Love, Thought And Care

 

Introduction


The poems regarding COMPETITIVENESS begin with poem number 26.

The poems regarding the ELDERLY begin with poem number 28.


"I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people"

Vincent van Gogh (1853-1890)





1.  Love, Thought And Care


If we’ve lived our life and haven’t found that it all comes down to love, thought and care,
Sad indeed that is, and thus the cupboards of our lives woefully lean or bare.
Love, thought and care having been the mountain that we should’ve climbed, hoisting our flag,
That the hopes and spirits of others might soar too, not whither away or sag.

Oh, the power of love, thought and care, it changing others as much as us, and
Easing the burdens of life, supporting midst those things that one can’t understand.
The reasons sometimes hidden, the answers not to be found, but somebody there,
Yes, a fellow traveller, someone taking the time to show, love, thought and care.

By Lance Landall




2.  Come The Revolution!


Yes, come the revolution! — that love revolt — folk refusing to argue or fight,
Such an underground movement that’s warmth would replace all the darkness and gloom with light.
Yes, a joining of hands or linking of arms, kindness and compassion on a roll,
A desire for all that’s good, honourable and worthy soon reigning in each soul.

Imagine it! Handshakes, cuddles and even kisses greeting people every day,
They unable to escape the wave of love and benevolence coming their way.
Oh, how exciting to even think of such, for what a difference it would make,
And why I yearn for such a revolution, peace and harmony left in its wake.

Yes, no destructive riots, just winning ways and smiles, happiness and joy seizing hearts,
Everyone making the best of everything, helping out where there’s spilt apple carts.
A revolution where there’s no turning back, all negative bridges burnt behind,
And when it came to coldness, thoughtlessness and oversight, such one hard-pressed to find.

Wow, wouldn’t it be grand, so come the revolution!, I say, that Tsunami of love,
And above the door of each home and workplace those fitting symbols, a heart and dove.
Yes, no more selfishness, but a never-ending fountain of everything that’s best,
All thanks to that people changing revolution — the best cause in which to invest.

By Lance Landall





3.  Loving Ways

Nothing makes a person more attractive than loving ways, that caring look that’s seen in their eyes,
Those tender touches and thoughtful words, and those questions that a genuine interest implies.
And yes, those kind deeds and responses, their seeking after what’s best and right, and their honesty,
For those whose heart is genuine don’t deceive, but rather, practice fairness and transparency.

Yes, no artificialness mars their character, they simply who they are and in every way,
Their love and concern for others apparent, they oft stopping to lend a hand along the way.
They knowing how hard life can be, and how many are in need of a shoulder or outstretched arms,
A port in a storm, a restorative oasis from harsh realities, some hope that calms.

And what a blessing where someone fits the bill, they so like medicine, a surgeon deftly skilled,
And oh, how after their sensitive, non-judgemental compassion the air's so fragrantly filled.
And not just for that moment or period of time, but forever in someone’s memory,
For the perfume of unconditional kindness and charity is lasting and heavenly.

If only the lives of all were blessed by such people, they too few in the scheme of things, sadly,
But we can take up the challenge, thus boosting the number of those who act so generously.
And there’s no better path, and how we become happier, for as far as life goes, it’s the key,
Unlocking a door through which only but good can come, good created by acting selflessly.

By Lance Landall





4.  Keep Them In Mind, And Take The Time


We just don’t know what someone’s going through, hence why we should show love, thought and care,
And certainly so if we do know, they appreciating someone who’s near.
Someone who often asks them how they’re getting on, someone who keeps them in mind,
Someone who knows that sufferers require a response that’s thoughtful and kind.

Too many strugglers are forgotten in our daily doings, our thoughts elsewhere,
And hence their lonely battle when they’re dying for a little love, thought and care.
They doing it so much harder than they should be, but having no choice, sadly,
And this all why we should keep them in mind, and take the time, acting lovingly.


By Lance Landall





5.  The Best Of Rhythms

Given this sad old world, we all know that there’re times to be brave and strong, but hey,
Many are wounded, heavily weighed down, and the sky in their world sombre grey.
And thus sensitivity, sympathy and empathy called for, so that they
Might be able to rise, continue on, thus moving from hard labour to play.

Yes, hurt and pain are part and parcel of this sad old world, hence those helping hands,
There nothing like that tender touch, that patience of he or she who understands.
So lets all move to the rhythm of that same loving kindness, that thought and care,
That the suffering or heartbreak of others makes so much easier to bear.

By Lance Landall




6.  The Magic Of Love

I don’t believe in magic, 'cause such is the product of childish imaginings and storybook fiction,
'Cause when it comes to the natural course of things, certain laws and nature’s way, such acts in contradiction.
And where magic's not the product of fantasy movies, science fiction and children’s books, I believe it to be
Sleight of hand, smoke and mirrors-cum-deception and trickery; or the work of evil spirit beings, actually.

Though having said that, I do believe amazing things happen, many being referred to as a miracle,
But most being the product of love-cum-thought and kindness, and the results more astounding-cum-remarkable.
And were one to call that magic — well, magic of a kind — then a strong believer in magic I would be,
But though believing in good spirit beings, such is simply that selfless love-cum-power that is shown by many.

Oh yes, how we underestimate those acts of human kindness, they oft working just as magically,
'Cause there’s no greater power than love, it not borne of trickery, but sincerity and transparency.
All why as a result, lives are changed, deep wounds healed and burdens lifted, or someone soon seen to bloom and grow,
'Cause within those seeds that love plants, there’s more magical presence-cum-surprise than any magician can know.

And therefore, and within us all, there’s a magic awaiting the sowing of any kind deed that we plant,
Be such via word, pen, our hands or feet, which the wish-cum-hope and desire of some dear needy soul, can oft grant.
And all it takes is the magic of love, a power not only at our disposal, but miraculous,
Whereby the lives of others can be greatly blessed, all thanks to love’s magic wand, courtesy of any of us.

By Lance Landall





7.  The Human Touch


This world’s so deficient when it comes to the human touch, that tender touch that shows that we care,
Be it via a gentle clasp, stroke, rub, pat or hug that conveys support and thought, allays some fear.
Yes, there’s nothing like the human touch, for via such, much is conveyed, and oft more than words we share,
Which, though needed and treasured, never quite as eloquently display that we’re concerned and near.

And something ’bout the human touch is healing, ’cause it can soothe and calm, whisper intimately,
Drawing one into another’s caring thoughts and feelings, and thereby, it revealing empathy.
Oh yes, a moment that’s telling, a moment of closeness, and even of solidarity,
That presence warming and reassuring, and conveying the very best of humanity.

Though words are no less worthy than touches, they’re not a touch, a touch being a world of its own,
Something both felt and understood, love’s special form of expression, silent, caring, wordless zone.
However, both touches and fitting words are oft found together, adding weight to their mission,
And aren’t in need of prompting, ’cause those who display the human touch, are blessed with intuition.

So many are in need of the human touch, that gentle clasp, stroke or pat that can soothe or calm,
That caring that reaches out wherever there’s anxiety, hurt, or some element of harm.
But even where there is none of these, that touch still means so much, blessing giver and receiver,
And why when it comes to love’s special form of expression, the human touch, I’m a believer.

By Lance Landall

This poem was upgraded 26 January 2020.




8.  Above All This, Be Loving

Come your early morn deliberations, and midst your daily toil and pleasure — above all this, be loving —
And this, despite distractions, vexations or afflictions, thus being at peace with yourself, that your heart may sing.
For love is what holds everything together, it delivering hope, wisdom, strength and opportunity,
Whereby we can be healed, enlightened and encouraged, and others too, they blessed by our caring energy.

Yes, come each day life gives you, all that you encounter, and all you say and do — above all this, be loving —
So that beautiful refrains may ennoble your mind, and within your heart, harmonious melodies ring.
And within your soul — your very being — deep compassion be found mixed with mercy, empathy and sympathy,
Such reaching out to those around you, they in turn often displaying that very same generosity.

Yes, such having started with you, others blessed by your charitable heart, it open, honest and sincere,
Welcoming and forgiving, and like your mind-cum-sharper conscience, it seeking what’s best, it healthy and clear.
For midst the highs and lows of life, and any wrong that is done to you, you’re now choosing the following way:
Above all this, be loving — you knowing that taking any other path, is to falter-cum-badly stray.

Yes, it’s a simple reality, a prediction that’ll always come true, one with a lifetime guarantee,
For only love is the ultimate answer, the meantime way — given and not expected — such being self free.
But oh, how such oft returns like heavenly carrier pigeons, for that’s the nature of love, you see,
Though should such pigeons not return — above all this, be loving — that others, love’s better way may thereby see.

By Lance Landall




9.  The Last Thing On Love's Mind


There’s no joy in wrong, for out of wrong springs more, and wrong is never to our benefit, nor ever worthy,
And thus those who willingly succumb to such, mere slaves of its ill, which they oft inflict on others, sadly.
They both being many, and wrong always being wrong, regardless of any excuses given in its defence,
For wrong is the practice of fools, puppets and perpetrators, something that never comes from wisdom or sense.

Yes, anywhere but from wisdom or sense, and never from love, for injury is the last thing on love’s mind,
And why those who willingly indulge in injury aren’t on love’s side, but more enemies of humankind.
And hence why we’re all the worse for such, for it acts like a cancer within us, and within society,
Which is why we shouldn’t succumb to its beckoning, our hearts and minds free of blame, we acting correctly.

Yes, no matter how much we defend or titillate wrong, it’s still wrong, so too that “End justifies the means,”
For it attempts to bridge the gap between what's right and wrong, effectively — which right doing, it still contravenes.
Such reminds me of those so-called little white lies, for how can any lie be white, somehow acceptable?
Other than if we paint it so, and painted it is, a wrong that we’ve disguised in order to something sell.

No, there’s no joy in wrong, though there may well appear to be, but only if we’re looking through distorted lens,
Which conveniently, but still deludedly — and perilously, I might add — something or other bends.
And yes, we might get away with it, but what does such say of us, having settled for less integrity,
We joining the list of willingly offenders, and thereby, adding to the lot and loss of humanity.

By Lance Landall




10.  When Love Will Have The Final Say


When I see love in action, love that’s genuine and true, I just know that there must be a plan for man,
One with the best of intentions, one that’s been awaiting its time — that is, since evil somehow began.
And I’ll keep on believing so, for there’s one thing I’m sure of — LOVE WILL TRIUMPH SOON — and permanently,
But not before we’ve seen the worst of evil, its final push to ensnare all, albeit temporarily.

Yes, I’ll take love’s side any day, for I have seen its fruitage, and thus know of its possibilities,
Unlike evil, a dead-end street, which, when it’s reigning within folk, just acts like a terminal disease,
One that’s contagious, though there is a cure for those who wish to be free of its poisonous infamy,
And that cure is love — pure, unadulterated love — for I have seen the results of its potency.

Oh yes, nothing works like love, nothing satisfies more, 'cause love, unlike hate, is balanced and in harmony,
A beautiful holistic tree, bursting with bountiful promises — yes, cheery growth that one can see.
A tree that keeps on giving, no thought for itself, but nourished and fed by its own generosity,
Each one of its flowers leaving a lasting sweetness in the air, one rich in selfless ancestry.

And why I just know that love’s the answer, and that in due season it will deliver, not disappoint,
Unlike evil which leaves a bitter taste, a cruel legacy, not a home but some sleazy rundown joint.
Yes, only love knows the way, only love provides hope, purpose and light, a coming solution filled day,
And why I won’t stop believing until that time when love will have the final say, and thus evil slay.

By Lance Landall




11.  I've Heard A Lot Of Talk About Love


I’ve heard a lot of talk about love, even talk about love myself, and so
You’d think the world was full of love, and that everywhere one went it would show.
People agreeing to disagree, no hard feelings, and all that kind of thing,
And thus everyone’s words and acts having a familiar caring ring.

No one just looking after themselves, but anxiously thinking of others too,
Selflessness as common as sparrows, nothing not done as someone thought to.
Yes, the world busy with kindness, tolerance greeting the intolerant, who
Would surely be a minority, though also treated respectfully too.

Yes, because that’s love, it dealing with wrongdoers lovingly, hardly two faced,
But working to rehabilitate, and that being where its bets would be placed.
It looking for the best, hoping for the best, an example and not a bat,
No one bruised or battered, even pushed or pulled, love being much smarter than that.

Oh yes, love not into rants, even under provocation, but calm and cool,
Its heart having a steady beat, its head rightly handling the bully or fool.
Love not into excuses either, but enduring patiently, shunning ill,
That sad “End justifies the means" mentality, ’cause love’s wrongdoings are nil.

Yes, love not turning to anything that has a hint of hardness or cruelty,
It no dictator, enforcer, and nor it anyone’s hired mercenary.
No, love able to stand on its own, not needing help, but helpers who’ll share
Anything and everything that will ease and help that load that others bear.

Yes, I’ve heard a lot of talk about love, even talk about love myself, yet,
If I were to speak and behave quite the opposite, how much love would I get?
And would it come from those who’re on about it, because I would’ve thought it would,
Or do some think that love’s only for those who’re loveable, and who’re always good?

Surely not!

’Cause then it wouldn’t truly be love, and it less able to move and excite,
Or heal and change, something having dampened its flame, cast a shadow over its light.
Love’s power nobbled, that something that does what the opposite can’t do, and I
Then looking at that same weakness found in hate, and over it, wondering why.

By Lance Landall




12.  Self Absorption


It’s so easy to forget or overlook the burdens that other people carry,
And here I’m talking about those who’re nearby, people that we have contact with daily.
Perhaps a friend, our spouse, mother or father, brother or sister — our own family,
Or it could even be a workmate, or someone that we somehow mix with socially.

Thus, while we laugh, sing and play, as it were, or get caught up in our day to day affairs,
We fail to remember another’s burden, and thus aren’t aware of their inner tears.
And yet, daily they carry such, right in front of our noses, even throughout their lives,
All of which is lost on us, and to our shame, and all because of what distracts or drives.

We know that they carry such, we even get used to such, rather insensitively,
For such we shouldn’t get used to, nor neglect, leaving them alone in their misery.
And yes, they may have learnt to go without our daily concern and help (rather bravely),
But that’s not how things were meant to be, for such is the thoughtless side of humanity.

Yes, so absorbed in our own little world, or our own woes — perhaps introvertedly,
And perhaps it even suits us to forget or not notice another’s misery.
However, more often than not, it’s just self absorption, lack of sensitivity,
For at the end of the day, the truth of the matter is, we’re all too concerned with “me.”


By Lance Landall





13.  Either We Do Or Don't Care


Don’t go saying that you care if you’re just watching someone struggle, and aren’t helping them out like
you should be,
And bearing in mind their family too, 'cause not helping parents hurts their kids, impacts on society.
Yes, it really doesn't mean much when we say that we care and yet do little to help, or nothing at all,
'Cause platitudes are oft a waste of breath, and more like arrows, thus doing nothing for backs against the wall.

Far better to leave a little envelope in their letterbox every now and then, some cash within,
The odd ten dollars or so, such oft meaning a great deal, and helping them with food, clothes, debts and medicine.
Oh, how such delights, 'cause so infrequent such surprises are, if at all, and why we shouldn’t say we care
Unless putting our money, time and effort where our mouth is, and that way, showing that we really do care.


By Lance Landall





14.  Go Visit!


Many years ago, there was a TV add that I think went: “Don’t wait to be told you need Palmolive Gold,”
The add referring to a particular brand of soap, and no, we certainly shouldn’t wait to be told.
Well, when it comes to us wanting to visit folk that we know and would like to, a similar thing applies,
And that is: We shouldn’t wait to be asked (for we may not be asked), and we thus looking poorly in their eyes.

At the end of the day, how much do we really care about those folk, or for them? And we do have a voice,
Our asking them if we can visit them thereby showing a true interest, and such clearly being our choice.
In other words, we don’t have to wait to be asked, 'cause we can ask them. And surely if they haven’t asked us,
That’s the only thing to do, and what we should’ve done in the first place, such hardly thoughts of a genius.

Yes, it’s pretty ABC stuff, for waiting can make us look like we really don’t care, and there is the phone,
Such only taking a few minutes, and they possibly wanting a visit, more so if they are alone.
So what’s with the waiting? 'Cause such has got to be the silliest of things, and it more likely to offend,
'Cause many complain that they’ve not been visited, and even sneer at promises which seem to have no end.

So many must be owed a visit that they’re not going to get, all thanks to others waiting, foolishly,
Such more a negative sign than a positive one, folk even dying before they’re visited, sadly.
Yes, those who wait to be asked have no reason but their own, a reason that is hardly worth the light of day,
'Cause we all have a voice and two legs which were meant to be used, unless we’ve clearly been told to stay away.


By Lance Landall





15.  Let's Get Love Right!


Some think that love’s warm fuzzies, blind eyes, deaf ears and silent lips, when it’s much more,
It demanding truth, justice, right living, wisdom and adherence to sound law.
Yes, “Love knows no wrong,” the Good Word conveys, and thus must hold to some moral code,
One that points us in the right direction, lest we somehow take some foolish road.

And so, being angry about wrong doesn’t give us the right to act poorly,
Love forbidding such responses, because that’s simply acting as errantly.
Love standing up, speaking out, but not fighting fire with fire, behaving the same,
Much like those errant followers who wrongly persecute or kill in God’s name.

I once saw some graffiti which said, “Down with racism!” and right next to it
I felt like scribbling, “Down with graffiti!” they acting just like a hypocrite.
In other words, condemning wrong while committing wrong, but this oft how it goes,
Which a very flawed version of love declares; such like holy socks showing toes.

Love’s also often confused with going along with everyone else, when
Love gives all the right to agree or disagree, and hence our words or our pen.
Just so long as we’re not abusing others verbally or physically,
And I excluding straight talk here, ’cause love knows there’s a place for speaking clearly,

But never nastily.

Though racism’s WRONG, we can’t force folk not to be racist, except publicly,
Such still in their ignorant minds and hardened hearts, and that’s beyond you and me.
Yes, we can educate, but not force their mind, and their heart needs help that’s Divine,
A change that love oft brings about — any bullying here, just crossing the line.

There’s no such thing as a good dictator, a dictator a dictator, so
There’s only so far we can go, otherwise our own rights and freedoms we’ll blow.
Maybe not all at once, but incrementally, laws added to bit by bit,
Until there on a throne of our own making, another tyrant of sorts will sit.

Yes,

Love overlooks shortcomings, shuts its ears to evil surmisings, speaks no ill,
But it’s not silly, its eyes, ears and lips knowing when to look, listen or yell.
And love’s no tyrant either, but respectful of the rights of all, hence that line,
One that it will never cross, because there on the other side, sits a landmine.

Yes, there’s a lot of talk about loving and not hating these days, but you know,
There’s got to be understanding too, that meeting half way thing, so love can grow.
We trying to understand what we don’t understand about others, and then
We actually getting somewhere, not running around like a headless hen.

Though the heart should always rule, it errs where it isn’t connected to the brain,
So, we should mind those knee jerks to bad events, calls for this or that, lest ill reign.
Worryingly, it’s been a case of one law after another, and where to next?
Rushed laws and emotive laws just endangering, and the root cause still not fixed.

By Lance Landall


This poem was added to on 6 April 2019.




16.  How Love's Embarrassed


He picked a fight with me, foot tripped me to the ground, and was soon on top of me,
I on my back and struggling, a crowd of school boys surrounding excitedly.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” they shouted, but I didn’t want to, though acting defensively,
And managing to turn the tables, I on top of him, though disastrously.

