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

In The Mix...

Find me the recipe

For a perfect mum

And let me

Bake you a cake

And when I do

Be sure to chew


On all the mistakes

To savour what real mums

Are made of

'Cos they're not

Just sugar and spice

They're little nuggets

Of worry

Mixed up with some

Misplaced advice

But that's because all mums

Are human

And sometimes

They think they know best

So they do what they do

And place guidelines for you

Which you, in turn

Try to resist

And sometimes

Mums make wrong decisions

But not out of malice

Nor mood

But because life does not

Make it easy

To do the right thing

For ones brood

So when next

You spend time disgruntled

Wishing mum had

Given you a break

Take time to appreciate

The flavours

Of the love

She whisked into

Your cake.

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Our Song...

(I wrote this piece as a song but my art lies in writing words not music so, until such time as I come across a someone who can write the music to accompany this...I shall at least share the lyrics with you)


I held his hand 

As to me he sang

A song for my ears alone

Such tragedy

In the melody

As to make my spirit mourn

For all the things

That could have been

But will never now come to pass

For tomorrow he visits the gallows

And his song will be our last

He held me near

And wiped my tears

As I looked in his eyes

The sadness there

Was hard to bear

And a hurt burned deep inside

A longing for

What was before

Tyburn's rope hung fast

For tomorrow he visits the gallows

And his song will be our last

He'd killed a man

Who'd done me harm

So I would no more dread

The violent swish

Of a madman's fist

Nor his angry, drunken tread

To save me from

A terrible fate

My true loves life would pass

For tomorrow he visits the gallows

And his song will be our last

As moonlight rests

Its silver threads

Upon his raven-black hair

I take his hand

And place it

On my belly

Wherein there stirs

The child blessed by our union

But cursed by his poor father's past

For tomorrow he visits the gallows

And his song will be our last

The jailer stands

With keys in hand

Now my love

And I must part

A candle flickers restlessly

As does my fretful heart

Through Newgates walls

My cries now fall

To meet others in their dirge

For loved ones soon lost to the gallows

And whose song will no more be heard.

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Death's Warm 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


Bedevilled is the night

And I must feed

'Fore morning's light

My cursed state impedes.

Moon's silver fingers

Point me to the path

Where best my urgent need

Will fulfil its bloody task.

Once there my hungry eyes

See her young shape

I falter at my choice

Her life to take

But then the fiend within

Insists I must

Appease the gluttonous rage

Of my infernal lust

And so I softly glide

Towards the vein

That will rescue me

From conscience

Blocking pain

Which lingers still

In my dark and cold, dead heart

A remnant from my mortal days

Long past.

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Last Goodbye...

I cannot make you love me

If I could

I would not try

A bird for all its feathers

Should not be forced to fly

So if your heart no longer

Holds a place for me

I'll say goodbye

This one last time

And walk away

With my memories.

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Saturday, 6 August 2016

Embracing Demons...

I will not fight

To 'save my soul'

Nor banish the demons

That therein lie


I would provide them succour

And embrace the company

Of those whose darkness

Understands my own

And whose whispered torments

Carry more honesty

And afford more mercy

Than the malignant duplicity

Of the Angels

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Thursday, 4 August 2016

Feast Of The Succubus...

Lured by the succulent scent of unrepentant sin

The Succubus stood before the naked figure

Sprawled, in deep repose, upon the bed.

Eyes as baleful as they were beautiful

Heavy with demonic desire

Coveted the magnificence of his shape

Whilst her glistening tones shivered with lustful intent.

Aroused by the abundant corruption of this vile soul

The Succubus smiled, flicking a moist, black tongue 

Across the ready fullness of her blood red lips

In devilish anticipation of the whorish torments yet to unfold.

The man shifted within the shadows of his slumber

Drugged by the lascivious vapours oozing 

From the creatures wanton presence

His body rippling with subtle arches of tremorous urgency

Straining for release.

Satan's Temptress slid upon his shape with artful grace

Dark kisses drawing sustenance from every pore

Of the depraved opiate that was his fleshy essence

Whilst knowing fingers teased the rigidity of his hunger.

Rarely had she encountered a vessel 

As perversely polluted as the one which lay beneath her

Thus her passion became inflamed.

Meeting the arc of the mortal's desperate thrusts

She lowered herself onto him with fevered haste.

Writhing in wicked ecstasy as the fullness of his debauchery 

Penetrated the profanity of her being.

The Demon smothered the body's euphoric moans 

With the luscious fragrance of her song

Filling the air with a chorus of Hells rhapsodies

As, with one mighty surge, his monstrous ejaculate 

Erupted throughout her, resplendent in its malignancy.

And thus the deed was done.

Impregnated with the seeds of countless sins 

The Succubus vanished into the sulphuric ether

Deliciously satiated until such time as she must feed again.

As dawn's light brushed against the stained glass windows

Perplexed as to his weakened state

Oblivious to his nights labours

The priest leaned shakily against the pulpit

And prepared to deliver his forthcoming sermon

'The Evils of Sin'.

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Wednesday, 3 August 2016

The Light That Shines...

How sad it is

That sometimes

We only see the light

Which shines

Within the other

When the colours of our world

Are dulled by their exit from it

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard