A Cautionary Yarn
Via the gift of poetry, I've a tale for your
consideration, one that’s my own creation,
Where both the story that is told, and the characters
within it, come from my imagination.
And this, in order to convey worthy sentiments, using those
components felt necessary,
In order to hold the reader’s interest, engage them
beneficially and emotionally.
A shadow ran across the gentle incline, tickling the blades of grass attached to the valley floor,
And where Beth Sangster strode as she surveyed the hilltops that beckoned her, brows she’d oft roamed before.
But not today, 'cause Beth was more focussed on a tree clad area that she hadn’t yet explored,
An area that due to the pleasure gained from roaming those oft wind swept brows, she'd so far ignored.
With summer bathing the countryside now, the ground was firm beneath her, thus her hike a pleasant stroll,
Sparrows on the wing, dragonflies just as busy, and little rabbits scurrying from hole to hole.
A light breeze brushed her cheeks as she made her way, the warmth of the day pleasing, the scenery as well,
And here and there, given the array of flowers dotting both trees and shrubbery, she’d stop and smell.
Yes, there’s so much joy to be found in nature, joy oft undiscovered by those brought up in the city,
They more focussed on the materialistic (money), the sophisticated (image), sadly,
On that which really has so little depth and meaning, unlike nature, where depth and meaning abound,
And where midst its natural beauty and stillness, a reflective soul healing quietness is found.
Though trees were everywhere, she was heading for a dense and widespread cluster that ran for miles,
An area that wasn’t visited much, but where nature’s treats drew even more admiring smiles.
And she remembered some comment that she'd overheard about some scary character who lived there,
One who had generated fear, but she was sure that he was further north, though not entirely clear.
“Just village gossip,” she mused, dismissing such as the enticing cluster of trees appeared ahead,
She now beginning to leave behind the company of gently flowing water and riverbed.
Yes, almost there, two hours walk from the village where she lived on her own, she having just tuned thirty,
And enjoying village life midst penning her next novel, her first being penned when in the city.
“Ah, this is the life,” she mused again, now enjoying the green canopy that had engulfed her frame,
And there she stood admiring the trees — yes, temporary relief from the bustle, clamour and fame.
Oh, how such beguiled, a cute creature attracting her attention, she following with interest,
And thus straying much further than she had realised, she so in awe, 'cause such was nature at its best.
Feeling a bit anxious, she tried to retrace her steps, but such was unfamiliar territory,
And she moving further from where she’d originally entered, more north than south, concernedly.
Thus growing more anxious, a little panic crept in, and she began to stumble, peering here and there,
Soon emitting a painful cry as she tripped and fell, a cry that fell upon someone else’s ear.
She tried to rise, but the pain in her bloodied leg wouldn’t let her, her backpack just out of reach, and,
Unbeknown to her, though conscious of the possibility, a looming figure was close at hand.
She hearing the crackle of undergrowth coming nearer, anxiety quickly turning to fear,
'Cause rushing towards her was a scary figure, disfigured face, someone whose intentions were clear.
She froze, her heart thumping badly, and words sticking in her throat, some cruel fate seemingly guaranteed,
Her energy distressingly leaving, she seemingly unable to move, nor able to plead.
A hand reached out to snatch her from the undergrowth that seemed to have entangled her intentionally.
“I may look scary,” he said, “But I can assure you I pose no threat,” and his eyes seemed to agree.
Beth’s fear subsided slightly, his sad disfigurement a birth defect, just to the right of his face,
He no doubt the one she’d heard of, his birth defect perhaps why he’d chosen this out of the way place.
She found her voice as he gently raised her to her feet, and one arm supported by his other hand,
His firm but sensitive grip lingering a bit to ensure that she was able to freely stand.
“Thanks,” she said, not sure whether such was in order yet, of which he seemed conscious, but genuinely,
Stepping back in order to further reassure her, then fetching her backpack just as thoughtfully.
His voice disturbed the quietness again. “Your leg will need attending to. Are you able to walk?”
Beth made an effort, she hobbling, and stating the obvious, heartened she felt able to talk.
However, that hobble made her vulnerable, thus her worry still had cause, which she dare not share,
Though this man who'd appeared out of nowhere, and despite his scary looks, genuinely seemed to care.
“I’ve a cottage not far away,” he said. “If you can make it there, I can deal with that leg of yours,
And he smiled as best he could, filling her in a little more, given her understandable pause.
Clive Simmons had had it rough since birth, his birthmark fodder for the cruel, a repellent to many,
And after his parent's death, he sought refuge in the countryside, away from the community.
But even here he’d become an object of fear, the butt of superstitious tales, further injury,
Which he conveyed to Beth, but not in so many words, given she wouldn’t want to hang around, clearly.
And that’s the harsh reality that many unfortunate souls are living with, a tragedy,
They shunned, neglected and laughed at, despite being every bit as much a part of humanity.
And many of them being the nicest of people, yet treated as outcasts — yes, inhumanely,
Not understood, treated with suspicion, maligned and vilified, and surrounded by fantasy.
“I may need some help on the way,” Beth replied. Clive nodded, and taking an arm he gently led her,
And as they chatted on the way, the truth that appearances can be deceiving began to stir.
Yes, often those who point the finger and waggle their tongue are far from right, guilty of greater wrong,
Wrong that the pain of many who’re innocent, damaged, or disfigured like Clive, is seen to prolong
The homely looking cottage was only a wild stone’s throw away, and it soon appeared within view,
A babbling brook nearby — and to her surprise, that same creature Beth had earlier sought to pursue.
Clive noticed her interest. “She’s a regular visitor here,” he informed, “Her mother as well,
And they're not the only ones,” he added, and Beth could see herself coming under Shady Hollow’s spell.
Once inside the cottage her leg was attended to, Clive surprising her with his ability,
The result of his mum's influence, she having been a nurse, and familiar with surgery,
And Clive having often watched his mother as she kindly attended to both friends and family;
Village life as a nurse being so very different to the life of a nurse in the city.
What Clive had learnt, he’d put to good use 'round his cottage, tending to sick, wounded, orphaned creatures,
They having no fear of him, sensing his affection, good intentions and benevolent features.
All how his plight proved a blessing to the innocent and vulnerable, often victims of men,
Those who stalk, slaughter, cage, shackle, mistreat and misuse — and, let me add, unnecessarily pen.
All to satisfy their desires, despite the abundance of alternative food which could spare such ill
Come those slaughter houses dotting Earth, polluting the land, where men, without any qualms, millions kill.
But not Clive, 'cause the very thought of such sickened him, all life being precious, and part of a plan,
One that didn't intend creatures suffer so violently and coldheartedly at the hands of man.
Well, Beth learnt much from Clive, often visiting Shady Hollow (a bus drive and thirty minutes walk.
That is, via entering the cluster of trees from the northern side), where they'd potter, wander and talk.
Though 'round fifty, Clive had the strength and energy of a much younger man, up at the crack of dawn,
Fetching and chopping wood, working the land, tending to feathered, fury friends, his clothes sweat stained and torn.
In time, the disfigured face of Clive ceased to register the same in Beth’s mind, and indeed her heart,
She soon drawn to this man of depth, character and gentleness, who’d turned caring into an art.
A man shunned by society, and yet more noble and loving than those men who act so cruelly,
Judging by appearance, caught up in looks — and despite the gift of life, acting so inhumanely.
Despite the age gap (not always a consideration), Beth conveyed her interest creatively,
Which Clive (oft scratching his head in amazement, and yet with delight), responded to accordingly.
And in the quietness of Shady Hollow, the beauty that surrounded, wedding vows were exchanged,
Signalling the affection, intention and direction of two lives now irreversibly changed.
With Beth’s new novel being another winner, Shady Hollow became a favoured sanctuary,
Where needy creatures got the best of care, where animal welfare was promoted vigorously.
And just as much, the well-being of humans, 'cause both are living creatures that hurt one should not dare,
And who the gift of life, and everything wonderful in this world, were meant to enjoy and share.
Sometimes we fear those that we shouldn’t, and don’t fear those that we should, perhaps taken in by their charm,
Given that it’s a known fact that many who seem to be no threat, are capable of much harm.
But for some odd reason, we still seem to have that thought in mind that most evil people look nasty,
And often avoid those who look somewhat unfortunate, thus judging by appearances, sadly.
Yes, too much movie watching, but the fact remains that we shouldn’t judge by appearances, blindly,
'Cause appearances can be deceiving, we running the risk of denigrating someone wrongly.
And needless to say, such is not fair, an action that reveals more about us, and negatively,
Which we’d do well to ponder on, and rightly apply, showing thought, wisdom, love and maturity.
Judging by appearances includes what people do, which we need to take care we don’t misconstrue,
'Cause once again, we can think something that’s not so — and worse, go and tell others when we shouldn’t do.
And oh, the harm that’s often done, which can kick back at us, and all because of acting thoughtlessly,
Going by perception and presumption (rather than making sure we’ve got things right), which is silly.
There’s enough heartache and trouble without causing more, enough toxic grapevines being watered and fed,
Which is why many things are best not thought or shared, and lest others add to such, even further spread,
Just like in Clive’s case, — where things were thought and said that had no basis whatsoever in reality,
'Cause Clive was a good man, one who felt forced to remove himself as far as possible from society.
Yes, appearances can certainly be deceiving, 'cause much that looks attractive is far from so,
Hence how many are deceived, and oft suffer as a result, 'cause disguise is the way of the foe.
And much that we consider unattractive is but a treasure trove, rich with the beneficial,
Unlike that which hides poison tipped arrows, each arrow pointed at those who come under its cruel spell.
Even the discerning, impartial, and truly thoughtful person can be caught out by what attracts,
'Cause once again, appearances can be deceiving, and so often there is something that distracts.
But judging by appearances alone, or hearsay, is nothing but folly, and very unfair,
And why every one of us needs to mind what we think and share, even what we read, watch and hear.
By Lance Landall
This poem was penned November 2011 and upgraded 26 October 2022.
