To My Wife

 

Introduction


Yes, to my wife with all my love.

“Women were created from the rib of man to be beside him, not from his head to top him, nor from his feet
to be trampled by him, but from under his arm to be protected by him, near to his heart to be loved by him.”

Matthew Henry




1.  To My Wife

I wish to express my gratitude for your acceptance of me as your lifelong partner, and
To let you know that I never take such for granted, for other men are always close at hand.
And therefore, dare I treat you any less than I should, though such folly would hardly be manly,
And why I seek your best interests above my own, that I as your partner may be worthy.

Yes, may I always see you as a precious individual, I always treating you so,
And thus minding how I handle you, both emotionally and physically, I no foe,
But rather, the protector of your honour and well-being, my motives unsullied nor selfish,
I treasuring every moment together, and where I can, fulfilling any noble wish.

And along with this, I also and oft showing my love via wee surprises, each one thoughtful,
My attitude and responses equally as considerate, charitable, amicable.
For such are the hallmarks of a husband that every wife should have, he there to look after her,
And wisdom surely knowing that via him acting so, her love for him he’ll always freshly stir.

And may it be that such is me, lest you not receive what some other man could’ve given you,
And I meaning, if he’d been your husband rather than me, and his love more selfless, pure and true.
Hence why here I acknowledge what every manly husband should be and do, and once more thank you,
'Cause from among the potential crowd you’ve chosen me — a decision I pray you’ll never rue.

By Lance Landall






2.  Put Your Head On My Shoulder


Please put your head on my shoulder just like you used to do, because you’re still my girl,
And I aware that the petals of our twilight years are beginning to unfurl.
So may our love bloom with a deeper hue before those petals fall in quiet repose,
They clustering together with tender kisses and soft nuzzlings that life's end knows.

Oh, those precious memories of how you’d take my hand and arm and then rest your head,
My shoulder rejoicing in the pleasure of a feminine act that so much said.
And why I’m still moved when you take my hand and arm and rest your head on my shoulder,
For where there’s such love, there are some things that never change even when one gets older.

So please put your head on my shoulder and nestle closer, because you’re still my girl,
And my love for you like a protective clam that’s been nurturing a precious pearl.
And you bringing out the man in me, your head on my shoulder declaring your trust,
And may it remain so until those parting words, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

Yes, how I love those strolls, that hand that oft moves to my chest, the pressure of your breast,
That special closeness that warms my soul, steals my quickened heart and makes me feel so blessed.
And that still delights, excites and invites, declaring our love to the beholder,
A love that treasures each moment we have — so please, Dear, put your head on my shoulde
r.

By Lance Landall



The poem above is my favourite poem, and you can also see this
poem on YouTube if you click on the link provided.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QP9CweE1h54





3.  That Little Difference In Height


I’m glad that you’re not quite as tall as me, that you’re looking up into my eyes,
Because such makes me feel more protective of you, who I really and truly prize.
Your kisses seeming all the sweeter for that difference, and your cuddles too,
As if you’re sheltering in my embrace, and as if I’m watching over you.

How I love it when you nestle into me, as if tucked in my love and care,
I relishing such tender moments, more than happy to brush away some tear.
Oh, the preciousness of such warm encounters, that little difference in height,
Which, despite it possibly coming down to personal preference, seems so right.


By Lance Landall





4.  I Just Had To Say...

You’re the colours in the rainbow, you’re the oxygen in the air,
You’re my honey bun, my baby doll, my sweetie pie, cuddly bear.
You’re the spring in my step, the wind in my sails, the song in my head,
You’re the melody in my heart, and you’re the pillow on my bed.

You’re the alphabet in my soup, the twinkles in the starry sky,
You’re the tickle in a summer breeze, you’re the apple of my eye.
You’re the orchid in my garden, you’re the cherries in my fruit cake,
You’re the stamp on the envelope, and when I miss you dear, I ache.

You’re the sugar in my candy, the boysenberries in my pie,
You’re the fragrance in a perfume, and when you snuggle up, I sigh.
You’re the dressing on my salad, the dawn chorus high in the trees,
You’re the beauty in beautiful, and you’re someone I love to squeeze.

You’re the sparkle in a diamond, you’re the magic in a sunset,
You’re the bubbles in my bathtub, the harmony in a quartet.
You’re the charge in my battery, you’re the fizz in my lemonade,
You’re one of a kind, the pick of the bunch, you’re specially handmade.

You’re the tune in my whistle, the lilt in my gait, the chime in a bell,
You’re the topping on my pizza, you’re the pearl in an oyster shell.
You’re the filling in my sandwich, you’re the marmalade on my toast,
You’re the warmth in the summer sun, and you’re my wife — did I just boast?

By Lance Landall





5.  Pop-up Girl


You’re my little pop-up girl, the toast of my life, a slice of Heaven on Earth,
My morning boost, stronger than coffee — oh crumbs, how grateful I am for your birth.
Your composition exquisite, your texture pleasing, your warmth energizing,
Hence why my initial infatuation with you was hardly surprising.

Yes, you’re my little pop-up girl, the gluten that holds my day together, and
I quick to pluck you from over exuberant elements, take you in hand.
And there you are, I savouring the moreishness of your presence each morning,
When from the inner warmth of that toasty environment you soon up and spring.

By Lance Landall


Sometimes my wife tells me that she's as warm as toast, so there you go.





6.  You're My Wee Blender


You’re my wee blender, Dear, switched on and ready to go, pulsating lovingly,
A whiz at this, a whiz at that, a yummy mix that pleases delightfully.
You’re full of sweetness and everything else, so packed with nutrients galore,
Hence why I make sure the power’s on, ’cause you make me want to come back for more.

Oh yes, you’re a little smoothie, a very satisfying blend or mixture,
I relishing the goodness and flavours that come with your very own texture.
It all so electric and motorising, I wondering what’s coming next,
But whatever it is, my hunger’s satisfied, and what’s ailing me soon fixed.

By Lance Landall





7.  You're My Little Radio


I have to say, Dear, that you’re my little radio, sweet music to my ears,
I tuned into your every nuance, on the same wavelength, been dialling for years!
Oh yes, from morning till night, you being the DJ of my heart’s desire,
I well and truly addicted to your beguiling tones, lower or higher.

Yes, it’s all easy listening, thus matching the rhythm of my heart, and why
You’re the only station I’m glued to, each word or sound of yours having me sigh.
All why I never turn you down or off, but rather, desire more volume,
And if I could, Dear, though you’re slimline and cute, would carry you from room to room.


By Lance Landall






8.  I Missed You Last Night


Yes, I missed you last night, and that’s the trouble with sleep, one snoozing fitfully,
And why I couldn’t wait to wake up and once again enjoy your company.
Sure you were right next to me, your body not only warming the bed but me,
And that’s great, but I lost in dreams and unable to enjoy reality.

In other words — you, dear! — my cuddly little bear, who doesn’t snooze half as loud,
But should you, and I awaken, there you’d be again, and I’d whisper out loud,
“I missed you!”, and as for what would be left of the night, I would lose that as well,
Given that I’d no doubt fall asleep again until that early morning bell.

Yes dear, you’re often in my dreams, though I had better not mention too much here,
For some things are best kept between couples, and someone might read this poem, I fear.
But dreams are just dreams, and sleep taking up far too much time, and why I oft cry,
“I missed you last night!,” and as we kiss and cuddle, wipe all that sleep from my eye.

By Lance Landall





9.  Dear Much Loved Wife


Sometimes I wonder if it’s all a dream, you but a misty apparition,
I simply walking the corridors of slumber, your love but my ambition.
’Cause how could it be that such a man as I could be so blest? You Heaven sent;
All why over the years, so much time pondering on my good fortune, I’ve spent.

Oh, the gift of just holding you, let alone being married to you, but then,
Is it just like I wonder, merely a dream that I’m hoping will come true, but when?
And in the meantime, embracing that creation that seems the joy of my life,
’Cause you’re just too good to be true, though may that dream continue, dear much loved wife.

By Lance Landall





10.  I Do My Best, Dear


When we’re snuggled up and lying in, and it’s six o'clock in the morning, say,
There’s a particular smoochie, and also hungry, cat that wants its own way.
I do my best to fend him off and prevent his wet nose from bothering you,
But he just doesn’t understand plain English, and licks at my flailing hand too.

His brother’s also a botheration, though certainly not as determined,
Ones body stomped on, ones protective hand needed elsewhere — oh, how I must have sinned!
But hey, I do my best, Dear, albeit a tired knight in shiny pyjamas,
Who wishes he could send those two cats on a holiday to the Bahamas.

