Inspired

Last updated:
10 May 2024

WE'RE EITHER RIDING ON THE WINGS OF LIFE WITH OUR HANDS ON THE REINS, OR WE'RE
TRUDGING SELF-IMPOSED VALLEYS, ROAMING VULNERABLE PLAINS, AIMLESSLY WANDERING
DOWN INDIFFERENT BOULEVARDS AND LONELY LANES — AND OH, HOW SUCH DRAGS,
HOW SUCH PAINS, AND ALL WHY IT ALWAYS COMES BACK TO THOSE WINGS AND REINS,
WHICH ATTITUDE AND EFFORT EITHER ASSISTS OR CONSTRAINS.


LIFE'S NOT A TEST DRIVE, BUT THE REAL THING, WE ACTUALLY ON THE STAGE, AND THUS
ABOUT TO ACT OR SING, ABOUT TO MAKE A FOOL OF OURSELVES SOMEHOW, OR AT THE
SOUND OF LOUD APPLAUSE, ABOUT TO BOW, LIFE BEING THE PRESENT, THE NOW, AND THUS
IT TIME TO SMILE, TIME TO SHOW OUR STYLE — YES, TIME TO STEAL THE SHOW, TIME TO FLEX
AND GROW, TIME TO SINK OR SWIM, TIME TO SHOW HER OR HIM, AND THUS WE IN THE DRIVER'S
SEAT, OUT ON THE MOTORWAY, BECAUSE NOT TOMORROW, BUT TODAY IS THE DAY, FOR THAT
IS LIFE, MY DEAR FRIEND, AND BEFORE IT'S SEEN TO SLIP AWAY.

Inspired

The following is a fictional story of my own creation, which here,
I hope will give hope, and which anyone who reads it is most welcome to share.
Each character’s name plucked out of the air, as fictional as this story too,
One that I feel compelled to say is hardly beyond the bounds of coming true,

And maybe it has for you.

Okay,

Vince loved her (Janice), not suspecting a thing, hence his shock when he found that note,
They having been together two years, but she gone now, and just “Sorry,” she wrote.
On reflection, it seemed to fall into place, “Longer hours needed,” she’d said,
Thus returning home late in the evening, and Vince about to go to bed.

There’d been no issues in their relationship, thus her note really puzzling Vince,
Except for later thoughts of some other man; Vince not having seen Janice since.
He in his twenties then, in his forties now, his new wife having passed away,
Not that he had actually married Janice, 'cause that’s how it is today.

Vince had married into wealth, and thus had done very well for himself, and so
Wasn’t short of cash, nor in any need, but the loss of his wife a cruel blow.
He so wanting happiness to return, not knowing that such was about to,
The sound of his phone arresting his attention, interrupting his thoughts too.

“Hello. Vince speaking.” “Hello Vince. It’s Paul Mansell here. Sorry to bother you.
I’m ringing on behalf of a young woman who asked me if I could find you.
She believes that you’re her dad, and if you are, she would dearly love to meet you;
And in order to explain further, there’s one more question I’d like to ask you.

After all, it’s probably a bit of a shock. Her mother is Janice Spears.
Does that ring a bell?” “Yes, it does,” Vince replied, “One that goes back quite a few years.
But I know nothing of a child, though such is certainly a possibility,
And if I am her father, I’d certainly love to meet her, well and truly.”

“That’s great, Vince. I’ll get back to Mandy. We’ll go from there, paternity test and all.
It’s been lovely chatting.” “Thanks, Paul,” Vince replied again, “Appreciate the call.”
And he deep in thought as he put the phone down, thinking back to those early years,
That hurt that he’d felt on seeing that note, and how he couldn’t hold back the tears.

Unbeknown to him, the years had not been kind to both Janice and Mandy,
That other man an abuser of sorts who had simply found Janice handy.
Mandy barely tolerated, and shortly he was gone, and then they alone,
And little to show for it, except emotionally, hence that inward groan.

Mandy had asked questions regarding her real dad, the why and where of it all,
And Janice feeling the weight of it, stating that finding him was Mandy’s call.
Janice had no problem with that, but how and where she’d no idea, and therefore,
Mandy contacting a private investigator, one registered by law.

And Paul Mansell soon getting back to her, very sure that he had found her dad,
The man Janice now regretted leaving, the father that Mandy should’ve had.
Mandy anxious but delighted, and Janice pleased for her sake, but sad inside,
Vince no doubt raw over that cruel “Sorry” — so contacting him, she’d never tried.

Well, Vince had been deeply hurt alright, but his life and wife had proved a blessing,
We able to love more than the one — and that he’d found someone, Janice guessing.
And Vince well over that hurt, we all so prone to mistakes in our younger years,
And forgiveness a healer, and Janice the one who’d suffered longer come tears.

It’s so easy to point the finger at this person or that person, but hey,
We grow as we go, younger heads hardly older heads, and in time better know.
And thus regret being part and parcel of the scene, many paying dearly,
And that payment enough without fingers pointing, often hypocritically.

Well, the paternity test did indeed confirm things, and thus a time was set,
Both mother and daughter headed in the same direction where they’d soon be met.
Paul Mansell having gone ahead of them, thus Vince brought up to speed and ready,
Janice and Mandy facing a two hour long trip, the hum of the plane steady.

Oh, how busy their minds were, very, very busy, and those two hours so long,
Mandy’s desire to meet and know more about her father extremely strong.
And Janice not sure what to expect, memories flooding back, though none hurtful,
Vince having always treated her well, thus it only she who’d been such a fool.

The day was sunny, the scenery stunning, the setting restful and pretty,
A tree clad park near a small lake that was just on the outskirts of the city.
Vince already there, and aware that Janice would be there too, thus supporting,
But Mandy the one who’d walk some distance ahead to meet him, then Janice bring.

The air was pregnant with emotions, Vince’s wife unable to bear children,
And thus Mandy his only child, and hence that joy and excitement deep within.
Yes, life sometimes surprising us, joy coming after ill, and so it was here,
Because shortly, the daughter that he’d never known was about to appear.

“Okay, Mandy,” Paul informed her, “That’s your father just over there by that tree.
I’ll wait here, and your mother won’t be far behind you — waiting, initially.”
Mandy moved, somewhat slowly at first, then her steps quickening at her dad’s smile,
The distance no more than half a dozen buses, but it seeming quite awhile.

Well, words can only but poorly describe such a scene, the depth of feeling,
Their embrace seemingly locked, tears of joy cascading, no distractions stealing.
Oh, the power in human emotions, and love the most dramatic of all,
The world merely a backdrop, love lifting each ceiling and removing each wall.

Tears had moistened the eyes of Janice too, and the sight of Vince, tugging her heart,
She wondering what had once possessed her — oh, if only this could be a start.
She’d been told by Paul that Vince had lost his wife, but hey, “Put those crazy thoughts away,”
She thought, because Vince would hardly want to go there, and how for errors we pay.

Finally, their embrace unlocked, Mandy motioning to her mother, who
Moved towards them dabbing at her eyes that she was kind of struggling to see through.
No hesitation greeted her, his long lost arms embracing her too, and there
For what seemed ages too, more tears flowed, and two beating hearts both began to dare.

Once again, how can words describe such a scene, night turning to day, pain to joy,
A father found; a relationship rekindled, same past girl, same past boy.
Yes, an ending that couldn’t end better, forgiveness having played its part here,
And thus a family put back together again, wedding bells in the air.

Yes, midst the sadness in this world, there are happy endings, happier stories,
Wounds that heal, things that work out in the end, a clearing that appears midst the trees.
We not letting one more day trouble us than we should, but seizing every ounce,
Lest via bitterness or plain folly, more of the same or worse is seen to pounce.

Yes, it’s by seeking that we find, by forgiving that we heal, thus moving on,
Not victims but heroes of our circumstances, we rising, not set upon.
Both Vince and Janice (not to mention Mandy) claiming life back, not wasting time,
Answers and renewed joy only found when we take hold of the rungs of life and climb.

Well, I hope you’ve been inspired despite all those troubles that exist today,
The daily News so full of them, thus exchanging sunshine for clouds of grey.
One left to think there’s hardly any good news, which just isn’t the case at all,
’Cause there’s many an uplifting story like this one just waiting to enthral.

Janice and Mandy proved such a blessing in Vince’s life, he thrilled and happy,
Once again delighting in the strengths, warmth and beauty of femininity.
Women no less than men for their mistakes, and men no less than women for theirs,
And so much better off are both, when together, they learn to master life’s stairs.

By Lance Landall

2.  "Love You, Man"

I received an email conveying thought and kindness — and signing off, he said,
“Love you, man,” such so unexpected, and thus those words repeating in my head.
I unable to recall when last I heard such words, and isn’t that a shame,
Especially when moving in circles where such should be heard, which I daren’t name.

Oh, how such was needed, and greatly appreciated, we having our times,
Low in spirit, short on vitality, and where things in life, one simply mimes.
Regret, loss, cruel burdens, loneliness — yes, the overwhelming weight of it all
(Or whatever else), and that “Love you, man” descending like a wraparound shawl.

And in the background, or not so background, there’s Myanmar, Taiwan and Ukraine
Fuelling the sadness, the madness, things continuing in the usual vein.
There no “Love you, man” there, but “Hate you, man,” followed by wickedness and cruelty,
Yes, a world of difference, or should I say, indifference, barbarity.

Thus I thankful for that “Love you, man,” as if God had touched me, it clearly meant,
And why in renewed hope my gaze lifted, and why in gratitude my head bent.
This world a mess, and many hearts callous, but not the heart that says, “Love you, man,”
Encountered too seldom, or not at all, via emails, say, or faces we scan.

Yes, such sorely needed, commonly desired, and far more so as time’s gone by,
Troubles increasing, heartache and suffering, hence that often asked question, “Why?”
We surely needing each other more so, that “Love you, man,” but there goes that sigh,
One seemingly waiting forever, sadly, which also begs the question, “Why?”

By Lance Landall

3.  The Stray

One evening I was relaxing and watching the news on TV,
When a particular item appeared that deeply affected me,
'Cause a homeless dog was dodging the traffic on a motorway,
A motorway that was very busy, four to six lanes, I’d say.

This homeless dog was trying to rescue another dog, a mate,
Thus putting itself at grave risk of suffering from the same fate.
And with its mouth, was trying to pull the other dog to safety,
Or at least it thought so, 'cause its mate was now a fatality.

Yes, I was deeply moved by that hairy hero, that dear canine
That was struggling with its mate, and putting its own life on the line.
Yes, an animal, one that could teach us humans a thing or two,
A homeless dog that most citizens would no doubt yell at and shoo.

And yet, one that showed such selflessness, such courage, love, thought and care,
Despite those juggernauts roaring past with barely inches to spare.
Yes, despite that sea of traffic that must have loomed scaringly large,
That great moving mass that down such motorways, one sees daily charge.

Now that's quite something, isn’t it? Yes, just a waif, apparently,
A stray, a drifter, unloved, unkempt, and no doubt far from healthy.
And yet, despite its misfortune (and health wise, much earlier grave),
It generously imperilled itself in order to thus save.

So not only was I deeply moved by this, but it stirred my pen,
'Cause such are often called dumb creatures by rather ignorant men.
However, what I saw that evening via the news on TV,
Told a very different story, and very eloquently.

And hence why I ask,

Would those who call such creatures dumb, risk their life in order to save?
And hey, would we risk our life, or rather differently behave?
Yes, would we show such selflessness, fearlessness, generosity,
Such loving concern, courage, and just as unconditionally?

By Lance Landall


This poem was upgraded on 19 December 2021.

4.  The Miraculousness Of Love

Yes, there’s no questioning the miraculousness of love, just what it can achieve,
All why in the power of love and its creative ability, I believe.
Oh yes, it softening a hard heart, changing someone’s direction, building a bridge,
Opening a closed door, and why being love’s ambassador is a privilege.

Yes, I could wax lyrical for hours about the mirculousness of love,
A beautiful tool in the hands of those hearts shaped by higher principles above.
Such love scaling mountains, dismantling walls, going the distance — and yes, being there,
Providing that ear, arm, shoulder or shelter, quieting anxiety and fear.

By Lance Landall

5.  That Love Bug

It’s such a cheeky little thing, and thus mischievous too,
Grinning at you until you smile, and then it giggling at you.
And sometimes it creeps up on you and jostles you from behind,
Or leaves you little notes that are sweetly noughts and crosses signed.

It sometimes tickles your toes, even wrestles with your bed sheets,
Or hides your slippers somewhere, and often “Pleeeeease will you” repeats.
It takes a bite from your sandwich, sneaks sips from your hot drink too,
And whispers cute things in your ear as it snuggles up to you.

Oh yes, it reads over your shoulder, startles you when it speaks,
Covers both your eyes with its hands, pulls your nose and pats your cheeks.
It chases you around the house, and sometimes plays hide-and-seek,
And when you sneak up on it, it’s quite inclined to jump and shriek.

It brings you breakfast in bed — REALLY? — well, I keep hoping so,
And it sometimes turns the lights down and turns on the stereo.
It rests itself against you 'cause it’s affectionate and sweet,
And it loves to hold your hand when you’re both strolling down the street.

It smiles at you lovingly, or stares at you quizzically,
And sometimes even communicates telepathically.
It treats you, it spoils you, it waits for you, even misses you,
And it’s always there beside you, despite crazy things you do.

Yes, it kisses and caresses, gives you cuddles or a squeeze,
Or when you’re lightly snoozing, it will get a feather and tease.
Yes, it gives you nice surprises, makes a real big fuss of you,
Though I have to admit that it can also bamboozle too.

