Sunday, 6 November 2016



On the 26th of October, my 6 foot Christmas tree was joyously decorated with baubles and erected in the window of my living room...much to the amazement of passers-by whose gaping maws mouthed incredulity more, I suspect, than they would have had I suctioned my naked form in a Garfield stance to that very pane. 

Now then, there were several reasons for my doing this and each of those reasons comprises entirely of the words " because I f*****g can!"

As for my being told by some "it's too early" well, maybe it could be deemed so had I erected it in THEIR living room...but I didn't...did I? No!

So, I tell you about YOU don't tell me when it's the right time to put my tree up and I won't tell all of you pyrotechnical premature ejaculates to stick your fireworks in an orifice of my choosing when you're frightening the shite out of my dog weeks before bonfire night, which is bad enough in itself!



Thank you for tuning into Lynn's Rant...

Ps: No animals were harmed during the erecting of my Christmas tree!

Pps: Merry Christmas!!

©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Saturday, 5 November 2016

Gargoylian Update...

So then, life and its ever evolving madness has overwhelmed my senses recently and thus my presence, physically, mentally, emotionally, realistically, virtually....and in all other aspects of sentience has been rather jaded and spasmodic, to say the least.

No need to bore you with the details of my fugue state, suffice to say that I am dealing with stuff in my own peculiar way and taking note of each diverse nuance of its mitherage for future writings of the crazy and the creepy!

Speaking of 'future writings'...the third book in my poetry series is to be launched later this year, October 2017...*air punches*...I'll let you know more about that, including launch venue etc...nearer the time.

As for now, well, currently I am poised to resume work on my debut novel (as yet untitled and very much a work in progress) the content of which will incorporate a fusion of mystery, macabre, malevolence, mirth and any other M words I find to be of appropriate usage.

Now, whilst I don't want to give too much away regarding storyline, at this point, what I will reveal is the setting for my eerie tale...

This is a place where my mother would take me for picnics when I was a little girl and, subsequently, where I would take my own children for similar moments of quietude and calm accompanied by a modest assortment of sandwiches and a hamper packed with thoughtful contemplation for the respected companions in our midst.

It is a place where I would once run to, literally, for solace, day or night, when the vicious world of the living weighed heavily upon me. 

It is a place where I continue to walk each day and most evenings, finding the company of the residents therein both comforting and, indeed, inspiring.

And it is a place where I myself will reside one day and, consequently, embark upon my journey to the Otherside guided, no doubt, by the very souls whose ethereal state has, I suspect, on many occasion lifted my spirits higher than their own!

No! This is not to be a tale of Tesco Extra and its walking dread!

This is a tale of grave and graveyard...particularly my graveyard, as I prefer to think of it, although the local council would be quick to challenge such thoughts.

Set in the present a fleeting glimpse at one of the main characters would draw your attention towards the degraded shape of Nathaniel Aloysuis Fletcher (1582-1648) whose zeal as a Witchfinder is as rampant in death as it was in life.

In their, as yet, raw state a couple of excerpts from the opening chapter of my book read thusly... 

"Nathaniel Aloysuis Fletcher peered over the crumbling, graveyard wall through sharp, narrowed eyes. The events unfolding before his scrutinous gaze were a source of much interest to him as he witnessed the solemn interment of yet another sinner.

Death had done nothing to alter Nathaniel’s sour nature nor dull his devious manner. Indeed, he remained to be the bitter, disgruntled man he had been in life, fiercely suspicious of everyone and everything, particularly that which lay beyond the walled confines of what he considered to be his exclusive property, the Chantry..............

..............Yes, Nathaniel’s demise in 1648 in his 66th year, had not quashed his passion for Witch-hunting,  if anything Nathaniel believed his present state was testament to God's will that he remain Witchfinder and continue with his noble quest to defeat the Devil and his minions, ultimately purging the wicked influences which sought to possess mankind".

And that's as much of the narrative I'm sharing at the moment, however, I will share with you a few photographs, taken a day or so ago whilst on my walk, of the very graveyard from where Nathanial's prying eyes are boring into the souls of the sinfully deceased.

As for now, what more is there to say but...."Abandon hope, all ye who enter here" cue menacing laughter....

  ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Thursday, 29 September 2016

No Tears...