By Lance Landall





11.  Man, How Did You Do That?


You’ve clearly perfected the art of getting in and out of bed by stealth, and
Spooking me, for one minute you’re there and one minute you’re not, going by hand.
And why I sometimes find myself talking to myself, you not there as I thought,
But busy in the toilet, not abducted by those of the alien sort.

It’s really quite disturbing, an ability that’s rather foreign to me,
Toilet visits more a stumble, and restless cats a trap for the unwary.
Yes, I not having perfected the same art — so, sorry to disturb you, Dear —
But please, could you bump the bed a little for my sake, thereby easing some fear.

By Lance Landall





12.  Dessert


I love your cooking, Dear, and vegetables are fine, ’cause there’s a time and place,
But I’m rather fond of puddings, you know, and in my tummy there’s still a space.
Yes, I know you mean well, and those vegetables do get eaten, but oh dear,
That little spot in my tummy is hoping a scrumptious dessert will appear.

I’m well aware of that sugar content, but I’m used to sweet things, ’cause I’ve you,
Hence why I call you "Honey," and just in case, brush my teeth after kissing you.
Okay, so I’m only joking, but not about that dessert I’d like, nor you,
’Cause I couldn’t find anyone sweeter, and I’ve finished my nourishing stew.

By Lance Landall






13.  Love That Neck!


It’s naughty I trick you by saying, “What’s that?” and pointing to something not there,
Whilst planting a kiss on your neck that’s conveniently exposed to such flare.
Such very clever of me (if I do say so myself) but you on to it,
All why I don’t always get away with it, my poor face caught in a tight fit.

But a rascal I am, and such opportunities am prone to seek, you see,
That bare neck rather tempting, and on a good day, I striking successfully.
I could say I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t be truthful, and why that kiss you get
When I can get away with it; I hoping that last time I did, you’ll forget.

By Lance Landall





14.  Trust Me


I’m looking for a cuddle, one where there’s no strings attached, and time not an issue,
Because I don’t want to hurry it, but savour it — oh, excuse my wet tissue.
I’ve not had one since the last one, and so addicted I’ve become, so please be quick,
And while I’m in your warm embrace, my lips might take a little nosy ’round your neck.

You might have guessed, huh? Well, I’d still like that cuddle, so don’t be too concerned, my Dear,
Your neck a mere afterthought, another place where my affection I love to share.
Cuddles suiting me fine, and an hour’s such a long time, so please hurry, Dear,
And if your lips are on mine, your neck will be fine, ’till from behind I soon appear.


By Lance Landall





15.  Can't Help It


What’s that, my Dear? You’ve found another romantic note? Under your pillow was it?
A secret admirer, I guess, who under certain pressure his guilt might admit.
You’ll have to grab him though, because he’s playing innocent when he knows jolly well
That you know that it’s him, and he is waiting for that cuddle that those beans will spill.

Seems you’re finding them everywhere. Well, that’s what you get for being a honey,
And he having good taste, his initial evaluation right on the money.
Yes, he wanting you to know that, and hence those inky little noughts and crosses too,
That just like those exclamation marks at the end of those notes, hollers “I Love You!”


By Lance Landall





16.  The Gentler Sex


Oh, how I love your softer ways, dear, and why I call women the gentler sex,
Childhood memories coming to mind of how a mother’s kiss so much could fix.
And such I’ve noticed with you, dear, those kisses easing our children’s scratches too,
And all those emotional bumps, scrapes and bruises that I myself have been through.

Oh yes, there’s nothing like a woman’s touch, that difference that coos who she is,
And that comes wrapped in an oestrogen package that’s softer and sweeter than his.
All why I feel so protective of you, and drawn to you, dear love of my life,
Your tender loving ways and more thoughtful touch why I’m proud to call you my wife.

Yes, that feminine thing’s such a blessing, it truly beguiling to behold,
It balancing the testosterone in me, infusing warmth where there might be cold.
And it reflected in everything you say and do, even in your dress,
And I guess that’s why where men sometimes fail, women (like you, dear) have more success,

And why, dear, you oft impress.


By Lance Landall





17.  Valentine's Day


It’s Valentine’s day, and why I just wanted to say, you’re the pick of the bunch,
The most gorgeous rose of all, so grab your glad rags, I’m taking you out to lunch.
Yes, a table for two, just you and I, you never too old to romance, and,
Not just worth a big bunch of flowers, but anything else that I might have planned.

