested their backs against the seats in the sunbathed conservatory.

Music waffled soothingly from within the home, crooners of years gone by, cheery relaxing melodies,
But such hardly the kind of music that the oft assaulted ears of the younger generation would please.
Though not the case with eighteen year old Gerry, he having been exposed to good music from a very young age,
And now enjoying it as much as his father, rather than whatever music might be the current rage.

Gerry’s voice broke the silence. “I love that tune, but whenever I turn it up at work I get howls of protest.
It has such a nice melody, not that the younger ones at work see it that way, for all they do is jest.”
Gerry’s father put his drink down. “Well, son, they haven’t grown up with such like you, such being common fare round here,
And we did take pains to create an appreciation for good music, lest you too, son, good music jeer.”

“Parents who don’t take such pains are hardly acting responsibly, or, (and this next thing far too often true),
Haven’t had the benefit of such themselves, and thus really know no better — such not an excuse, mind you.
For the duty of every parent is to take whatever steps they can to find out what’s best for their child,
And in every way, otherwise that child is all the less for such, and worse case scenario, running wild.”

“Most of the music that is out there today is far from good music, despite the younger set thinking so,
Their ears not having been trained to register good music, and they thus slaves to what they’re fed on the radio.
Yes, such being devoid of wholesome lyrics and musical beauty, it restless, wild, shallow, sex and beat ridden,
And given it’s all they seem to want to know, it’s all they will know, truly good music remaining hidden.”

“They’re just not interested, Dad” Gerry quipped. “No, son, and if I may use the following analogy,
It’s like only having had spicy food, say, and thus food without such seeming bland, though it best quality.
And as far as spicy goes, such being very unhealthy, and hence why those who always have their food spicy
Oft end up on dialysis machines; and so it is with today’s music — it too, acting negatively.”

“You see, it’s not just what we eat, but what we read, watch and listen to that affects us for better or worse,
And why as far as the mind goes, and even things physically, today’s music is often more a curse.
And why an appreciation for good music isn’t around the same, nor good music, needless to say,
For the music industry is driven far more by money than good taste, and why worse keeps coming our way.”

“Another problem with the music of today is that it’s usually bound up with moral decay,
And by that I mean, images-cum-gyrations borrowed from strip joints and porn flicks, which sees kids further stray.
And hence those unfitting mental associations with different songs, wholesomeness losing out once more,
All such suggesting an even bleaker future, because we all become what we idolise and adore."

By Lance Landall

24.  Reality's Not Far Away

Don’t get too caught up on fame and fortune, ’cause reality’s not far away,
One reduced to that same operating table where some surgeon has the say.
Most facing such somewhere along the line, fame and fortune losing out to fate,
That diagnosis that can change everything, or that even comes too late.

“Leave your pride at the door,” it’s said come operations, and hospital stays too,
And certain cruel diseases stripping pride further, others attending to you.
Mister Sophisticated suddenly as helpless as a child, in pain too,
Fairytale castles and the likes meaning nothing, friends deserting you thought true.

Yes, fame and fortune attract, but once the limelight’s gone, that attraction’s gone too,
Lame or scarred ducks left swimming in a pond of their own, curtains hiding the view.
Life needing to be built on something more sure, not spotlights, image or money,
’Cause sooner or later something invades that fragile land of milk and honey.

By Lance Landall

25.  With Music In Mind

You know, it’s been said that music is the universal language of mankind,
And it’s also been said that music is to the soul what words are to the mind.
Oh yes, how people wax lyrical over this piece of music or that, and,
Where lyrics are found too, poetry adding to that magical wonderland.

But having said that, there’s music and there’s music, so what are we taking in?
The soul needing what’s healthy too, junk food and soul trash only fit for the bin.
Yes, we the richer or poorer for it, it either callous or kind, and so,
We choosing very carefully, lest instead of a friend, we’ve embraced a foe.

By Lance Landall

You may wish to read my article In Defence Of Easy Listening Music which can be seen on my page There's More To Be Said.

This older poem was upgraded 14 March 2019.

26.  Re Michael Jackson

Whether you’re a Michael Jackson fan or not, you’ve got to admit that his life was indeed a tragedy,
And by that I mean, he really didn’t stand a chance — well, seemingly so — lost in a world of fantasy.
Such was possibly his way of coping, or was he searching? — a little boy lost — damaged internally,
Yes, not only disfigured facially, sadly, but also scarred, messed up, and tortured emotionally.

(Not that this excuses wrongdoing)

And who knows why, exactly, although there is a degree of evidence, and certain clues, but even so,
’Cause there’s always more beneath the surface — such being, that complexity that's within the human mind, and oh,
How deep some wounds can be, that even midst genius, can have folk acting oddly, bizarrely and wrongly,
And then, due to such behaviour, cruelly ridiculed by a world that doesn’t understand such injury.

(Not that this excuses wrongdoing)

And without excuse, for even if not understanding such folk, we should never treat the damaged cruelly,
But rather, should try to understand them, at least as much as one can, thereby acting compassionately.
’Cause why on earth add to someone’s injury, and didn’t he suffer enough, having to live with it all?
Perhaps a vulnerable, insecure and frightened soul, who into some comfy hole, may've wished he could crawl.

(Not that this excuses wrongdoing)

Yes, outwardly displaying a certain confidence, but inwardly crying, caught between two worlds, somewhat,
And midst it all, doing certain things — claims of child molestation — that his life, character and career would blot.
And then his death, its timing an outrage, many would say, but isn’t that the way it goes — and why, who knows,
’Cause such is so often the way with the emotionally injured, on whom life such tragedy bestows.

Not that this excuses child molestation.

No, not that this excuses child molestation, such an unconfessed crime robbing one of eternity,
And conveying that the heart and mind (even lifetime) have been corrupted by cruelty and depravity.
Oh, how such evil should pay for its sin, gnash its teeth and rend its clothes, but many having gone to the grave,
All why I’m a believer in a day of judgment, divine justice that will fall on all who so behave.

By Lance Landall

Sad to say, Michael Jackson dabbled in the occult from where it appears some of his music emanated, and such is no doubt one reason why both he and his music deteriorated over time.

27.  Talent And Sins Are Two Separate Things

If anything convinces me of two forces, it’s that good and bad in us,
The bad I attributing to a devil, the good to a God called Jesus.
Hence that switching back and forth that goes on, we kind of like a Jekyll and Hyde,
And those two forces fighting for dominance, we on a ladder or a slide.

All why there’s more criminals outside than inside, those in jail just unlucky,
Not that anyone should get away with crime, and why jails there must always be.
And some of those inmates being writers, singers, artists and musicians, say,
Whose worthy produce many stop buying, when outside there’s just as much decay.

Yes, if only we knew what many of the rest are up to, though still on stage,
Hence why talent and sins are two separate things, our own sins filling a page.
A great book a great book, a great song a great song, despite that person in jail,
And so, we not throwing babies out with the bathwater, aware how we fail.

And therefore,

We accepting what came from their good side, rejecting what came from their bad side,
Thus encouraging good and discouraging bad, lest further this sinner slide.
However, we weighing carefully, some connections very close to the bone,
But minding that we’re not indulging in a contemporary way to stone.

Yes, too many rushing to judgment, Facebook full of those who've rocks in their hands,
Even before some case has gone to court, thus in the waste bin great talent lands.
In other words, the produce of someone’s good side, too bad they might turn around,
And if they do, where will their good produce be found, and why should their past still hound?

Oh, how oft we’ve acted badly ourselves, yet to our own products we still cling,
Those good things that our talent created, and here, hypocrisy’s seen to ring.
Yes, we not dumping our things, but their things, one rule for them and one rule for us,
Yet, we too having acted like that devil, rather than that God called Jesus.

So mind what you’re dumping, and what signal it might send, even say about you,
A beautiful painting a beautiful painting, no matter if done by who.
Good springing from good, evil from evil, and none of us free from sin or blame,
Yet dishing it out to others, confusing their good produce with any shame.

Yes, talent and sins are two separate things, unless that talent is used for ill,
’Cause then we’re looking at partners in crime, both the heart and that produce unwell.
We assessing the situation, mindful of our own faults and failings too,
And how the wounded tend to wound, having chosen the same dark force to yield to.

By Lance Landall

28.  Don't Toss Good Because Of Bad

If someone’s creation is a worthy thing, perhaps a set of paintings, say,
And you find that that person raped, say, why throw their beautiful paintings away?
Surely those paintings stand alone, they something good that that criminal has done,
And hey, would keeping those paintings be more likely if that rapist was your son?

A telling question, I suspect, yet worthy creations and sins worlds apart,
Each being the product of two compartments existing within the same heart.
The good compartment we accept, the bad compartment we reject, acting fair,
A great book a great book, a great song a great song, hence why sense is needed here.

But no, out goes the baby with the bathwater, feelings running high, askew,
So off the bookshelf, no more air time, and as for those paintings, they’re tossed out too.
Oh, when will we start playing grownups, bearing in mind that good folk err too,
That a rapist can turn the corner, “And as for my creation, what did you do?”

And what would you say? You having tossed what one should applaud, that excellent side,
Confusing and discouraging him, and why rather than rise, further he’ll slide.
And so, we not selling our house because the builder who built it raped someone,
But appreciating his worthy contribution, any good that he’s done.

However, too many are judged guilty before they have even been to court,
Losing their job or position, possibly because of someone’s false report.
So much for blind justice, that lady with the scales, it public opinion now,
Strong pressure coming from certain quarters to which cowardice is seen to bow.

Anger and not sense steering, others caving in, dropping any good too,
That person penalized before a court finds the accusations false or true.
It all like going back in time — mob rule — messages going from phone to phone,
It all shameful and wrong, and seemingly the contemporary way to stone.

By Lance Landall