’Cause the headmaster had appeared — oh, what timing, ’cause who looked the villain?
Yes, innocent me, I the one who’d been attacked, unfairness bubbling within.
And oh, how sad that “Fight! Fight! Fight!” — yes, that fuelling of the fire mentality,
Which reminds me of rioters who perpetuate the same insanity.

Such not how to deal with or respond to bad policing, or anything else,
’Cause that’s how we become villains as well, inflicting our own bruises and welts.
Such reminding me of the Christchurch mosque shooting in New Zealand, an evil act,
And a severe test to the survivors and grievers who the courtroom soon packed.

Here they were giving their victim impact reports, and quite a number of them,
Some saying they forgave the shooter, others angrily seeking to condemn;
Yes, hate filled words for the hater who sprayed his bullets, just like they did their words,
Their anger understandable, but love on their part too, thus off with the birds.

So when will we gain the strength to stop the madness, that hate for hate carry on,
That unbelievably comes from many shouting “Love!”, which yes, has up and gone.
Such making a mockery of things, because those shouting “Love” should know better,
And looks just as murderous, like that glare once seen on the face of young Greta.

You see, a sure test of our character is how we treat those we don’t like, or
Those who say or do what rankles, thus hate and revenge or love taking the stand.
To holler “Love!” and yet mistreat those who hate is to declare our own guilt, which
As said, makes a mockery of what we state, and some deep wound will hardly stitch.

In their anger and pain they wanting that man punished to the max, and therefore,
He can rot in prison, when oh, what went so wrong for that boy some mother bore.
How sad when someone’s child goes this way, he like a broken toy that needs fixing,
But fixing not on their mind, so in prison with other bad men he’ll be mixing.

Yes, only forgiveness healing, and fighting fire with fire adding to the ill,
We unable to move forward ’till love draws that needed water from the well.
Yes, just like that fight, no one gaining, we both strapped, and having drawn a crowd,
My turning the tables hardly going in my favour, neither of us proud.

There no pride in venomous words, retaliation and hollow victories,
Which the way ahead can’t see because of that “Fight! Fight! Fight!”, those self imposed trees.
It easy said, I know, but the only way to go, love breaking from the past,
That merry-go-round, that counter productive anger that leaves Heaven aghast.

Such time’s best spent on nursing survivors and the grieving, lessening their pain,
So that a sense of inner peace, and even new found joy as well, they might gain.
All why midst those loud shouts for love, there needs to be that palpable example,
Because where such isn’t, love must surely weep, and be too embarrassed to dwell.

Victims who forgave, and restorative justice, are closer to Heaven’s way,
Because though God’s a God of justice, there’s a grace and redemption interplay.
Yes, love and justice working together, restoration being God’s intent,
Hence why eternity is granted to wrongdoers who sincerely repent,

And how love’s embarrassed when those who shout “Love!”, their seething anger and hate vent.

The truth is, we need to be thinking in terms of repair shops, not rubbish heaps,
The latter what hate's all about, the former what love’s all about, and why it weeps.
Too many humans discarded because of this or that, some evil they’ve done,
When many have turned the corner and a life that’s the opposite have begun.

By Lance Landall


This poem was added to on 28 August 2020.
Note: This poem is not suggesting in any way that the man in question
shouldn't have been punished, but just making a point.





17.  Stop! In The Name Of Love


We should stop that measuring of whether someone’s worthy of our love or not,
And should love them anyway (selective love being all too easy to spot).
Even the mafia love their own, yet despatch those that they don’t love, and so
Loving those who’re lovable, or who love us, is hardly how real love we show.

The truth is, there’s too much measuring going on, we looking for who’s worthy,
Who appeals, who lives up to our expectations, which is but hypocrisy,
Because who of us is a god or saint, without fault or blemish, and tell me
Who among us is so puffed up that they’d consider themselves far more worthy?

When we indulge in those unfair levels of worthiness, we’re judge and jury,
Participants in a kind of mental eugenics, Darwinian theory.
All why we see racism too, and why no one should be seen as any less,
And why we should seek to repair and restore, thus not adding to all the mess.

Someone wanted the existence of someone to be wiped from our memory,
And therefore, they going out of their way to achieve such legislatively.
Yes, he was a killer, but better we try to change him than leave him to rot,
Because though he should be punished, such anger and hate acts like a mental clot,

And many evil-doers having changed, good coming from bad, though some thought not.

A life’s a life, a human a human, and hope only found where love is real
(Not what passes for love), and why even for the wounders midst us, we should feel.
After all, what takes little boys and girls and turns them into perpetrators,
But possibly you and I, evil oft helped by unwitting collaborators.

But, we fixated on punishment, revenge for our wounds, hence that hate that’s seen,
Our response oft just as inhumane, thus forgiveness seldom part of the scene.
Our love reserved for only those who meet our expectations, those who please us,
Such hardly real love, and thus nothing like that love of the one who’s called Jesus.

Oh yes, we’ve serious cause for reflection, our lives far from squeaky clean too,
Much covered by a creative facade, yet we wanting that love that’s real, true.
Oh, the seeming cheek of it, our mental tape measure at the ready, and how
Right through that clumsy big foot of ours, a bullet of our own making goes POW!

All why we’ll know we’re on the right track when we’ve love for the unlovable too,
Or those who don’t measure up to foolish expectations that we put them through.
It’s time we loved them regardless, disappointment oft not due, we too unfair,
We not having to like, but should always love, showing them the same thought and care.

Its real love that changes people, many not having experienced such, and
That many are carrying heavy burdens, or are ill, we need to understand.
Hence their poor behaviour, some things hard to bear with a smile, so irk people will,
And wound the wounded do, all why we should thoughtfully treat everyone well.

Yes, it’s real love that changes, and thus how an enemy can become a friend,
All because of that wall destroying loving kindness that has no selfish end.
It’s good for us, it’s good for them, because there’s nothing like a love that is real,
And that on the behalf of either friend or foe, is selflessly seen to kneel.

By Lance Landall





Christian content or degree.

18.  God's Love, Thought And Care


For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, so that we
Via such selfless thought, might be saved, come under His care for an eternity.
Oh yes, He's all about love, thought and care, His Son too, dying that we might live,
A love that’s always sought our best interests, and rather than take, seeks to give.

Yes, a love, thought and care beyond comparison, an amazing grace that’s free,
Available to all who repent, and the goodness of this loving God see.
And those who genuinely do, reflecting that very same love, thought and care,
That all may know that the presence of that loving God is always very near.

By Lance Landall





Christian content or degree.
This poem relates to Derek Chauvin charged with causing the death of George Floyd.


19.  Christians And Derek Chauvin


Though it’s always good when justice prevails, and bearing in mind Derek Chauvin,
Celebrating someone’s punishment (dancing for joy), isn’t for the Christian.
Oh, how dare Christians, we all fallen, and guilty too, yet who’s shown mercy,
The One who died for sinners — yes, even those who acted so murderously.