However, I really don’t need Valentine’s day at all, ’cause come any day,
I can hide another surprise, or leave more notes that the same love will convey.
Yes, I not taking you for granted, but appreciating you even more,
’Cause as I said, you’re the pick of the bunch, so awfully darn hard to ignore.


By Lance Landall





18.  No Regrets


No, no regrets, my dear, I would marry you again in a heartbeat, say “I do!”
I camped out in the church well beforehand, catching my breath as you came into view.
That ring on your finger like sleight-of-hand, I one step ahead of the pastor, then
Down the aisle faster than Usain Bolt, and as for our honeymoon, simply say when.

You wouldn’t have to ask me, because I’d say “Yes” before you even thought of it,
That ring in my pocket already, it sparking with excitement and made to fit.
I well aware of the prize you are, and wouldn’t let the opportunity go,
But rather, I’d seize the moment and holler my devotion, knowing what I know.


By Lance Landall





19.  Dread The Thought


Without you, my Dear, I’d be like a pup without its tail, a pea without its pod,
A Chattanooga choo choo train without its coal, a fisherman without his rod,
A flashlight without its battery, a pirate without his, “Ahoy, me hearty!”
A fashion designer without any flair, a birthday boy minus a party.

Oh yes, my Dear, it's sad but true, I’d simply be like a sneeze without its, “Bless you,”
A heater without its element, babe without its crib, and sock without a shoe.
Oh yes, the list just goes on and on, I hardly knowing what I’d do without you,
So please hug me very tight, Dear, 'cause I’m almost done with the sticky tape and glue.


By Lance Landall





20.  Sir Lancelot's Inspiration


I’m a man, you’re a woman, the other half that makes me whole, the helper I need,
That I, as a worthy husband and pillar of society, may thus succeed.
Your part proving invaluable, your support and belief blessing us both, and,
Ensuring that whatever storm or assault comes our way, together we will stand.

Yes, help me be the knight I should be, my horse at the ready, and my armour too,
So that midst any battle, I’ll draw strength from your trust in me, and know what to do.
We making it together, but all the accolades really belonging to you,
My success revealing the woman that’s behind me, faithful, loving, kind and true.


By Lance Landall





21.  Those Celtic Eyes


Those green eyes of yours aren’t the eyes of your early years, but later years, my Dear,
Because though they’re still just as beautiful, there’s a deeper maturity there.
Something that I wasn’t aware I would notice, but notice I have, my Dear,
There clearly being more to the eyes than we realise, which same emotions share.

Yes, they reflecting ones inner soul, all that we are, and hence that change I see,
Because over the years, each Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring you’ve spent with me.
Life teaching us both, we growing together, no longer as young or naïve,
The eyes revealing it all, until the breath of life decides to take its leave.


By Lance Landall





22.  This Handyman's Ode


Oh, how I’d climb the tallest ladder for you, my Dear, and take my paint brush too,
Ready to brighten your world with lovely colours, those shades tailor-made for you.
Yes, I more than prepared to labour from morning to night in order to build,
A secure, comfy, no trouble at all, Dear, and here’s a hug, love oozing world.

Oh yes, I would chisel, plane, nail, glue, sand and paint ’till that final setting sun,
Every moment plastered with loving care, and wallpapered with shrieks of fun.
And a scaffold of protection surrounding you, it there ’till the job was done,
Your best my every intention, my plan and rule, your heart having been won.


By Lance Landall




23.  That Special Time


I love that time when we’re snuggled up under woolly blankets and linen sheets,
When the moon has droopy eyelids and only ally cats roam the empty streets.
And there, pyjama clad or skin to skin, we tell the old world that we’re not in,
And bask in the warmth of our marital love, sweet hormonal adrenaline.

Yes, be the night sky full of stars or clouded over and depositing rain,
Or the draughty wind catching its breath or icily lashing the windowpane,
Such hardly registers when we’re embraced in sleep or loving intimacy,
And why I love that tender time that draws us closer and most exquisitely.

By Lance Landall





24.  Love’s Expressions


In the middle of the night when she lies still beside me, I thank the One above,
The intimate warmth of both her body and the cosy bed adding to our love.
And on awakening from some dream, I acknowledge her presence with tender care,
Lest any pressure from my searching hand disturb her sleep with it’s, “So glad you’re near.”

You see, love’s expressions do not wait ’till dawn, but share their sentiments there and then,
Though ones partner unaware of that little message I’ve related here in pen;
Unless, of course, one’s sleepy, clumsiness wasn’t nearly as feather-like as planned,
Though hopefully such forgiven by a reciprocating, “Love you too, dear,” hand.

By Lance Landall





25.  As You Sleep


When your face is resting near my heart, and my arms are conveying, “She is mine,”
I luxuriate in that sweet, intimate closeness that draws a loving line.
For such is not for sharing with another soul, it ours alone, and always,
A width, breadth and depth that’s total and complete, which unfaithfulness would erase.

Yes,

“She is mine,” I want the world to know, we as if one, your gentle breathing slow,
Your body pressed against mine, we both basking in the sensual afterglow.
Oh, how I love you, Dear, the years adding more cladding to our fortress of love,
And as you sleep, I feel humbled by that trust you show, and thank the God above.

By Lance Landall





26.  You're My Honeybee


I could’ve called you “Darling” or “Sweetheart,” but no, I decided on “Honey,”
You such a busy little bee, a hive of industry, so warm and sunny.
Oh, how cute you’ve always been, your flower visits providing my energy,
The nectar of your love sustaining, and hence that buzz I feel when you’re near me.

And were we parted, I’d comb the Earth for you, those fields of clover calling me,
 I heady with the scent of your pollen, and thus abuzz with expectancy.
And on finding you, I’d take you back to my beehive, ’cause you’re my honeybee,
The bee’s knees, the bee in my bonnet, and why I’ve happily called you, “Honey.”


By Lance Landall






27.  I'm Not Opposed To Kissing


I’m not opposed to kissing, because it’s rather nice — darn good, actually,
But one does run the risk of an accelerated heartbeat amidst the glee.
And so, one having to be careful, though not too careful, lest it spoil the fun,
And fostering good relations with one’s wife a must, when all is said and done.

And so, one having to take the initiative, catching her as she goes past,
Letting that delightful expression linger a bit — oh, how time goes so fast!
Yes, just enough to do the job, because a little longer could get risky,
One soon accused of delaying the housework, getting a little too frisky.


By Lance Landall





28.  Sweetie Pie


I’ve always liked a piece of apple pie with cream, but not as much as you, Dear,
No, there’s nothing as delicious, and why I’ve been known to nibble your ear.
Yes, my lips enjoying savouring you, my taste buds having been excited,
Hence why you’re always on my menu, your spicy flavours having delighted.

How I long for those moreish experiences, mental knife and fork ready,
I tucking in as if it's the last chance I'll get, the experience heady.
No need of any figurative salt and pepper, no need of any sauce,
'Cause when it comes to you, my sweetie pie, I’m always as hungry as a horse.


By Lance Landall





29.  Mixed Blessings


I don’t know how you do it, Dear, but find things you do — yes, whatever I can’t,
They always exactly where you think they are, but where I thought they were, they aren’t.
I’m almost inclined to think you’ve some psychic ability, ’cause honestly,
I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful you’re able, though it beats me.

Yes, it’s still a mystery, no doubt something to do with femininity,
Those instincts that come with that estrogen package that works so differently.
You even prompting my memory at times, though some things best forgotten, Dear,
Amusing though they be, and given allowances should be made for grey hair.


By Lance Landall





30.  Unashamedly Proud


I don’t like to boast, but I reckon I’m pretty smart, ’cause look who I married, YOU!
Hence my collecting every trophy, though the biggest one of all being, YOU!
So I've given you pride of place, have put you at the forefront, yes, first and foremost,
And am sitting here observing, taking you all in, deliriously engrossed.

Oh yes, I’ve got to hand it to myself, ’cause I really excelled here, got the best,
Not that I mean to disparage other beauties out there, but hey, I’m so impressed.
Yes, I can’t see past you, don’t ever want to, ’cause in my eyes you’re unbeatable,
And I bewitched, bothered and bewildered, completely and utterly under your spell.

By Lance Landall





31.  And Yet Strangely


Hey, Dear, I really get a kick out of you, ’cause you have knocked me for six, you know,
Have bowled me over, swept the ground from under my feet, left me pliable like dough.
Yes, I’m a slave to your wishes, punch-drunk and hopelessly under your spell yippee!
’Cause you’ve grabbed my attention, have knocked my socks off, well and truly captured me.

Yes, you’ve beguiled me, dazzled me, brought me to my knees, thrown me into a spin,
Left me speechless — in fact, even breathless, thanks to those wild palpitations within.
I unable to help myself, and yet strangely, Dear, I don’t seem to mind at all,
Even welcome such, you know, ’cause oh, how you tug on my heartstrings, truly enthral.

By Lance Landall





32.  Destined To Wander


I’m on the trail of my darling, she’s somewhere in the house, but where, beats me,
Because I’ve been from room to room, calling as I go, and even franticly.
I don’t know whether it’s a gift or not, but it’s really getting quite spooky,
Because I know that she is there somewhere, but where, is what really gets to me.

I know she’s not a supernatural being, though sometimes I wonder, ’cause,
There in one of the rooms I had already looked in she actually was.
I find it so mysterious, and to be honest, it’s like, what can’t she do?
And why from room to room I seem destined to wander, calling out, “Where are you?”

By Lance Landall





33.  Just Reasons


If I fall short, Dear, it’s because I am, five foot four, last I knew, but who knows,
Given all that weight that’s on one’s shoulder, and one shrinking somewhat as time goes.
And if I slip up — well, it’s possibly that shiny floor, no excuses though,
Just reasons, and why I hope you’ll understand and a certain patience show.

If I’ve missed the mark, Dear, not scrubbed up too well, I've probably been distracted,
Because rather than all those other things, it’s just you, to whom I’m attracted.
So please forgive me, because I do my best, am sorry about the shortfall,
But like I said, I’m only five foot four or less — in other words, not that tall.

By Lance Landall





34.  Could It Be, Dear?


Could it be, Dear, that snoring's a way of communicating when ones asleep,
In other words, a very private conversation when one’s snoozing is deep?
After all, it is the bedroom, thus intimate those conversations would be,
In other words, peppered with what others shouldn’t hear, even rather spicy.

Yes, a new way of looking at snoring, perhaps, or could it really be so,
The louder the more romantic? “Oops. Sorry, Dear. Did I wake you up? Oh no.”
Seems it must have only been me conversing — well, until you prodded me, Dear,
And what a shame, ’cause so many nice things about you I was trying to share.”

By Lance Landall





35.  Oh, Those Cold, Cold Hands


Yes, you know I love you, Dear, but oh, please go easy when it comes to your cold hands,
‘Cause winter nights and intimacy aren’t the best of friends, and such dampens one’s plans.
A quick rinse under the hot tap first being preferred, or, a little time spent
Warming them up via that toasty bed, thereby showing less mischievous intent.

Oh, how I recoil, beg for mercy, ’cause I’m hardly for warming cold hands upon,
Nor for those rubs where you manage to get past my defence, making me feel set upon.
One woman’s mirth being one man’s terror, and why I’ve even fallen out of bed,
So please, Dear, no sudden grab that makes me yell, but a little compassion instead.

By Lance Landall  






The following is simply a muse.

"I was just thinking, Honey, give me a kiss and I’ll do the dishes for you,
And then, if you give me another one, I’ll also do the knives and forks too.
And when I get to the pots and pans, a third kiss will soon see them squeaky clean,
And as for what’s left, well, another kiss, and they too will go in the machine."

 :-)





36.  Hi, Honey

Hi, Honey, I just wanted to say how much I treasure our intimacy,
Those times that we alone enjoy, I referring to marital nudity.
Yes, that special and extra closeness whereby we sexually become one,
Though there’s something else that I must say, despite those deep moments or playful fun.

It’s you that I’m in love with, and therefore, though enjoying that intimacy,
I’ve no fixation with shape or size, you being my focus, and not your body.
And thus I simply enjoying that loving closeness, but not living for it,
And therefore, when it comes to sex, employing any skill for your benefit.

And therein lies the greater joy that comes my way, I living for you, not sex,
For though some might say, “Well of course,” it’s oft too oft that sexual desires flex.
And thus someone’s poor wife feeling sex being more the interest rather than her,
His far too busy eyes and hands giving him away — oh, how many men err.

Though “lovemaking” is a beautiful thing in its place, it’s spoilt when it’s misused,
Hence why many women who’re on the receiving end — such being lust — feel abused.
And thus such not only an unwelcome pressure, but chisel that chips away,
For those far too busy eyes and hands, and constant hints, “It’s you I love,” don’t say.

So, though I love those bedroom encounters, Honey — akin to a precious gift —
I know that when it comes to our marriage, that they’re not meant to lower but lift.
And lift they will, if my eyes are on you, not scrutinizing your body,
For though such pleases me, my gaze is firmly fixed on you, not your nudity.

By Lance Landall




37.  Fifty Shades Of Blue


Yes, fifty shades of blue, not grey, ’cause it’s porn whichever way one looks at it,
A book or movie, so folk can take their pick, but not me, not one little bit.
It all about lust, self, addiction and fantasy, that fallen-ness of man,
And why I wont read or watch it, Dear, it more something society should ban.

But certainly others are reading it, flocking to see it, tragically,
Because it’s degrading and destructive, injurious to humanity.
A perversion, Dear, which takes what’s beautiful and makes it ugly and dirty,
And thus ones bedroom more devilish than godly, goodbye love and purity.

But that’s how many want it now, and such writers with nothing better to do,
Filmmakers too, folk so easily influenced, dying to try it out too.
It much like a pop-up brothel in a home, an imposition, to be frank,
The act of a ravenous beast and not a man, and how many a marriage sank.

And so, Dear, I’m grateful for what’s natural and normal, not that Playboy ill,
Which once embraced, seldom sees one satisfied, and how ones mind becomes unwell.
Porn nothing but an insult, something that shouts that ones partner isn’t enough,
Hence that mental adultery, that paraphernalia that’s wed to rough.

No, Dear, I don’t need fifty shades of blue, but just you, nothing more, nothing less,
And thus I not having something hurtful, shameful or disturbing to confess.
So I’m not about to dishonour our marital bed, nor that ring that conveys:
This is the woman I’ve chosen — you, Dear — I not interested in those greys."

By Lance Landall






38.  Dear Love Of My Life


There can be so much goodness in a man, but that goodness too oft marred, sadly,
And hence those fathers and husbands who err, though who doesn’t? — speaking sincerely.
But good men bemoaning their failings, kicking themselves, and they wondering why,
Struggling to understand that devil within — hurting too, should they see their wife cry.

And so, dear love of my life, how deeply I regret any sad word or act
That might’ve had you think less of me, hurt, harmed, or that sensitivity lacked.
I never wanting any less than the best for you, but flaws and faults have I,
And why when it comes to treating you just like I should, all I can do is try.

Oh, how I wish and dream of things that I could do (you oft having gone without),
Things that would deliver surprise and delight — and thereby, more love for you shout.
Many men erring early, thus depriving their wives and kids of better things,
And later attempts difficult, even beyond one, which greater hardship brings.

Yes, so many women deserve better, but their man letting them down, sadly,
Hampered by his background, that testosterone that goes with masculinity.
But whatever it be, there’s hardly an excuse, and it plain cruel and folly
To mar the life of a darn good wife, emotionally or physically.

And so, dear love of my life, I wishing that I could do things all over again,
An older, wiser head having come rather late — and too late, for many men.
But better late than not at all, and one so regretful of less happy years,
Where only smiles should’ve graced the face of one’s wife, and never frowns or tears.

By Lance Landall





39.  Fifty Years


Well, here we are, Dear, having made that fifty year milestone-cum-anniversary,
And no regrets, but so very grateful that you chose to spend your whole life with me.
There nothing wrong with marriage, it all coming down to the couple, that love and care,
That selflessness and responsibility, day in and day out, and year after year.

From much younger to much older, from wet behind the ears to grey behind the ears,
Having experienced all the ups and downs of life, both the laughter and the tears.
And still together, no let up in those kisses and hugs, even cuddles in bed,
Because even when the body’s aged and tired, it’s all still in one’s heart and head.

By Lance Landall


 



Christian poem:


40.  Very Tenderly


My dear wife,

Christ, via His Word, has told me to love you just like He loves me, and not to harm,
And He meaning, in any shape or form —- His love for you, also on each palm.
For you belong to Him, not me, and thus I having been charged with minding you,
A soul He views as very precious, and why I must mind what I say and do.

So,

If I’m to love you just like He loves me, that means acting very tenderly,
And thereby, never assaulting you physically or emotionally.
But rather, displaying the utmost affection, loving you with all my heart,
And at the foot of the cross, where self is surrendered, I have been called to start.

Yes, my thoughts for you to be pure and noble, free of whatever soils or mars,
And thus on His return, Christ finding you well cared for, no man-inflicted scars.
You all the better for my care and keeping, not shackled, nor bruised or bleeding,
And I thus earning Christ’s approval, and every wish of His here, exceeding.

By Lance Landall





Wow! Thanks, Dear.