Another tangent poem of mine that's a work in progress best suited, I feel, to song rather than word but until such time I find the melody....I shall share with you the piece in its VERY raw state!


I won't cry now you are leaving

 I swore you'd never see me cry.

I'll wear this smile that's so deceiving

But the pretence helps me get by.

I won't walk into our bedroom

And see us lying there

I'll close my eyes on all the good times

And let you think that I don't care.

I won't listen to our old songs

I'll find new ones of my own

Even though the music we made

Plays in my mind when I'm alone

I won't linger over old photographs

Reliving how we used to be

You don't need to know those images

Are etched in my memory

I won't see you both together

And die some more inside

I'll be stronger now than ever

Just too weak to lift that lie

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Sunday, 28 August 2016


I etch my name

Into the wall

So there will

At least remain

An echo

Of the misery

That was me

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Saturday, 27 August 2016

The Shelf...

There is a shelf

Within the heart

Upon which

There sits love

Sometimes you have to

Let it go

But it may need

A little push

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Sunday, 14 August 2016

Death's Embrace...

Were it not

For the company

The cemetery provides

I would know little

Of love

Nor comfort

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Friday, 12 August 2016

Missed Moments...

She missed his kiss

She missed his touch

She missed his eyes so blue

She didn't think

Of any of this

When she missed

Her period too!

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Tuesday, 19 July 2016

Humpty Dumpty...

Humpty Dumpty's world was at war

Humpty Dumpty watched his world fall

And all the politicians through lies and deceit

Couldn't put Humpty's world back on its feet!

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Wednesday, 13 July 2016


Woe is the poet

For he feels the loss

Of everything

Before its demise

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Tuesday, 21 June 2016

Web Of Tears...

Through tears of sorrow

How soft the web we weave

Its tender threads a cushion

And a comfort as we grieve.

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Tuesday, 8 March 2016

The Strange Thing About Bob...

Some time ago I shared with you the peculiar goings-on of previous neighbours of mine from years back.

Click here for said post regarding peculiar-neighbours-from-years-back *points* >... Love Thy Neigh-bour

Now, at that time, the one neighbour I didn't mention was the one you are about to meet here, 

Bob, and that's because the peculiar happening associated with Bob, is worthy of a blog post all to itself.

Bob was a deliciously eccentric (mad as a box of twerking frogs) character and a remarkably talented artist who, as tends to be the case with truly gifted people, was completely unaware of just how damn good he was!

Bob was also a young man in his mid to late twenties, struggling to come to terms with the recent breakup of a relationship.

Whatever the reason behind the breakup, the outcome was that Bob's partner and their daughter no longer lived with them. This situation seemed to escalate the intensity of Bob's eccentricities as became apparent the day of a mutual friend's funeral.

As the hearse pulled up outside the house of the deceased, where his family and friends stood weeping in the front garden, draped in the sorrowful garb of their distress, handkerchiefs were soon removed from tear soaked eyes when they spotted the sight zooming towards them.


Being without a suitable means of transport, a slightly-behind-schedule Bob had rectified the situation by means of...a skateboard!

Whooshing along at some considerable speed, his black shirt (open to his naval) flapped crazily above black, skinny trousers! He looked like a deranged bat in the grip of a seizure! However, that story is not for now.

This one is...

Bob and I were next door neighbours. The back gates of our homes, leading to our respective gardens, faced the other. 

One day, a rather excited Bob abseiled down my back gate (I jest ye not and no, I don't know why he didn't just use the latch either. It was all part of Bob's strange charm) and into my garden where he stood in front of my patio doors to gain my attention.

It was my day off work so, whilst the kids were at school, I'd been relaxing with the doors open, reading a book, enjoying the view of the garden and relishing the summers breeze which whispered over me.

A bouncy, boingy Bob breached the tranquillity of this idyllic setting by asking me in a rather hysterical fashion if he could borrow my patio furniture. Before I had a chance to mentally absorb this request he went on to explain that it was his daughters birthday and his estranged partner and their families were calling round so they could celebrate it together and it being such a lovely day, he thought they'd do so outside.

"Aww" thought I.

Well, of course he could borrow it. The table and chairs were only plastic so they wouldn't be too difficult to manoeuvre from my garden to his, so not a problem at all.

