Yours Sincerely

Oops!


“Lance Landall reporting for duty, Sir!”

“Time you got here.
Okay, son, get that rhythm and rhyme flowing, be it pithy words or witty fun, and see that there’s no slowing,
ya hear. And while you’re at it, son, lots of verses too, not just one or two, and share — yes, every single one.
Bowl them over with poetry and prose, anything poets might dare to compose, rattle their brain cells, yank at
their heart, and tickle their toes — yes, make ’em laugh, make ’em think, make ’em cry, even get them wondering
why. And while you’re at it, son, throw in a little bit of this and that, and don’t stop until it’s done.
Now scat."

"Yes, Sir!"

Yes, poems that go from the amusing to the reflective, or more serious, but starting with the amusing. The reflective starting with poem number 15 (To Anyone I've Injured); and a section called While I'm At It starting with poem number 30.


By the way,

What I Love About Myself:

No one’s identical to me.
I’m an engineering marvel, a scientific wonder, and a medical mystery.
I have a protective, stretchable, touch-sensitive layer;
A hi-tech electrical network:
An amazing 24/7 circulatory system;
A state-of-the-art radar;
An unsurpassable computer;
A highly tuned listening device;
An automatic mincer and grinder;
Various storage facilities;
A security camera with night vision and zooming mount;
A high-energy speaker with bass, treble, volume and mute controls;
Lifting and shifting gear;
Height adjustment and reclining positions;
GPS capabilities and memory selection;
Personal design features;
A specialized smell detector;
Fight or flight activators;
An impulse button;
Slow, fast, pause, skip, stop, browse, snooze, tippy toe, jump, climb, dance, push and pull functions;
A double grasp, squeeze, tease, or stroke mechanism;
A temperature control unit;
A human production centre;
A purifying plant;
A tap;
and a biodegradable waste disposal unit that's a source of natural gas.

IT'S AMAZING WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DOODLE — I MEAN, OUT COULD COME A FLOWER OR A
POODLE, OR SIMPLY WHAT SOME MIGHT CALL A SCRIBBLE, SOMETHING WITH NO BEGINNING, END,
OR MIDDLE — IN OTHER WORDS, ONE'S PEN PURELY MESSING AROUND, SOME GREAT WORK OF ART
HAVING GONE TO GROUND, AND IN ITS PLACE, AN ABSTRACT FACE, OR WHO KNOWS WHAT, WHATEVER
ONE MIGHT SPOT, ONE'S IMAGINATION KNOWING NO END, AND IT AMAZING WHAT SOME DEFEND,
BUT IN THE END, IT JUST A DOODLE, A KIND OF INKY LOOKING NOODLE, OR OODLES OF NOODLES,
AND DEPENDING ON HOW MANY, INK DISAPPEARING FAST, UNTIL ONE ASKS, "IS THERE ANY?"



Hey, want to know the kind of music I love? Click on the following link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5BiVznYPaA





Now here's the poems:

1.  Yours Sincerely

I’ve kind of fibbed, I guess, having said, “Yours sincerely,” because it’s not quite true,
As I actually belong to my wife given that I once said, “I do!”
But “Yours sincerely” is common to us, we not meaning it quite so boldly,
And so, I hope that you'll forgive me, I hardly meaning, “Yours faithfully.”

Worrying over nothing, you think? Indulging in semantics, possibly?
Okay, I’ll take it on board having probably got too carried away, see.
But with political correctness on patrol, one is inclined to worry,
Though in this case, with you being so good about it, I’ll stick with, “Yours sincerely."

By Lance Landall

2.  Hi There

Nice to meet you — well, so to speak, given that I can’t see or hear you, sad to say,
But hey, you’re still there anyway, and that is what matters at the end of the day.
Yes, my name’s Lance, but I’m also known as “Him,” “He,” “I” and “Me,” and some might say, “You!”
But not that often, hopefully, though some say, “Mister,” or reply, “Mister who?”

I’m sorry I’ve made things a bit confusing, but all you need to say is, “Hi there,”
Not that I will hear you right now, but should you email me, or if we met to share.
Anyway, it’s usually I who says, “Me,” or me who says, “I," never, “You,”
Unless I’m referring to someone else, though to play it safe, I say, “Hi there,” too.

By Lance Landall

3.  Hello, World

4.  Where's Lance?

I wonder what this world would do if I expired? Grind to a halt, possibly?
Or would it simply continue on, whilst I beneath the surface, snoozed fitfully?
“Where’s Lance!?” everyone shouting, or would it be a few years before some caught on?
The world still spinning and buzzing with activity despite the fact I’d gone?

Oh, how terrible I would feel if my exit destroyed the world’s economy,
And Nature threw in the towel too, silently conveying, “The loss is too heavy.”
Oh, the guilt I’d feel, so sorry to be the cause of it all, but what can I do?
I know, I’ll update my last will and testament, and pass everything on to you.

By Lance Landall

5.  I Wonder

I wonder why I am different, could it be because I’m me,
And could you be different too, given that you’re you and not me?
And now that I have thought of it, could others be different too,
Or is it only me that is me, and only you that is you?

Say,

Could all of us be different — I mean, each one of us unique,
Or do you think that in saying so, I have really got a cheek?
Though surely if I cannot be you, and if you cannot be me,
It must only stand to reason that no one else the same could be.

Hang on. Perhaps there are exceptions to what (here) appears to be.
Yes, maybe there is someone out there who’s the same as you and me.
Or maybe it is just you, or maybe I, who isn't unique.
Oh, I wonder what we'd find if you and I were to go and seek.

Now, if we found another me, or if we found another you,
Would I in fact still be me, and would you in fact still be you?
Because after all, if there was another one of you or me,
We could hardly be considered as being uniquely you or me.

No, I really don't like the thought of there being another me,
And as far as another you goes, is that what you'd want to see?
No, it's hard enough trying to figure one’s self out, quite frankly,
Without there being another you or me to figure out, dear me!

By Lance Landall


This poem was altered 13 October 2019.

6.  Who Would Really Be Who?

Tell me, how would it go if I was you, and how would it go if you were me,
Yes, you no longer you, and I know longer me, but now you, and you now me?
I surely no longer able to say, “me,” and you unable to say, “I,”
Or is it you who’d be unable to say, “me,” and me who couldn’t say, “I?”

In fact, I’d be saying “Hello” to me, and you’d be saying “Hello” to you,
Rather than you saying “Hello” to me, and I thus saying “Hello” to you.
Oh dear me!
And all this being why I’m very glad that you are you, and that I'm still me,
Because if I were you and you were me, what a right old mix-up there would be.

By Lance Landall

7.  I'll Not Say Sorry

No, I’ll not say sorry for being myself,  ’cause it’s hardly my fault, okay,
I kind of suspecting my parents had something to do with it, by the way.
But whoever may’ve been responsible, there’s simply nothing I can do,
So please mind when you point the finger given that the blame is pointing at who?

Okay, so you think I’m being funny, and funny, I could be being too,
But at the end of the day — now, actually — I’m simply saying what’s true.
I’m not responsible for being myself, am simply a product of life,
Which, as I said, may will have had something to do with my father and his wife.

By Lance Landall

8. Cut Adrift

There was no warning, just pushing and pulling, and then a sharp smack on the bot,
I out in the cold, all why it’s no wonder a high pitched cry is what they got.
Well, I mean to say, one minute cocooned and the next marooned, out on my own,
My five star hotel removed from me, and therefore, I having a right to moan.

So here I am, not that anyone asked my permission, I stripped of my rights,
And hardly happy with that weird reception that I got, and nor those bright lights.
It seemed like a fancy dress party where all had the same idea, don’t know why,
And then snip! The cheek of it! I suddenly detached, and hence why I let fly.

And what did they bring me into? A world they’ve been treating as badly as me,
All why I’ve wondered why they bothered, and even worse, it’s but temporary.
Yes, it has me scratching my old greying head, and hence why I kicked up a fuss,
Not that they paid any attention, and why they’re only getting a two plus.

Well, I suppose they deserve something, ’cause I’ve got to see what it’s all about,
And going by the state of things, I wished they’d pushed me back in, not pulled me out.
But what can you do when you’re cut adrift, and there’s simply nowhere else to go,
And why complain I certainly have, ’cause they should’ve known better, you know.