Oh yes, it’s somewhat a mystery, yet without it, oh, dare,
I would be so unhappy and wonder why on Earth I’m here.
And though it may well bamboozle, even seem a mystery,
Love’s the greatest bug on earth, and why I’m glad that it caught me.

By Lance Landall


This poem was upgraded on 5 July 2023.

6.  Incey Wincey Spider

There's an amusing little story that for years has been about,
Which says that Incey Wincey Spider clambered up a water spout.
It also states that some rain came, which washed poor Incey Wincey out,
’Cause as the rain ran off the roof, it gushed on down the water spout.

But hey, this story doesn’t end there, ’cause when the rain went away,
Right back up that water spout, Incey Wincey spider made his way.
Yes, even though dazed and bedraggled, Incey Wincey persevered,
And high up that water spout — midst loud cheers, I hope — soon reappeared.

Now, all of us can learn from this, and a lesson identify,
’Cause sometimes things can happen that see the best of plans go awry.
And why we too, just like Incey Wincey, should not accept defeat,
But instead, and with our head held high, quickly get back on our feet.

Oh yes, if Incey Wincey did it, after being drenched by rain,
I’m sure that we can do it too, if we don’t let our own zeal wane.
’Cause we’re much bigger than a spider, and we have a smarter brain,
So don’t give up, but try again, should any plans go down the drain.

And so, whenever things get hairy, just think of Incey Wincey,
And exercise a little faith, it only taking a tincey.
Thus you not giving in to doubt, but instead, leaving room for hope,
And should someone say “Give up,” just copy Incey Wincey, and say, “Nope.”

’Cause often we can encounter water spouts, which we need to climb,
Spouts that can flood too, just like in this story, that I’ve put to rhyme.
And we thus getting a soaking, and possibly even washed out,
And why, just as we’re exiting — “I will return!” — should loudly shout.

Yes, Incey Wincey was a hero, and we can be heroes too,
If we, midst adversity, a positive attitude pursue.
’Cause if a spider can do it, with an amusing name like that,
I’m sure that we can do it too — so, go on, be a copycat.

By Lance Landall


Water spout:
A pipe that allows rain to escape after it has flowed into channels called spouting.
The water then moving through underground pipes to wherever.
This poem was upgraded on 19 August 2022.

7.  High Noon For The Blues

Everything was going fine ’till the blues rolled into town,
Their Holsters packed with surly clouds ready to bring a man down.
Yes, heavy boots strode ’cross my mind, pausing, intimidating,
Misery at the ready, success anticipating.

Demons clothed in black, faces masked by shadows, they halting there,
Defiant and menacing, sneering too, thus provoking fear.
Yes, the blues looking for victims had chosen to visit me,
They just spoiling for a showdown — a duel, emotionally.

Suddenly a voice rang out, “Hey! You ain’t got no business here,
Just turn around, saddle up, and high-tail it out of here.
My names Sheriff Positive, and I’m in charge of this terrain,
And I ain’t letting blues trample over this little ole brain.

So just take those mean ole clouds away, and all your ballyhoo,
And never come back, ya hear, ’cause we don’t want the likes of you.
You’re so draining emotionally — yes, plain gloomy, in fact,
And all that negativity only bad things will attract.”

And to show that he meant business, he then fired a shot or two,
Hitting large barrels of laughter out of which endorphins flew.
And soon the positive returned, and much clearer I could see,
Which left me smiling brightly, and striding more confidently.

The moral of the story? Well, when the blues roll into town,
Call on Sheriff Positive, and not let grey clouds take you down.
Yes, let the positive ride shotgun as you go through life, and
You will find that you will cope better when things don't go as planned.

Just treat those blues like tumbleweeds, blowing them west, right on by,
Not listening to some negative murmur, and nor such buy.
But just fire off a shot or two that will see such on their way,
And that will stir up further endorphins as they ricochet.

Yee haa!

By Lance Landall


This poem was upgraded on 19 August 2022.

8.  Henry Sturgeon

Harry was in trouble, for someone had burst his bubble, and he was down,
His heart was feeling like lead, as he didn’t like what they’d said, hence his frown.
He felt like ranting and raving, didn’t bother shaving, and went to bed,
And that’s where he would have stayed, just grumpily laid, but for his Uncle Fred.

Fred took him to see a surgeon, clever Henry Sturgeon, who worked on brains,
A man of many skills, used to certain ills, and nasty negative strains.
He knew just what to do, so he called for his lively crew, and vials of fun,
And before he started, all the curtains were parted, which let in the sun.

Such made the room more cheery, the atmosphere more merry, and work began,
Masterly jabs of humour, pierced Harry’s sombre tumour; such Henry’s plan.
Soon the tumour was shrinking, and Henry winking — yes, very knowingly,
For laughter, with follow-ups after, helps return one's positivity.