Bob was most pleased and when I asked if he would like some help he thanked me but insisted all was in hand.  He then quickly returned to his house (via opening the gate with the latch, this time) and I returned to my afternoon of bliss, sat by the patio doors, lost amidst the characters of my book.

That's when things became a tad awkward.

About twenty minutes after our chat, I heard my back gate open once again, and in walked Bob. Obviously to collect the patio set. I carried on reading 'cos I was at a particularly good bit.

Maybe if I hadn't been so absorbed, I'd have noticed the trail of people spilling through my open gate behind Bob, before settling themselves around my patio set...under my parasol!

As they made themselves comfy and chatted to the other, Bob scurried to and from his house, each time returning with an assortment of buffet foods. Beverages of all descriptions followed until the table was full and everyone began to tuck happily into the feast.

Bob had also had the forethought to attach an extension to his ghetto blaster and so the celebratory setting was complete and hips were raring to gyrate accordingly. Not mine, may I add! Mine remained stunned and static.

Now, what you need to understand is that, I was but a few feet away from all of this! Had I leaned forward out from the living room and into the garden with a bit of a stretch I could have tapped birthday girl on the shoulder and licked the sausage roll she held so tightly in her grasp! it happens...I couldn't move!

I felt like some weird party pervert! A voyeur of vol au vents! Not so much hostess as hostage! I don't think I've ever felt as out of place, especially in my own home! And, as ridiculous as it may seem, I also felt oddly intrusive...standing there as I was, rigid, with a gormless expression on my face and just the hint of drool forming in the corner of my gob-smacked gob at the sight of the Marks & Spencer's trifle taking centre stage on the table.

Still, as intrusive as I may have been feeling, no one even looked at me. I think I was just accepted as being staff!

Anyway, they just got on with enjoying their day as if I wasn't there but it was only when Bob sneaked off to get the birthday cake that I found the courage to back off into the hall! Where I remained for some time.

Eventually, the party came to an end and the revellers drifted off somewhere beyond my garden. Possibly to someone elses.

I gathered from the laughter they took with them that they'd had a good time and bizarrely, I was pleased about that. I just worried about any other plans Bob might have for future family occasions!

The outcome was that Bob never mentioned that day ever again.....and, annoyingly, I never got to ask the question I'd been burning to ask.... 

"How come I didn't get an invite to the party???"

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Monday, 7 March 2016

The Gift...

A true gift

Is not measured

By the weight of the wallet

But by the fullness

Of the heart

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Tuesday, 23 February 2016

Musings & Mischief

Signed copies of Musings & Mischief - the second book in the poetry by Lynn Gerrard priced at £6.99 are available to pre-order (£8.99 inclusive of UK postage) by clicking on the Paypal BUY NOW button for your area below. They will be available for dispatch from March 3rd 2016.

The book is also available unsigned from March 3rd 2016 on Amazon in paperback and of course there is a Kindle version.

Please note that the prices below include postage to seperate regions. 

Please only use the 
BUY NOW button relevant to where you live (e.g. France - the European Delivery button or America - the International Delivery button).

UK Delivery: £8.99 
P&P Inclusive...

Price includes UK Postage

Europe Delivery: £9.99 
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Price includes Europe Postage

International Delivery: £11.99 
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Available on 3rd March, the second poetry collection from the Grumbling Gargoyle is read and reviewed by Susan Omand...

You all know I’m not averse to a bit of verse, and I really enjoyed the previous grumblings of the Grumbling Gargoyle (aka Lynn Gerrard) in her debut collection Darkness and Decadence, so I was really pleased when her new collection of Musings & Mischief made it onto my desk.

Again this is a collection of Lynn’s poetry and is as imagery filled and melancholy as ever, although never absolutely sad, just reflective. Take these lines from the very first poem in the book

the warmth of cobbled memories linger on 

To tell their tale of lolly sticks and laughter

Doesn’t that just reek of childhood to you? Wonderful! That’s something I really like about Lynn’s poetry, the acute observation of life, love and death therein. There’s also a good spark of dark humour in this collection as she writes of mundane reality, of wheelie bins and discarded road maps, as much as the esoteric notions of death and desertion. 

The thing I like most though is the visual nature of each descriptive phrase as her use of simile and metaphor are sublimely off the wall and yet work so well.

Dark skies hung as heavy 

As a fat dog's sweaty belly

for example, or 

She walks the walk 

Of the uninspired.