But such is life, apparently, one just having to make the best of it, and
That I’ve tried to, but I’ve had to make my own way, of course — on my own feet stand.
It took some time, one crawling around for a bit, then I got the hang of it,
Not that they spoke of those bruises and scrapes, but made a great deal of “No” and “Sit!”

Anyway, I got there in the end, the trip of a lifetime, but write I must,
That others receive fair warning, not pick at that insulating bubble’s crust.
Because when it bursts, it’s all on, and there being no experience like it,
One just having to grab another piece of crème topped apple pie and submit.

By Lance Landall

9.  Why Aren't We Warned?

10.  A Head Scratcher

“Hello, it’s Me here.”

“It can’t be, because I’m Me.”

“No, you’re You. It’s Me who’s Me.”

“No, no, no. How can I be You when I’m Me?”

“You’re not Me, You’re You!”

"Look, I’m hardly You, so therefore, I can only be Me.”

"Well, you’re certainly You to Me.”

“And you’re You to Me.”

“Okay, if all you’re going to do is argue, I'll hang up;
And another thing too: I’m also I.”

"No, I'm I."

"How can You possibly be when I'm I?"

"Oh no, there You go again,
"Men! And as I said before, I'm Me, not You,
bye."

"My, bye to you too."

By Lance Landall


This (kind of) poem was altered 13 October 2019.

11.  And I'm Thinking...

Yes, I’m thinking — well, there’s always something that I’m thinking. Haven’t you noticed that burning smell?
Seriously though, I can’t seem to put my brain to bed — yes, that old mental carousel.
And in case you’re thinking too, and thinking, “What a random poem,” I’m afraid I must agree,
So don’t go sharing it with anyone, because I’m thinking, “Who knows what they’ll think of me.”

Yes, it’s quite ridiculous, but that’s what can happen when you’re thinking, or is it thinking,
 ’Cause it could just be the mind doing its own thing, random like — no, I haven’t been drinking.
And I’m thinking, “Why does the old brain keep going when you want it to quit? Doesn’t it hear?”
And once again I’m thinking, and thinking, “Possibly not, or should one simply persevere?”

Well, such hasn’t got me far, ’cause it’s still just doing its own thing, has a mind of its own,
And now I’m thinking, “There’s a thought, a mind with a mind of its own. Am I really alone?
“Don’t be silly,” I hear you say, “You’re just thinking ridiculously,” but hey, is it me?
And I’m thinking, “Well, maybe not, or could it be that I’m simply exhausted mentally?”

Now, this might seem odd too, but I sometimes see pictures when my eyes are closed, and I’m thinking,
“There must be someone there, so why on Earth can’t they hear me?” Okay, I saw you all winking.
You can giggle all you like, but I might have the last laugh, ’cause don’t you sometimes see pictures too?
Now that’s got you thinking, which has also got me thinking, “Perhaps I’m just as strange as you.”

By Lance Landall


This poem was upgraded 20 January 2020.

12.  Could It Be Alzheimer's?

Dear Me (yes, dear me is right), I’m quite concerned about you, though I meaning me,
’Cause I shouldn’t be penning a letter to myself, it quite strange, quite frankly.
After all, I’m reading it as I’m writing it, so what’s the point, one might say,
And how could I argue with that? I know, I know, senility on the way.

Oh dear, just like me to spoil my own fun, talk myself out of it, and therefore,
I’d better make this letter very short, one only creating mirth with more.
Not that I’m laughing, but someone could be watching over my shoulder, you see,
And what on earth would they make of it? — okay, okay, thus Yours sincerely.

By Lance Landall

13.  Patience Is A Virtue

I don’t seem destined to have my name in lights, or a Sir before it, like some,
And I’ve not written some bestseller, nor some breaking news heroic act done.
No, my name hardly known amongst the gentry, gracing some designer bag,
Or nicely chromed and back and front of some posh car, and thus a Jag still a Jag,

And a Rolls still a Rolls.

Yes, my name just simply isn’t out there, I as common as common can be,
Just that guy you may’ve passed and not even noticed, I no celebrity.
But wait, I see a light at the end of the tunnel — oh, forgive my wee dance,
’Cause that light’s getting closer, that noisy siren too — yes, it’s an ambu-Lance!

By Lance Landall

14.  Better Time Spent

A man of lowly status called Lance,
The world of poetry sought to advance.
So he toiled night and day, day and night,
Until a poem or two appeared in sight.

Though lacking the polish he’d dearly sought,
He still felt cheery rather than distraught.
Though not surpassing talent seen before,
A certain flair his signature still bore.

No, no book in the making, nor knighthood,
It simply all done in the common good.
And as for advancing, such hardly meant,
It really all about better time spent.

By Lance Landall


This poem was inspired by Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936).





OKAY, NOW THE REFLECTIVE:

16.  Of Me

Of me I tell and teach my children, "I’m just a man, not a god, nor a saint,
No better or greater than anyone else, and in some crisis may well faint.
And so, it folly to esteem me higher than one should, my flaws and faults clear,
And therefore, I only able to do my best, a crown hardly mine to wear.

So love me do, for all should be loved, but mind those expectations bound to fail,
’Cause fathers, and even husbands, belong to the real world, not some fairytale.
And though mistakes I regret, mistakes there will be, but love and care in my heart,
I knowing that it’s not about perfection, but all about that course we chart."

By Lance Landall

17.  Hence Why I Pray That They'll Understand

It’s my wish that before I pass away, and that via the pen I might convey
Anything that’ll help and spare as many as possible, and so I pray.
Having erred myself, paid the price and seen the light, thus repenting of my ills,
And folly, I seek the best for others, and here via one’s literary skills.

It’s best I use the rest of my life making up for my sins, as it were, so
Here I am, for what it’s worth, that is, ’cause certain people mightn’t want to know.
They thinking I’m lecturing them, perhaps, which isn’t what I’m trying to do,
But rather, simply wanting them to see, lest they end up full of regret too.

Hence why I pray that they’ll understand, my heart in the right place, hopefully,
’Cause it’s not always popular things that I say, and thus fans hardly many.
But how else do I truly show that I care, and why what upsets I may’ve said,
Lest via not saying so, someone cause or suffer from what I hope not, but dread.

By Lance Landall

18.  My Jigsaw Puzzle

Welcome to my jigsaw puzzle — my life — where even I can’t put all the pieces together, though I’ve tried,
And then there’s that frustration, that inability to convey thoughts and feelings that I have deep inside.
I’m sure that I manage to convey a degree, though even then, perhaps not always that successfully,
But it’s only a portion of what’s within, and perhaps confusing, 'cause it’s not the whole picture of Me.

Yes, there’s so much I’d like to say — oh, if only I were an artist, 'cause a picture’s worth a thousand words,
But then, some artist I’d need to be, one who could paint that Me within, not just landscapes and the likes of birds.
I have turned to pen and paper, the standard form of expression outside of attempting such verbally,
But oh, how oft words fail to come, and when they do, they simply scratch the surface, and hardly speak masterly.

I've even wished I could project my inner self onto a screen, one where chapters of my life could be seen,
And thus I better understood, the agonies and desires within my heart and mind filling each scene.
And midst it all, the creativeness within me, those abilities not yet tapped, and talent not yet seen,
All crying out for release and fulfilment, I not wanting to lament what could’ve been, or should’ve been.

Sometimes I feel like a painting that someone’s lost interest in, the canvas cracked, peeling, the brushes dry,
Or perhaps a sketch that has been smudged, one where the likeness is amateurish, and there’s no rubber nearby,
And I deeply sigh, feeling like I'm being passed by, when all I desire is to be valued, understood,
Thought of as much as anyone else, but in such low times, I thinking to myself, “What is the likelihood?”

Yes, welcome to my jigsaw puzzle, pieces scattered here and there, and some possibly never to be found,
My life a mixture of this and that, good and bad things, fair and unfair things, influences, genes and background.
I’ve no desire to harm, but rather to love and care, and be the best that I can, but oft I despair,
'Cause those thoughts and feelings within, and whatever else, need expressing, which I struggle to convey and share.

And there are things that I’ve done that I can’t understand, things I wouldn’t do now, not that I’m beyond mistakes,
'Cause though I’ve learnt and grown much, I’m still battling with things within, things that hamper, and more time is what such takes.
And thus I guess I’m an unfinished book, one too often judged by its cover, many not wanting to wait,
And other people merely scanning the odd page, taking things out of context, failing to rightly translate,

Or perhaps they've read a chapter (who knows which one), but that being the most time they were willing to allocate.

Oh yes, how I wish that I could convey more of what’s within me, and thereby, a truer picture of Me,
Not one that’s glossed over, but simply more accurate, one that would soon see others thinking differently —
Well, hopefully, that is — 'cause the more pieces that are found by both me and others, both in their lives and mine,
The much better things will be, 'cause those negative things that just work against rather than for, will decline.

By Lance Landall


This poem was upgraded 2 October 2019.

19.  Imagine Being Me

20.  That Easier I Might Rest

I try to avoid repeating any mistakes that I may’ve made yesterday,
But as is the way with so many of us, not always succeeding, sad to say.
Our yesterdays too oft marred, and with them, tomorrows too, regret coming with pain,
And thus our journey made all the harder — and on our calendar, another stain.

How I wish that my mistakes were few, how I wish I wasn’t so flawed, but you know,
The way’s beset with traps and stumbling blocks, and therefore, cracks in ones resolve soon show.
I saying or doing what I never wanted to, and hence those two sides of me,
The good and bad, the bright and sad, confusing pictures that hang in my gallery.

But press on one must, and with hopeful intent, seizing each day come rain or come shine,
And this being what I do, some days a straight path, and some days a tiring incline.
But I knowing that I did my best, and at the end of the day having confessed,
My errors admitted and apologies given, that easier I might rest.

By Lance Landall

21.  Let Me Be

22.  Such I Had To Say

I don’t believe in breaking hearts, shattering dreams, nor in making promises I can’t deliver,
I don’t believe in treading all over folk, and rather than a taker, seek to be a giver.
I don’t believe in stealing, cheating or lying, nor in profiting from anyone’s misfortune,
Nor in making someone’s lot harder, ignoring their plight, withholding some sorely needed spoon.

And you know, I have a problem with 'huge cathedrals and poor parishioners,' those faith healers too,
For not only is the evidence of their healings scant and dubious, but they, oft well-to-do.
And I also have a problem with 'wealthy politicians and struggling citizens,' for somehow,
Something doesn’t gel, legislation oft draining leaner pockets, and the future sold for the now.

I don’t believe in class distinctions, snobbery or cliques, nor those jobs for the boys (cronyism),
And nor do I believe in some ecumenical power block, Church and State opportunism.
Yes, I don’t believe in anything that empowers an elite to lord it over the many,
Nor in anything that gives some pious majority a strong throat hold on the minority.

And you know, I have a problem with hospital waiting lists, that health care that so many can’t get,
And yet, look how much is spent on big shots, celebrations and the likes, never mind the country’s debt.
And hence why I have a problem with anybody who misuses their wealth most indulgently,
For so much suffering could be alleviated if the rich acted far more generously.

No, I don’t believe in wealth or power in the hands of a few, nor in those pedestals for some,
Nor in making all march to the beat of a universal tune, and some order then bound to come.
I don’t believe in shiny boulevards for some, and potholed ghetto streets for others (hence food banks),
Nor in the misuse of position or authority; that passing the buck further down the ranks.

Yes, I’ve a problem with phoneys, manipulators of the masses, those who mislead or use force,
They so often using some Trojan horse, saying one thing whilst plotting a very different course.
And be they Christians or atheists, they have one thing in common, they aren’t thinking of you and me,
But rather, themselves or their agenda, (though there are the deluded), but all causing injury.

No, I don’t believe in, but have a serious problem with, any act against humanity,
Anything and everything that somehow endangers human rights-cum-one’s freedom and liberty.
Yes, anything that interferes with justice, one’s conscience, one’s non-violent path, heart, mind and soul,
For when it comes to others — no one, absolutely no one — has the rights to such evil control.

By Lance Landall


See my poem They're All The Same To Me which is on my page Racism And Bigotry.

23.  A Work In Progress

I don’t believe in enemies, just others who’ve unfortunate issues too,
And I no holder of grudges, would rather reconcile, or move on, thank you.
Yes, I’m not into hitting back, or revenge, ’cause what goes around comes around,
Though how could I retain my dignity if relinquishing the higher ground.

And nor do I wish to indulge in character assassinations, ’cause they
Take people down rather than help them up, and who am I, such ill to relay?
A saint, I don’t think, having done my share, and of my own flaws, am well aware,
Humanity but a work in progress, and why I’m hoping you’ll meet me there.

By Lance Landall

24.  And Surely You Too

I’m all for a world where all are free, where folk go to this church or that church, or an atheist choose to be,
A world that’s free of prejudice and bigotry, and where another’s point of view we always try to see.
And where we fail to, that we accord them the same rights as us, thereby acting tolerantly,
Appreciating the uniqueness and individuality of each member of humanity.

I’m all for a world that’s full of love, where folk never resort to violence or war, nor settle some score,
But rather, forgive and forget, choosing to move on and upward, they never desiring to close the door.
A world where only what’s right is sought, our thoughts and actions noble, and we, always seeking what’s best to say,
Whether such be a word in due season that shows that we care, or something that cheers another on their way.

I’m all for a world where burdens are shared, and where charity’s the order of the day — and thus warm, each heart,
Every breast beating with tender regard for both creature and man, and our care for the Earth state-of-the-art.
A world where only selfless acts-cum-beneficial deeds and loving affection are employed, and much not seen,
We not seeking reward, recognition, or the limelight — our conscience, heart and mind active, lofty, clear and clean.

I’m all for a world where hate has been abandoned, and deceit, bias, oppression and persecution too,
A world where everyone’s input is valued, where no one’s thought of as lower or higher, nor help overdue.
Yes, a world where reconciliation is on everybody’s mind, a fair world, where all are seen as one,
And yet, are enjoyed for their difference — sense, peace and harmony having put an end to both sword and gun.

By Lance Landall

25.  An Anomaly

Someone once said that I’m an anomaly, which sounds good to me,
Because I do not like being labelled, nor pigeonholed, you see.
So don't put me in a box, and nor in this camp or that camp,
Because I don’t belong in any, won’t accept a rubber stamp.

I never swing left or right, other than to perhaps stop and seize
Whatever is right and worthy, because why not grasp such as these?
I thus taking what’s good from anywhere, leaving behind what’s not,
Because good or bad, right or wrong, one in every camp can spot.

And thus I’m not on this or that side of the fence, and nor on it,
But rather, simply who I am, a mixture, a composite.
I thinking for myself, working things out, making up my own mind,
Because I’m no puppet, no clone, nor one who just falls in behind.

And so I do what I think is right, not what others say is right,
Making my own decisions, and knowing that all’s not black and white.
Sure I’ll listen to people thoughtfully, hear what they’ve got to say,
But my train runs on my own track, and not on another’s railway.

Yes, I have my own bridges to cross, my own tunnels to go through,
My own stations to call in at, and my very own schedule too.
Yes, I journey on my train, a train that I do not want derailed,
And hence why I won’t be pressured, nor by anothers’ thinking jailed.

So by all means state your case, say what you think, because that’s your right,
But after you have, leave it there, don’t badger, nor argue or fight.
Remember that my life is my life, that we all chart our own course,
And that when it comes to others, we shouldn’t use pressure or force,

Yes, I’m an anomaly, because that’s the way I wish to be,
Firmly believing that that way one is balanced more correctly.
All why I don’t believe in camps, nor boxes (and some with a lock),
Because I’ve found that camps and boxes, growth and insight simply block.

By Lance Landall


This poem was upgraded on 6 September 2023.

26.  Be Gracious

There’s things I’ve done I can’t explain, a number of things that don’t make sense to me,
And one wonders whether damage has occurred somehow, meaning cerebrally.
After all, the brain’s more fragile than we think, thus knocks and toxins a real threat,
And then there’s psychological trauma, which a certain direction can set.

And this why we should be gracious to others, treating them kindly, carefully,
Not tolerating wrong and ill, but erring on the side of leniency.
We not knowing what’s going on in someone’s head, that something that they’ve been through,
Those struggles or burdens they’re dealing with, and why they do those things that they do.

Yes, so many have been damaged, even before their life barely began, and
We either triggering or defusing, potentially — a kind or cruel hand.
Life random too, it catching us off guard at times, we acting before we think,
And thus not necessarily bad people, but having tumbled on life’s rink.

By Lance Landall

27.  Please Understand

Please understand, I’m trying to be a better person, more loving and kind,
But often my body pains and tires, and I’ve issues that trouble my mind.
So midst it all, the cares of the day, and upsetting things that may come my way,
I may not respond or behave as I should, and thereby, give cause for dismay.

Growth takes time, and things often dog my steps, sometimes things that others do or say,
Thus I not just having to sort myself out, but deal with ill that comes my way.
Yes, others hindering my progress, not showing loving sensitivity,
The very kind I’m trying to show myself, and I discouraged too easily.

I guess that’s the problem with being human, and so human I am, which means,
I’ve flaws and failings, good intentions that go astray, am oft lost in daydreams.
And some may think I’m odd, and odd I may be, but I’m not out to hurt a soul,
Because improving as I go, shunning ill and loving others, is my goal.

So please understand, reach out with your hand, kindly assess what I say and do,
Given that I’m uniquely me in the very same way you’re uniquely you.
And thus I may perplex, even annoy and frustrate, but I not meaning to,
It all to do with being flawed, bruised and different, with still more work to do.

By Lance Landall

Alternative poem.

28.  Now That I'm Older

Now that I’m older — and by that I mean, much older — and having learnt, seen and experienced much, there’s much that I feel I can share, and this with an occasional tear, but all in order to benefit others, particularly my younger sisters and brothers, for the years teach much that the days never know, and why all should mind any seeds that they sow.
So what are some things I could share? Well, life’s too short to waste on the petty, even the unfair; that good and bad is the lot of all; that it’s better to laugh than gripe or bawl, though there is a place for righteous anger and sympathetic tears, even healthy anxiety and prudent fears, for our sixth sense isn’t imaginary, and dangers and risks oft ensnare or snatch the unwary, those who’re either young, naive, uninformed or foolhardy.
Yes, I’ve learnt that one shouldn’t aid misfortune, nor compound mistakes, and that a little inattention or impatience is all that it takes, not to mention complacency or stupidity, for it’s true that we reap what we sow, and why it’s wise to listen to those who know, and worth bearing in mind that contentment and acceptance are our best friends, and oft how one mends, for there’re things we cannot change, nor exchange, but you know, trials are how we grow, even get there in the end, though life’s in the living and not the arriving, and why many just waste their life striving.
Oh yes, I’ve learnt that there’s no fool like an old fool; that fighting, annoying, destroying, graffiti and showing off aren’t cool, and that jealousy and revenge are a waste of time, and the latter, a sure to kick back at us crime, and why it’s best to make friends of our enemies, thus living in peace and without unease, we cleaning up Earth and planting more trees, giving and sharing, loving and caring, not just doing as we please.
And I’ve learnt that a marriage seldom fails where a selfless spirit prevails, where a woman’s treated well and where respect is seen to dwell; that children and creatures should never be harmed; that hugs and cuddles are how anxiety’s calmed; that love, order and discipline steer and protect one’s family; that we should never take for granted freedom and liberty; that crime never pays and that jail simply wastes precious days; that one shouldn’t foul their own nest; that the vulnerable, needy and afflicted are a test; that true heroes are more often a mum or dad; that those ahead of their time are oft thought of as mad; that many are right who others think wrong; that sorry’s a word more oft uttered by the strong; that there’s certainly a time and place, more need of forgiveness and grace; and lastly, that bridges weren't meant for burning; that one never stops learning; and that life's a gift that's oft squandered so easily, treated too casually.
No, I can’t deny what I’ve learnt, for apart from reality’s lessons, one can also get burnt, and why I’ve learnt that what I’ve learnt is better not re-learnt if what's been learnt has come from being burnt, and which re-learnt, just sees one twice burnt.

By Lance Landall





Alternative poem.

29.  To All Who May Cross My Path