Armed with witty potions, and some comical lotions, Harry bade farewell,
His life looking brighter, his heart feeling lighter, and he no longer ill.
For Henry Sturgeon, the jesting surgeon, chose to leave Harry in stitches,
Knowing that bouts of laughter, ever after, a person’s life enriches.

Harry’s no longer in trouble, nothing bursts his bubble, nor gets him down,
His happiness beguiles, he’s full of beaming smiles, and never wears a frown.
He loves to have lots of fun, is quick with a witty pun, and wisecracks too,
And a career with Henry Sturgeon, the waggish surgeon, might well pursue.

Yes, all thanks to Uncle Fred, who rescued Harry from his bed, thankfully,
For there he would’ve remained, mentally drained, and just locked in self-pity.
But thanks to Henry Sturgeon, the slapstick surgeon, Harry was saved in time,
Hence his peals of laughter, from thereafter, that people have often heard chime.

Therefore, whenever you’re feeling down, nursing a frown, remember Harry,
And visit Henry Sturgeon, the clever surgeon, and there, gladly tarry.
He’ll pierce your sombre tumour, with his jabs of humour, and smile with delight,
And in no time at all, his fun will enthral, and you will be feeling right.

By Lance Landall


This poem also appears in my light-hearted section, second poetry garden.

9.  Doctor Sunshine

Due to feeling rather down, some medication was required,
So I rang old Doctor Sunshine who much happiness inspired.
“I will be right over,” he said, grabbing a humorous brew,
And then beaming very brightly, he appeared as if on cue.

Yes, the blues had settled on me and were cruelly pressing down,
Thus my laughter lines and wrinkles had converted to a frown.
My chin was on the table, and I had little zing and zoom,
Until Doctor Sunshine appeared, and brightness began to bloom.

He seized a jolly syringe and jabbed me with gags, quips and puns,
Until slowly endorphins grew, sending rays out like the sun’s.
In time he had me giggling, and then laughing until I cried,
Which soon had me back to normal and bubbling with joy inside.

He then left me a prescription for natural remedies
That would perk one’s spirits up, and that one’s ups and downs would ease.
He said to take them often, 'cause they would act preventively,
(Referring to happy thoughts, alias positivity).

Yes, good old Doctor Sunshine rescued me from the horrid blues,
'Cause he knew instinctively that it’s mostly those thoughts we choose.
And being such a kindly fellow, he never berated me,
But simply snatched some laughter and then began his therapy.

We all need Doctor Sunshine to visit us from time to time,
Whose bag of spirit lifters gives us shots that then see us climb.
And he’s such a merry fellow who’s great fun to have around,
Especially when the blues try to hassle us and surround.

Yes, he knows how to treat the blues with his warming sunny rays
That radiate cheerfulness and lighten up those gloomy days.
'Cause he looks on the brighter side, sows positive energy,
And he does such so very well, 'cause that’s his practice, you see.

By Lance Landall

10.  The Neggs

Watch out for those surly neggs, because they’re sneaky cheerless things,
So often responsible for those grouchy slouchy mood swings.
They’re agitators, instigators, downright mischief makers,
Nasty — happy thoughts and moods — gloomy doomy over takers.

Yes, they’re the neggs — the negatives — that just pessimism sow,
So seek the pozzies — the positives — shouting, "NEGGS! Go! Go! Go!"
Otherwise you’ll soon frown, soon go down, and in pity drown,
All why I'd send those neggs packing, high-tailing it out of town.

Oh yes, they’re outright joy killers that will clutter up your brain
Once they’re given half a chance to negatively entertain.
They’re outrageous, contagious, certainly not advantageous,
And they’ll get their way with you, unless you’re quite courageous.

So just give them the heave ho — yes, that’s right, just say, “Cheerio,”
Not giving them the opportunity to chortle and crow.
Otherwise they’ll knock you, mock you, perhaps even rock you,
Taking you down a dead-end street where no one is well-to-do.

No, don’t listen to the neggs, 'cause they’ve got nothing good to say,
But instead, call on the pozzies, let them keep those neggs at bay.
Otherwise they’ll drain you, strain you, even cause loss and pain,
And things you want to achieve, you’ll possibly not attain.

And therefore, don’t let the neggs nag you, get their feet in the door,
'Cause once in, you can be sure that certain things they’ll explore.
Yes, they’re cunning, soon gunning, and why those neggs I’d be shunning,
Lest it be that in the wrong direction they have you running.

They’re not only depressing, but injurious advisors,
Thus misery maximisers and happiness minimisers.
They’re also victimizers that soon mentally tyrannize,
And that very actively, budding problems fertilise.

Yes, so seek the pozzies — the positives — shouting, "NEGGS! Go! Go! Go!"

By Lance Landall


This poem was upgraded on 3 April 2023.

11.  Worry Warts

Yes, mind those worry warts with their frowny face too often found on bodies,
They nothing but a worry, partly because creative thought they're seen to freeze.
Their troublesome manner just causes a lot of bother, and gets in the way,
Creating unpleasant furrows on the forehead, and making one’s hair go grey.

All why worry’s a worry, no good to anybody, pointless as can be,
And the more it grows, the harder it is to get rid of, like an itchy flea.
Worry warts not doing anyone any favour, but uselessly camped there,
Like the mother of negative pimples, which looks-wise, is more inclined to scare.

Yes, those worry warts needing the ointment of positivity 'till they go,
Though preventative measures are better, like an outlook that more sense will show.
Thus those worry warts firmly set upon, or better still, they finding the gate shut,
Unable to get under one’s skin, and any try getting a “Tut, tut, tut.”

By Lance Landall

12.  Three Miracles

Miracle One

Yes, another David Beckham (soccer champ), or so I thought,
As I imagined all the crowds that are drawn to such a sport.
I running towards the ball, and kicking as hard as I could,
But to my utter horror, that ball headed where no ball should.

Yes, straight towards the kitchen window, the angle badly bent,
Which I can truly assure you, friend, was never my intent.
Bang! It smashing its way inside with a sound that left me weak,
Because shortly, through what glass remained, my dear wife sought to peek.

It was only seconds earlier that she'd been standing there,
Busy preparing a meal that the family would soon share.
And had my wife still been standing by that window near the sink,
What on earth might she have suffered; such I truly hate to think.

Miracle Two

When our twin girls were three years old, I called home in my work van,
Backing down the driveway, and then quickly, into the house ran.
Moments later I rushed back to that same van parked in the drive,
And thinking that back at my workplace I would shortly arrive.

When I had jumped from my work van to quickly hurry inside,
I'd dislodged something, which underneath the van, someone saw glide.
On returning to the van, I guess that I'd forgotten that,
But forgotten or unaware, there under the van it sat.

I turned the key, began to move, felt a bump, a cry, then stalled,
So I jumped back out, checked ’round the van, and what I saw appalled.
While busy inside the house, my daughter unbeknown to me
Had crawled under the van to retrieve what her sharp eyes could see.

The front wheels of the work van had crossed her legs behind her knees,
Hence that bump that I had felt, that cry, and my sudden unease.
I and a nearby workman grabbed at her amidst my “Oh no’s,”
But the next day she was walking, and now, just a wee mark shows.

Miracle Three

One day my other daughter and I went out for a wee walk,
Something we regularly did, and about this or that would talk.
But first I slowed to check the mailbox, slowed to tie my shoe-lace,
And then we crossed the road, walking a block at a casual pace.

We then turned into a shortish street, one where we often walked,
Casting our eyes about as one does, while we quietly talked.
Halfway down and opposite, a man in a car drew my gaze,
He seemingly day-dreaming, but whose actions would soon amaze.

His car had stopped at the end of his driveway, just near the curb,
Right across the footpath, that is, our walk ready to disturb,
'Cause soon he accelerated, shooting ’cross the road at speed,
And then down someone's driveway where he crashed, leaving us weak-kneed.

Yes, a few yards in front of us, which numerous thoughts would stir,
Because such could've taken our lives in an instant, a blur.
Had I not checked our mailbox, or slowed to tie my loose shoe-lace,
It could have left our dear loved ones with a tragedy to face.

Do I believe in miracles? Yes, that unseen hand that spares,
Resulting in the opposite, thanksgiving rather than tears.
And where such stories are told, they giving reason to believe,
That hope and heart might continue midst those things that have us greive.

Yes, I do believe in miracles, like those I’ve mentioned here,
And I have experienced more throughout my life, here and there.
In fact, it's quite a miracle to survive another day,
'Cause danger is ever present, and life can be snatched away.

By Lance Landall


This older poem was upgraded (and title changed too) 20 November 2021.

13.  It's Sad To Say

Perhaps it was a degree of cerebral palsy, her odd walk catching my eye,
It somewhat awkward and uncoordinated, and having kissed running goodbye.
Oh yes, she never to win any marathon, and no doubt the butt of cruelty,
And had I stopped, struggling facial expressions and impaired speech may well have met me.

But I didn’t stop, I an older man not wanting to be viewed suspiciously,
And she perhaps thirteen or so — well, you know how it is these days, tragically.
And thus I passing by, and no doubt young males too, she destined for more misery,
Regardless of whether it was just her walk that repelled; she pleasant facially.

Yes, how tragic, and here people are complaining — hearing, eyesight, limbs working fine —
Many of them ages in front of a mirror where over this or that they pine.
And that poor young girl thinking, “If only I were like them, they very blessed indeed,”
Yet, they finding flaws that hardly matter, and wishing for things they really don’t need.

All of which reminds me of another poor soul (working in a supermarket),
His head bent at right angles, and who though deserving of some sort of benefit
(In order to remain off work), refuses to quit-cum-no pity party trip,
Though many no doubt avoiding him too, only too happy to pleasantries skip.

Yes, both poor souls unable to have their affliction removed, but they coping well,
Their response to their plight heroic, though no medals for them who so much could tell.
For every day such people have to battle the odds, deal with those whispers and stares,
And those people who pass them by who’re more concerned with their minor cosmetic cares.

And perhaps I guilty too, though in my case prudence seeming better exercised,
But my heart going out to her — and hence this poem — for over such I agonised.
Yes, walking no trouble for me, no stares coming my way, and a smile would’ve done,
For midst those shadows and clouds that mar their day, they can sure do with a little sun.

As for the rest of us, we oft taking that sun for granted that we see far more,
Thus not appreciating things like we should until affliction comes through our door.
We meantime majoring on minors, and inspecting that mirror too intently,
Our love affair and concern with self an inward degree of cerebral palsy.

By Lance Landall

14.  I've A Duty, I've A Reason

Would I like a stately house, one midst gardens prim and expansive,
And it standing in an area where the rich and famous live?
Yes, a million dollar mansion, one with treasures in every room,
One sporting a largish swimming pool, one befitting a tycoon.

Would I like a speedy Ferrari, a stylish Lamborghini,
Or a garage full of cars, each one waxed and gleaming just for me,
And a chauffeur to drive me around and open and close the door
As I stepped out in flash clothing that would leave admirers in awe?

Would I also like a bank account that is bursting at the seams,
Along with investments here and there that incredible wealth screams,
And properties all around the globe, a large yacht, a plush hotel,
A cook, maid, butler and gardener, and a private jet as well?

No, 'cause that just isn’t me, but there is another thing, you see,
As I couldn’t in all conscience given there's so much poverty.
No, 'cause all this wealth that could be mine, could save thousands every day,
Therefore, how could I rest easy and such indifference display?

Yes, I could give some money, even half of the money I own,
But the rest of it that I'd have left would still have me sigh and groan,
'Cause even that much I don’t need, and even more people could aid
If I just lived a simple life and one's duty didn’t evade.

No, I don’t need such riches — and besides, so wrong such wealth would be,
Unless I kept on giving (though mindful of my own needs, clearly),
'Cause while many are starving daily, or in abject poverty,
I’ve a duty, I’ve a reason, to act very responsibly.

Yes, many are dying daily, or are suffering needlessly,
While money that could help them greatly is being squandered recklessly.
Therefore, if I didn’t do the right thing, I too, guilty would be,
'Cause I’ve a duty, I’ve a reason, where I’ve capability.

By Lance Landall


This poem was upgraded on the 5th February 2016, and was tweaked
on the 1 January 2022 after being placed on this page.

15.  When Love Rightly Blew Its Top

Love invited everyone for dinner, giving hate a real dressing down,
And reminding of the unattractiveness of an unnecessary frown.
Love not mincing its words come selfishness, thoughtlessness, rudeness, pouts, scowls and sneers,
And as far as spitefulness and cruelty went, it absolutely burning ears.

Love not putting up with it, and having seen such ugliness before, and so
It coming down on anger too, and mentioning snappiness in the same flow.
Love making things very clear, and telling them all to get their act together, and
That if they didn’t, there would be unfortunate consequences — "Understand!?"

By Lance Landall







Christian content or degree.
Ignace Jan Paderewski (pad-a-rif-ske) 1860-1941 was a Polish pianist,
composer, statesman.

16.  The Master's Touch

(Based on an excerpt I read)

A mother took her young son to a Paderewski concert, the story goes,
Hoping such would encourage her son’s progress on the piano, 'cause who knows.
After they were both seated, the mother spotted an old friend who was there too,
So she left her seat and walked down the aisle to greet her friend, as people oft do.

Seizing the moment, her young son left his seat also, and began to explore,
Shortly wandering under a “No Admittance” sign stationed above a door.
When the lights dimmed, the mother returned to her seat to find her young son had gone,
The stage curtains parting, and to her horror, what the spotlight had fallen on.

Her darling boy was seated at a large piano, an impressive Steinway,
And there, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” innocently was attempting to play.
From the far side of the stage, the great piano master himself soon appeared,
Quickly approaching both the piano and young boy, as everyone stared.

He leaned over the young boy, and, “Don’t stop, keep on playing,” whispered in his ear,
And with the master’s arms reaching around him, a combined effort all could hear.
Added to the young boy’s modest tappings was a masterful depth and beauty,
Which mesmerized and stole the show, thanks to Paderewski’s creativity.

Well, there’s a Master up above who assists our efforts too, creatively,
One who, “Don’t stop, keep on playing,” whispers in our ear too, encouragingly.
Though we may try our best, we still fall far short, achieve little that’s noteworthy,
Until His hands team up with our hands to create a heavenly symphony.

Despite our best efforts, we’re just like that young boy sitting at that piano,
Innocently tapping out a simple tune, one that doesn’t quite seem to flow.
One that needs the Master’s touch, a divinely blended rhythm and harmony
That will strike a cord in those around us, and weave a heavenly tapestry.

Yes, this Earth’s a concert hall, with its curtains parted, and there sits you and I,
So in need of a divine Paderewski who our efforts will beautify.
One who whispers in our ear, “Don’t stop, keep on playing,” and spreads His nail pierced
hands,
And our own, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” enhances, enlivens and expands.

By Lance Landall






Christian content or degree.

17.  Once Upon A Time In Edinburgh

 John Gray, who worked for the police as a night watchman, had a little doggy,
One that walked the streets of Edinburgh with him, be those nights warm or chilly.
They were the very best of friends, and thus kept each other company, until
John Gray was struck by tuberculosis, and in time, beneath the ground lay still.

Well, one would’ve thought the story would've ended there, but by his master’s grave
That little Skye Terrier remained for fourteen years, and all weathers would brave.
Oh, how loyal that little dog was, keeping constant watch and guard, ’till he too
Succumbed to death, but always to be remembered by a commissioned statute.

Well, this touching story got me thinking of Someone else who died one sad day,
A Someone called Jesus, though in His case, He came back to life, I’m glad to say.
He then departing for Heaven with the promise that He’d return again, and
Leaving behind mourners too, faithful followers, who, near Calvary still stand.

Oh, how I hope that you’re one of them, remaining there at the foot of the cross,
And knowing that when you pass away too, it'll be all about gain and not loss.
Thus you like that faithful little dog, never leaving Christ’s side, but loyal too,
Come calm or foul weather — and oh, the joy to be found in that coming rescue!

Yes, Scotland’s Capital city will always remember its most famous and
Faithful dog, because right near Greyfriars churchyard, his statue is seen to stand.
And so too in Heaven will your faithfulness always be seen, that crown of yours,
Having been true to Jesus, Christ-like in all things, a warrior in His cause.

By Lance Landall


On Bobby’s headstone it states:
Greyfriars Bobby—died 14 January 1872—aged 16 years—Let his loyalty
and devotion be a lesson to us all.

Christian content or degree.
Based on a short story I read, and at my daughters request.

18.  The Gavel

This poem was tweaked throughout on 9 January 2022.





Christian content or degree.

19.  An Offer Too Good To Refuse

I believe that God is the only answer, the only way, so please, dear friend,
Don’t be put off by wrong you’ve heard of Him, and those Christians who their God offend.
It’s not about Christendom, but Christianity, the Gospel of Jesus,
That God of love who sacrificed His own precious life in order to save us.

A God who’s borne long with humanity, the rebelliousness and disbelief,
Those sad actions of humanity’s first parents who’re the cause of all the grief.
They having taken notice of a devil instead, and so it is today,
Generations of their kids having also chosen to go the same sad way.

Yes, the problem’s not with God, but us, and yet, He still trying to save us all,
It our decision though, He not one to force us, hence His earnest but quiet call.
So will you heed it, friend, there being no future here, Earth coming to a close,
The signs of such flashing Christ’s concern, and how the best for you, He wants and knows.

He all about love, the GOD OF LOVE, hence all that loving affection we see,
It’s origin heavenly, and why He too, wants to embrace us lovingly.
So please, don’t let His enemy snatch you away from Him, ’cause you’re His child, and
On acceptance of Him, and due heartfelt repentance, safe and secure you’ll stand

(So long as you don’t turn away from Him, and still faithfully cling to His hand).

And thus failure to respond being a sad thing indeed, both for Him and you,
A loss not worth the choice, and hence His voice, He so wanting you to think it through.
This world full of misery and disappointment, but Heaven bubbling with joy,
And that renewed Earth to come, where nothing will hurt, harm, mar, frighten or destroy.

By Lance Landall