Thus those dancing in the street should remember that Christ loves Derek Chauvin too,
And not just us — and as for loving our enemies, Christians are meant to.
Otherwise they aren’t anything like Christ, who loves us regardless of our ill,
And who won’t be dancing over the destruction of the wicked, but sad and still.

“Revenge is Mine,” Christ says, meaning that justice will have its coming day, and so,
None getting away with anything, love not letting justice go astray, no.
But love not rejoicing over punishment, just the end of evil and pain,
And therefore, only those who love, think and act like Christ, joining Him in His reign.

So why were Christians howling for blood like in less refined times, those sad old days?
Christ having sought to change that mindset, it all about forgiveness, nowadays.
Though such is how God has always wanted things to be, hence “Turn the other cheek,”
And why Derek Chauvin’s repentance and salvation every Christian should seek.

Though gifted grace ourselves, we’re like the unforgiving servant in the Bible,
Who, though graciously forgiven by the king, wouldn’t forgive someone else, still.
Yes, punished Derek Chauvin should be, and where the law fails to, not so Jesus,
Who, despite that, wants us to show the same love to Derek that He’s shown us.

But no, Christians acting as if Christ won’t deal with such people, or wanting more,
Punishment now, punishment then — oh, the mentality. What a massive flaw;
One God wants us to get past, because those who don’t forgive, God won’t forgive, and
It all makes sense if a Christian, or a Christian we aren’t, and guilty too, stand.

Yes, because Christians are supposed to be all about love, Christ-like, free of hate,
And any justified anger controlled — otherwise, they’re in that same old state.
Things always best left in God’s hands, and more so were the law’s seen to fail, and so,
We taking the moral high ground, not sinking to levels that are found below.

Christians aren’t meant to be two different people under their professing skin,
But just the one who’s become a new creature (nature wise), thus letting Christ win;
Not a blood thirsty devil who wants us howling for blood, and gavel in hand,
Because the issues bedevilling others, he doesn’t want us to understand.

By Lance Landall


This poem was penned on 23 April 2021.




20.  My Dear Friend


My dear friend, and because I truly love you so — in other words, truly care —
I’ll always tell you what you need to know, not just say what you might like to hear.
And therefore certain things may hurt, and this, no matter how carefully I tread,
As truth often reveals the unpleasant, those things that sometimes need to be said.

And that’s love, for love puts another’s best interests first, even withholds praise —
In other words, doesn’t say you’re good at something when you’re not, nor false hopes raise —
Otherwise, you might well make a fool of yourself, perhaps reaching for a mike,
And those in the audience laughing at your voice, wishing you’d be on your bike.

No, love has far more sense than that, for had I foolishly said that you sing well,
You’d be slow to trust my judgment again given how “Get off the stage!” can chill.
But enough about singing, for that’s just one example, and why truth’s best said,
And lest due to such folly you join the ranks of those who’ve nonsense in their head.

Yes, the world is full of inflated egos, balloons that are about to burst,
Folk who’ve been set up for a fall via misplaced warm fuzzies of which they’ve a thirst;
And why criticism’s hardly popular despite it oft being a good friend,
And the way of fools soon leading to their own or someone else’s sticky end.

And this, dear friend, why I’ll always be honest with you, share what it’s best you know,
And thus I at peace with myself, my conscience clear and my heart shouting, “Bravo!”
For stating the truth and calling things as they are is not just a caring act,
But a courageous one given how so many now prefer fantasy to fact.

By Lance Landall





This poem relates to the son of Prince Charles.
The principles in this poem (and the one that follows) have universal meaning.


21.  Hi Harry


Hi Harry, I believe you’ve made a big mistake, ’cause family’s family,
And going public but cruelty, and this, despite whatever your beefs may be.
Yes, your wife may’ve suffered, but some aren’t able to handle the same things well,
And hence your family back home taking the full hit, and thus enter more ill.

As for racism — well, despite legitimate cries, there’s a lot of hype too,
Many jumping the gun, reading something into everything, though not true.
And so, what’s happened here, I really don’t know, but some things can get overplayed,
One reading more into things than what was intended, so how well’s it been weighed?

When in love, and of younger years, our responses can be foolish and faulty,
And this why, even where one’s beef is justified, we should still tread carefully.
As for me, I’ve no time for that kiss and tell, your business not my business, and
Tell-all shows not the way to fix things, and can be used where one’s spitefully planned.

While there are genuine beefs, there’s a lot of playing the victim going on,
We needing to be bigger than that, dignity and integrity soon gone.
But no, these days everyone seeming to want the world to know, and sadly
Often burning their bridges behind them midst savaging a good family.

You’ve actually given the Press more fodder, attracted more cameras too,
When such wasn’t desired, I understood, and therefore, adding to things too.
Sometimes it’s better to simply move on, and so many far worse off than you,
But bearing it like the heroes they are — so what do you think, Harry? You too?

Sometimes our issues do the steering and talking, and pain you’ve known, Harry,
All why it’s a shame you’ve bought into more, rather than simply letting things be.
You’re both able to make your own way now, and forgiveness the best path to take,
Though who of us is without sin, if you know what I mean, and far too much at stake.

At the end of the day, Harry, it’s all about others, not ourselves, and so,
We counting our blessings, making the best of things, that flowers, not weeds, may grow.
And that interview with Oprah certainly planting weeds, and yes, spread weeds do,
Taking root in our own garden, which over time, we’ve usually cause to rue.

All why love should always be first and foremost, it saving us from so much ill,
And yes, others too, Harry, and hence why very deep within us it should dwell.
We learning to live with things, and taking things on the chin, 'cause that's how we grow,
And graciousness towards others being a virtue, how a real man we know.


By Lance Landall


This poem was penned on the 21 March 2021 and added to on 25 April.





Second poem.


22.  Further To, Harry


Yes, Harry, we’re oft the victim of our parents who were the victim of theirs,
And hence those mistakes made, which calls for some understanding midst those wounds and tears.
Our parents having suffered too, you see, so why just add ill to ill, Harry?
We meant to break the cycle, not attack and destroy, and why here I tarry.

Too many seem to think that as long as they have each other they’ll be fine,
But no, it doesn’t work like that, and why later, many have had cause to pine.
And I also thinking of those adopted children who desire to find
Those parents missing from their lives, and why those angry outbursts, Harry, I’d mind.

Yes, I believe you’ve gone about things very badly, and only time will tell
Whether you’ve totally burnt your bridges — oh, how those horrid gossip mags sell.
The world not needing to know, you able to get yourself sorted on your way,
Quietly working on things like the rest of us who media games don’t play.

And by that I mean, people really only hearing the one side, which is cruel,
Royalty having to show some dignity, and tell-alls the path of a fool.
Armchair critics and judges having a field day, and why it oft backfires,
’Cause when it comes to what oft amounts to pity parties — oh, how such tires.

People sympathetic at first, maybe, 'cause it usually doesn’t last,
And why when it comes to certain things in our life, they’re oft best left in the past.
We moving on, sorting ourselves out, minding that we don’t make the same mistakes,
While still retaining important relationships, and sense is all that it takes.

You seem to have put too much store in Meghan, Harry, which really doesn't pay,
'Cause should she die somehow, or you later divorce, greater pain would come your way.
You having treated your family as if they don't matter, only to find
That they really do, and very much so, but hurt and anger making one blind.


By Lance Landall


This poem was penned on the 23 May 2021 and added to on the 24 May


.



23.  Turning And Returning


When we’ve taken an unfortunate path, sometimes the only way back is to
Swallow our pride, say how sorry we are, and reconciliation pursue.
And yes, hurdles there may be, even shut doors, but that’s oft the price to be paid
When due to this or that, or in a blaze of glory, some path we’ve poorly weighed.

For the hot-headed and impulsive, there’s pretty much always a price to pay,
Aided and abetted by other malcontents that they’ve gathered on their way.
These fuelling the fire, quick to assure that the right decision’s been made, but no,
Such paths having always been the way of folly, from which pain’s oft seen to flow.

One having made returning very problematic, thus giving up, maybe,
Too much damage having been done, which sense could’ve avoided so easily.
But sense having gone out the door, or we confusing love with that path we took,
Too busy crossing the road to dubious greener pastures to bother to look.

Maybe hurt having got in the way, even anger too, all why we said things,
Things we shouldn’t have, true or otherwise, but oh, how a boiling kettle sings.
We unable to press rewind, nor erase, sad words lingering in the air,
And more damaging when aired publicly, given hurt and anger oft don’t care.

Such reminds me of a Christian parallel — yes, that sinner who spurns Jesus,
But no one finding the way back blocked here, because Christ is out searching for us.
Yes, He having taken the hit, yet not holding it against us, hence His grace,
We only having to return and say, “Sorry,” despite that dreadful disgrace.

Oh yes, sometimes we really put our foot in it, but we can always turn back,
Though not always to quite the same scene given that destruction from our attack.
But better that than continuing on the same path, and amends should be made,
Where possible, that is, most not as gracious as Christ, friendships lost, friendships frayed.

Oh, how painful too when we’ve kind of locked ourselves into things that we regret,
Thus the way back hindered, we caught between, or even entangled in some net.
But we knew better, we thought — oh, how the wounded wound too, but turn back one can,
And where love, wisdom, regret and true sorrow meet, dear friend, that’s always the plan.

However, many leave things too late, or don’t return at all, and what a shame,
Their loss being more or total, and it’s always pointless apportioning blame,
'Cause at the end of the day, we get to choose which path we’ll take, and may it be
The right path, the best path, thus saving ourselves and others from much misery.

By Lance Landall





24.  Pressure, Pressure


People can make mistakes under pressure, cut corners too, and soon can come flack,
Like that phone call to their boss, their ears getting chewed off, or they getting the sack.
And the sad thing oft being that they’re decent people who have a family,
And thus the impact of that phone call even larger, and when it needn’t be.

In other words, some folk pushing it all the way as if there’s been a crime, and
Flack flying in all directions when some mistakes are easy to understand,
And best not made too bigger thing of, more a quiet word or two in their ear,
A little “next time” warning, perhaps, lest their spouse and kids the brunt of such bear.


By Lance Landall






Alternative poem.

25.  Something That's Never Ever "Me"


Though love’s a very tiny word, it’s pleasing to the ear, and very regularly heard, but sadly, it's oft tainted by association, a mistaken and unworthy relation — yes, it’s either confused with infatuation or physical attraction, or used in connection with sullied affection, an introverted and oft perverted collection — yes, backstreet Sally, silicon alley, censored material, the bare it all serial, promiscuity and pornography, those one night stands, those lusty weekend plans, and out of which, devoid of a stitch, arises nothing but self gratification — in other words, an aberration, for here, there’s no association, other than in the mind of those more out than in their clothes, who, completely mistaken, and sense having forsaken, thus muddy and taint love’s good name, for sex and love are not the same, and love knows nothing of self, for self is but its selfish self — another’s best interest is not its aim.
So, what exactly is love then, so oft expressed by voice and pen (those very flawed efforts of women and men), but the loosing of oneself in another’s good, not thinking of some return, allowing lust to burn, and nor love should, for love when pure and true, not only right and good seeks to do, but forgoes its own desires, and to more noble heights aspires, where on behalf of others (our fellow sisters and brothers), it selflessly proceeds, seeks to fill another’s needs, and on their behalf, willingly pleads or intercedes, even bleeds, for genuine love’s not some feeling, some mutual wheeling and dealing, nor some shared physical revealing, but rather, a choice and action, unsullied by some chemical attraction, and completely devoid of any adulteration or degradation — in other words, something that’s tied to honour and dignity, and yes, chosen and carried out lovingly and feelingly — and at the core of it all (the hardest call of all), love's something that’s never ever “ME.”

By Lance Landall




26.  Why Winning Isn't Cool


Sandy was deep in thought, her father both near and smiling as he observed the serious look on her face.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he chirped. Sandy’s head turned in his direction, her eyes no longer staring into space.
“What’s so wrong with competitive sports, Dad?” she questioned. Her father sighed. “Well, there’s quite a lot, actually,
Of which many are very ignorant, not having bothered to research or consider such carefully,

But,” he continued, “First bear in mind that competing and competitiveness aren’t always one and the same,
'Cause though we compete for jobs, we don’t really have a say in such, unlike involvement in a rugby game.
After all, we have to work to live, and applying is quite different to competing (as in rugby),
Though having said that, there're those who when it comes to the workforce, who adopt a similar mentality.

And hence those things we often see within companies, like those "Yes" men and back stabbers, let alone the lies,
Or those embellishments (verbally or written), when regarding some position, someone duly applies.
But such are the acts of those who’re devoid of principles, or whose standards vary with the situation,
They being people who're prepared to bend, twist, falsify or cheat, oft using faulty rationalisation.

And all in order to achieve some selfish end; such here being, preventing someone else succeeding somehow,
Hence those underhand tactics that have always played a part in competitive sports, and even more so now.
'Cause competitive sports are all about achieving something via another’s loss, ensuring they don’t win,
Which is not only a flawed foundation upon which to build anything, but is of callous origin.

That is to say, its linked to cruelty, for losing’s no fun on the sports field, hence those angry scenes we oft see,
Those protests over faulty refereeing, which makes a farce of things, and sees games won or lost unfairly.
And then there’re those crashes which see drivers out of a race, and someone wining who’s no where near as good as they,
Which once again makes a farce of things, 'cause they won more by luck than by skill — a hollow victory, I say.”

“I’m not quite sure I understand what you mean by cruelty, Dad.”  “Well, Sandy, when we rejoice over our win,
We’re effectively rejoicing over someone’s loss, and oh, how some people love to rub such a loss in.
But whether folk rub it in or not, its still sad to see others losing, losing being a cruel consequence,
A consequence that leaves many bitterly disappointed, feeling like they’re the victim of some offence.

And to be honest, they kind of are, the victim of someone’s self interest, which the loser always is,
Not that they’re in the clear themselves, 'cause weren’t they trying to win, grab the cup from someone, be it hers or his?
And that’s the problem, for its all about self at the expense of others — yes, hoping that others won’t win,
And we doing all that we can to see that they don’t, but hey, not liking a taste of the same medicine.”

“But don’t some good things come out of competitive sports, Dad?”  “Well, Sandy, it’s the basis of such that’s not good.
You see, it’s faulty at the core. Thus, you’re talking peripheral positives, and I don’t think that we should.
If competitive sports are built on a corrupt foundation, and produce so much that is destructive,
Then surely that's reason enough for shunning them, and given that they are more negative than productive.

Otherwise, its like watching pornography to gain a sexual education, and such you would gain,
But not a healthy education, and one that mixed with inflamed excitement, would be a truck load of pain.
Well, eventually, for just like coming off drugs, or losing a game, pornography has its downside,
And, just like competitive sports, is based on a corrupt foundation — yes, its ice-cream laced with pesticide.

So much that seems great on the surface (at least to some), and that seems to produce good results, contains much ill,
Which only the discerning see, and which only the receptive shun, knowing that some things aren’t worth the thrill.
Yes, folk may win, but its always at another’s loss, so how can that really make someone feel good inside?
Unless they’ve convinced them self otherwise, ignoring those wails and tears, behind which, even malice can hide.”

“Given what you’ve told me, Dad, how come Christians are into competitive sports?”  “Well, Sandy, they shouldn’t be,
'Cause competitiveness is all about Me, and the Christian message all about others, acting kindly.
In other words, the Christian message is all about putting others first, and obviously ourselves last,
And thus the Christian way very different, which means that where there’s hypocrisy, there’s hardly that contrast.

And by that I mean, that one cannot preach selflessness-cum-self-sacrifice-cum-putting other people first,
And at the same time rejoice over beating someone else via competitive sports, nor they for winning thirst.
But whether one’s a Christian or not, competitiveness is hardly something to endorse, and not for me,
'Cause I’ve seen and experienced the negative results of such, and realise it’s packaged deceptively.”

“Speaking of negative results, Dad, I can’t help thinking of Clive, and how worked up he gets watching some game,
Especially when the team he wants to win is looking like it might lose — in fact, sometimes it’s to his shame.
That being, given his ranting and raving, his cursing certain players, who’re no doubt doing the best they can,
And I guess it’s the nature of competitive sports that certain things don’t always go according to plan.”

“Yes, Sandy, and as for Clive, that’s exactly how competitive sports can affect folk, most, undoubtedly,
Given everyone wants to see their favourite team win, and the other team lose, and understandably.
'Cause at the end of the day, that’s what such is all about, Sandy — winning, beating, coming first, and others last —
Which is why competitive sports is something I no longer follow or condone, but have left in the past.”


By Lance Landall


“Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves” (Phil. 2:3).





27.  That's Competitiveness For You


How could I in all sincerity, and whilst retaining dignity, even nobility,
Compete against another, my goal totally self-centred-cum-glorification of me.
Is that the kind of person I want to be, that I via my efforts, someone’s loss guarantee,
And I knowing how losing can leave folk feeling? Oh, what a sorry way to win a trophy.

Tell me, where’s the joy in that? I striving against my fellowman or woman, determined to win,
Which is why it’s hardly of Christian origin, and each winner no hero or heroine.
'Cause true heroes and heroines don’t give thought to themselves, and Christians are told to die to self,
And thus the former, and hopefully latter, not desiring such trophies that sneer from their shelf.

Oh yes, how the competitive scene is full of corruption, many winners having cheated,
And is it any wonder given that they're wanting to see their competitors defeated,
By them, that is — such hardly being a fine thing to desire, but oh, desire such many folk do,
And why they oft act underhandedly and callously — and when they lose, just as badly too.

Yes, each trophy like an apple that has a rotting core, 'cause winners create losers, sadly,
Such being the nature of competitiveness, it thus harming more than helping society.
Hence those angry fans in football stadiums, that bloodlust at boxing matches, that smashed racket,
Not to mention the brawls, fines-cum-punishment, and after match vandalism that costs a packet.

Yes, that’s competitiveness for you.


By Lance Landall







THE AGED





28.  Life's Autumn Years


Oh, how time passes, and you see the inevitable telltale signs, the body beautiful much less so,
Yes, pretty and handsome hardly heard the same — that’s if they were, of course — and now not many years left to go.
And even they may be cut short, though it’s still a blessing that you’ve lived this long, for many aren’t so lucky,
Though I guess their fate is oft better than living longer but miserably with some painful infirmity.

And yes, some of us age quicker than others, outwardly and inwardly, health problems coming sooner than thought,
Such due to misspent youth, foolish choices or misfortune, who knows which or what, which this or that tends to thwart.
And adding to that, the sadness of seeing those you grew up with now aging too, some of them having passed away,
Which is hardly comforting, a reminder of your own mortality, hence that hair now silver or grey.

And there’re those who cross your path whom you haven’t seen for years, they looking so different to how they used to,
And hence why you would never have recognised some of these folk if they hadn’t kindly thought to approach you.
And amidst the humorous banter, perhaps, you feeling not so cheerful, for age isn’t always that kind,
And why you can’t help but shake your balding head over those who say that age is simply a matter of mind.

Which reminds me, there’re those memories — yes, it’s strange how some things just wander in and out rather randomly,
Things forgotten in the mist of time, some not so welcome, others hauntingly nostalgic — smells too, funnily.
And you find it hard at times, for you’re still the same youngster within (are you not), but simply much older now,
Who, upon the stage of life, still wants to be noticed, valued, loved and liked, before that final curtain bow.

Yes, adored as a babe, even a toddler, but in the autumn years of one’s life it’s oft another story,
The older set the butt of cruel jokes, and even being seen as a bother, or neglected by family.
All of which you may well have experienced, including loneliness, not to mention insecurity,
For age makes you feel more vulnerable given your fragility and ever decreasing energy.

Well, life’s autumn years come to all, and as with everything, acceptance is your best friend, and worry your foe,
Which I’m sure you’re well aware of, though such is easer said than done, for trials and issues can ebb and flow.
But still, there’s much you’ve learnt, much you’ve gained, having done your bit and played your part, and having raised those children too,
All of which gives you a worth that’s priceless, and why more than ever, folk should surround and your knowledge pursue.

And when that final curtain call comes, you’ll still live on in hearts and minds, and in your offspring’s looks and ways too,
And in anything worthy that you’ve left behind, a poem, song, book, painting, or good deeds you chose to pursue.
So don’t lose heart, for you’re a link in a chain, one that’ll always remain, your birth assuring that such would be,
Yes, another precious member of humanity that its older folk should treasure, treat respectfully.

By Lance Landall





29.  Such Comes To All


I’m my mother’s child, my father’s son, but they at rest in their “comes a time” grave,
Though it was them that years of selfless care, and even life itself, this child gave.
And now, I quickly approaching that same time when death will see me resting too,
My own children outliving me, and soon, I less in their minds and out of view.

Seems only yesterday I was fussed over, for everyone loves a baby,
But given time, it could soon be a case of, “Alone again, naturally.”
Well, so sung young Gilbert O’Sullivan, he being somewhat the same age as me,
And heading in the direction of that same sad plot, firstly or secondly.

Yes, time passed so slowly once, it racing now, and it just the same for my wife,
Who, God bless her, has shared the same ups and downs, given me the best of her life.
But mortal we are, ships that come and go until no longer seaworthy,
One scrapped before the other, a loss too hard to bear, and where's friends or family?

Yes, I’m my mother’s child, my father’s son, I discarded and laughed at by some,
Until they too, meet those often unkind years that to everybody soon come.
A time when folk need that same fuss that’s given to a baby, maybe more so,
For such a time oft renders folk just as helpless, life ceasing to ebb and flow.

By Lance Landall





30.  When You're Older


When you’re older and certain body parts have been replaced with plastic and steel,
And, every part of your youthfulness, the cruel aging process has sought to steal,
It’s hard to accept such without complaint, without regretting a certain loss,
One no longer as agile, attractive or confident, and fate now the boss.

Yes, you no longer drawing the same attention, and possibly none at all,
Thus one simply left with memories, smells and feelings that continue to call.
And why it can pain to see what you’re leaving behind, it all more in the mind,
And where opportunity was wasted, much more regret one is bound to find.

By Lance Landall





31.  Pause And Weigh


Where are the ones I grew up with, those singers, musicians, neighbours and school friends,
Oh, is this how it ends, it always being the same as life’s curtain descends?
Another generation having come and gone, they now past tense, nouns not verbs,
All why pride and vanity are a waste of time, and oh, how it all disturbs.

Yes, it as if they’d never been, but for recordings, chapter and verse, photos,
Each like a seed that germinates and grows, blossoms for a while, then quickly goes.
And it such a shame, can’t remember their name, but they were part of ones life too,
Most there but not seen, and then gone, and hence that proverbial, quizzical, “Who?”

And thus inhabitants-wise, the face of Earth ever changing, and yet the same,
For midst the crowd, there’re family resemblances, that DNA and surname.
And so it goes, and yes, they too, come that descending curtain, and there they lay,
Having had their fill, their moment, their say, and still no change in the Milky Way.

All why in latter years reality hits, one having mellowed, borne injury,
Having shed that bullet proof fantasy, having developed more empathy.
Hence those regrets, even change in direction, one reaching out, lost in good deeds,
Having seen the results of foolish seeds, and become aware of others’ needs.

And many wondering what’s beyond the grave, time having sobered the blasé,
We mortal and destined to wither, and yet, we far too careless with each day,
And few left, energy and ability declining, the best years savaged,
And oft as a result, though age having its say here too, ones body ravaged,

And why in ones youth and not when older and regretful, one should pause and weigh.

By Lance Landall




32.  When Childhood Returns


A child is born dependant on others, it so vulnerable and fragile,
In need of special care — and naturally, it prone to acting infantile.
And so it is when childhood returns in the form of old age, and why we see
That very same dependency, vulnerability and fragility.

All why tender care and understanding is called for, vitality waning,
Tiredness engulfing, ones body breaking down, once easy things now paining.
And with it all, a certain anxiety, frustrating helplessness, and why
When childhood returns,
Those older folk should be lovingly cocooned ’till off they fly, no more concerns,
Each of us a precious butterfly.

By Lance Landall





33.  No Less Precious


My dear friend, those latter years of yours do not make you any less precious, oh no,
Your body simply saying and showing that you’re nearer to the time when you’ll go.
And a sad day that will be, but meantime, you still worthy of time, effort and love,
And even more so given those scars from earthly battles that you’ve risen above.

Oh, the enemy age is, robbing of youth and health, but you still the same within,
Just that outer shell disguising things, which, at the end of the day, is only skin.
Your heart just the same, and your mind no different either, though a lot more mature,
And lamenting those growing inabilities, like those legs that aren't quite so sure.

But experience you’ve had, and invaluable it is, adding to your value,
Not simply that uniqueness that hollers that there will never be another you.
Missing teeth, receding hair and worldly-wise wrinkles not changing a thing, oh no,
Though perhaps fooling that brief glance from someone who last saw you quite some time ago.

Thus come your departure, we’ll all be the less for it, each plot a sad waste of life,
One less familiar face, and their loved ones no doubt feeling it as if a knife,
And because treasured we should be, every one of us a marvel, young or old,
A creation of substantial significance, and too oft a story untold.

But nevertheless, another important cog and link within humanity,
Part and parcel of that necessary, individual, creativity.
We all bound to each other via origin and lineage, and why I want to shout,
“That it’s not your age and not your body, but your heart and mind that it’s all about!”

By Lance Landall





34.  Seventy


Seventy years old? I wished you hadn’t said. Thirty plus sounding better to me,
And that’s not really fibbing, I feel, ’cause that plus could well be forty years, you see.
After all, what does plus mean but more, and how long is a piece of string, kind of thing,
And why rather than seventy, that thirty plus has a much more appealing ring.

Okay, if one really wants to get picky, how about forty plus years, and hey,
If one looks somewhat younger than they are, what’s with a few years that have gone astray?
And you’re only as old as you feel, they say, oops, so why bother counting, I say,
And hence why I’ll just stick to thirty plus, hoping that they won’t notice all that grey.


By Lance Landall