You really can see and understand what she means in a way that someone else could not describe in 100 words. 

Talking of more words, as an additional treat this time out there are also three flash fiction style pieces at the end of the book. The New Place is beautifully written and will have you second guessing til the end. Conversely the shocking viewpoint of the five year old child in Lilly will stay with you for a long time. But it is the last story, A Cold Affair, that leaves you shuddering more at what was not said rather than what was. A masterstroke of stomach turning psychology. These stories bode well for the rumoured novel that Lynn is working on, if she can keep up that level of visual and visceral connection with her characters, it will be a good one.

As with the last collection though, there are a couple of poems I wouldn’t have included as I feel their brightness breaks the dark mood of the cover-to-cover read through that I did. I do however understand why Lynn may have wanted to do that if she felt the book was “a heavy read” and they are good stand alone pieces that, if you just dip in and out of the collection, will work well but I wish she had the confidence to let the reader just wallow in the melancholy of her work. Another minor quibble, and again this may just be me and it will not affect the Kindle version, but it sometimes felt like the page layout and where the page breaks fell in the poems for the paperback version was not considered. Well chosen, these breaks work in a similar way to line and verse ends in poetry to add to the drama of the overall reading experience.

Overall though, Lynn has managed the oft dreaded “difficult second album” of her poetry collection very well indeed and I highly recommend you seek out her work as this proves she has much more to give.

Monday, 15 February 2016


Many moons ago when I was a young wife and mother, things weren't going so well and countless times I'd cry myself to sleep worrying about the next day. So it was one evening, after fretfully dozing on the couch, yet again, I succumbed unto a most peculiar and startlingly vivid dream.

In this dream a gentleman, who I did not know, sat upon the armchair which accompanied the settee in my living room. He was quite distinguished looking and possibly in his late 60s.

His hair was short and impossibly white. Above neatly pressed, white trousers he wore a crisp white shirt, partially hidden by a very smart, white jacket.

Leaning slightly forward in the chair, arms resting upon his lap with hands lightly folded within the other, the strangers manner was that of being completely at ease. A gentle smile prompted creases to form around warm, kindly eyes before lips parted to utter words in soft, reassuring tones...

"You have no need to feel so lonely Lynn. You are never by yourself, for I am always watching over you. I have sat here with you many times and witnessed the pain of your distress.

Your tears hurt my heart as much as they do your own and so I tell you this, whenever the world treats you badly, all you have to do is think of me and I will be here, right by your side. I am but a thought away...never forget that"

And with that said, he was gone!

Well, shortly after my visitors exit, I woke up with the whole weird scene imprinted very clearly and quite sharply upon my mind. It genuinely was a most vivid encounter. So much so that even the air around me in my waking state, prickled with an undefinable yet most palpable energy, as if in the wake of another's presence.

My eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness of the room as a sleepy, disoriented hand reached out to switch the lamp on. All the while, the words of my uninvited guest played on repeat in my head and that's when I realised that, thanks to him, my earlier worries had, indeed, dispersed.... be replaced by a fear so crippling and so intense as to justify the pungent odour which was now filling the room!

Omg! I mean, just when I thought things couldn't get any worse 'Snowy', my mystery caller,  turns up out of the ether in the middle of the night to invade my dreams and sprawl on my furniture so he can distribute his sagely dialogue of comfort and calm!!

Oh yeah, well, THAT worked!!

For the longest time after his  gatecrashing my slumbers, I was too scared to even look at the armchair in case HE showed up, all white and wisely! And as for the "You are never by yourself, for I am always watching over you"...REALLY!! Oh, that  made me feel LOADS better, knowing some disembodied being was shadowing my life...I don't think!!!

What about bathroom breaks? My ablutions were not to be considered a spectator sport...spectre or otherwise!

I mean, ok, this visitation could have been no more than a figment of my imagination and given Snowy's attire, I can't absolutely rule out the possibility that the KFC I'd devoured earlier hadn't something to do with it BUT regardless, it was very real to me, as was my fear.

There was certainly nothing finger-lickin'-good about that!

Anyway, I made a conscious effort never to fall asleep in the living room ever again and I also swore never to think too hard about Snowy ever again, in case he considered that to be an invite for a chat!

In fact, this is the first time I've thought about him, at length, for some considerable, can anyone else smell chicken?

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard