Saturday, 14 January 2017

Sleep Not...



As weary as I am

I do not crave sleep

I fear its touch

For the loss of all

It takes

For the stolen moments

Of my life it harvests

When spent

I have lost the battle

To stay awake.

I tremble

Before the monsters

Sleep delivers

As they drag

My soul

Through chambers

Bedecked in dread

But most of all

Terror stalks

My senses

With the knowledge that

Sleep is but a taste

Of death.



Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Another's Shoes...



A day spent

In another's shoes

May expose a weary trail

Spend but a moment

In their head

To truly witness pain.


 © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Shackled...



As for the children

There was a deadness

In their eyes

And a darkness

In their souls

For they 

Had been burdened

With the sins of 

Their fore-bearers

And were

Forever shackled.




Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Fragile Heart...



A heart so fragile

Made of glass

Holding teardrops

From the past




Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Monday, 9 January 2017

Melancholia...





Melancholia

Wraps itself

Around my frame

As taut

And as comforting

As a lovers embrace



Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Friday, 6 January 2017

The "tut-tut" Brigade....



The older I get

The more I regret

Leaving words unsaid

Caring for feelings

Is most unappealing

The closer I creep towards death

And I truly resent

My reluctance to vent

Just in case I should dare to offend

The delicate senses

Of pedants whose lenses

Are priggishly poised to condemn

I'm also most vexed

With 'politically correct'

When it's usage is overly played

We'll soon be too scared

To utter a word

In fear of the "tut-tut" brigade

If only such focus

Was placed with more onus

On values we used to uphold

Like respect for the other

Regard for another

Society might not be as cold

So, the next time you meet me

Or text me or tweet me

Be aware that whatever I say

Will be spoken with truth

Not malign nor aloof

But no doubt in an 'inappropriate' way.




Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Tuesday, 3 January 2017

Leaving Home...



She removed her things

From the bedroom wall

And lied

"That didn't hurt at all"

But father saw

In mothers eyes

The welling tears

She could not hide

And with a kiss

Upon her cheek

He held her close

So she could weep

And gently soothed

"We must move on

And let her live

The life she wants"

And mother cried

"I know that's true

That is what I

Intend to do

But father

Have a mind to see

The lingering memories

Shadowing me.

The mark upon the wall

Just there

Is where once leaned

Her Teddy Bear

And in that corner

On that chair

When she was small

I'd plait her hair

Then from that hook

Behind the door

Her little coat

Would hang before

I'd drape it

'round her tiny shape

'fore we set off 

Towards

School gates"

There Mother paused

Sobs locked in throat

As father, worried

For her distressed chokes

Tenderly whispered

Words to ease

Mother's plaintive

Reveries

"Dry those tears, love

Do not fret

We'll visit her often

And don't forget

Your little girl

She'll always be

But it's time to let go

Mother

She's 43!"




Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard