Do Not Cry...

My baby boy Ralph 2008 - 2017

Forever loved.

Written on behalf of my Ralph, my Beautiful, loving, faithful companion and muse in life...dedicated to his family who miss him very, very much...

Do not cry for me

Your tears always made me sad

And you would not wish me sad

For now, I run in fields again

Free from pain, energy returned.

My eyes, no longer blind

Enjoy the magic of all the vibrant colours 

In this world of new adventures

A world where, one day, you and I

Will be together again

A world where, once more, you will feel

The excited brush of my wagging tail

Against your leg

A world where I will know again

The tinkle of your laughter

And the tender, playful pat

Of your hand upon my head

So, no...

Do not cry for me

For we have not lost the other

We are merely standing at opposite ends

Of the playing field

Waiting to be reunited

And when that day comes

We will run joyfully towards the other

To resume our loving days of play, mischief, and cuddles

Lots and lots of cuddles.

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

My Grandmother's Clock...

My grandmother had

A very old clock

It would rest on a shelf

By her little piddle pot

And night and day

Ticked and tocked that clock

Until the hour came

When her own ticker stopped

And from the very moment

That she passed away

The old clock never

Ticked nor tocked again.

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Sins Of Our Fathers...

The sins of our Fathers

Are not our own

We are but formed

From their flesh and bone

Their blame and shame

We did not earn

Through their dark deeds

We can but learn.

So carry no guilt

But harbour no plan

To do as they did

To their fellow man.

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Those Black Dog Days...

Those black dog days

Where no matter if it's bad things or glad things

The mind morphs everything into sad things

And the tears roll

Where the outside world's even scarier

And the hustle and bustle makes life feel blurrier

And out of control

Where self-confidence is lacking

And people's haggling, slagging and backstabbing

Is taking its toll

Where everyone bleats 'there, there'

But their telephone tone says 'don't care'

It's just a pre-recorded drone

Where no place feels like your safe place

And people's faces are ramraiding your airspace

And you've no concept of home

Where everything about you is imploding

And not trusting people is obstructing the offloading

And you're tired, empty and cold

Where you're smiling but you are lying

You wear and share it to stop people prying

So they'll leave you alone

Where simply breathing is leaving you breathless

And the one wish on your wish list reads death wish

And hopelessness is your chaperone

Those days

It's just one of those days

Those Black Dog Days

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Come The Hour...

Come the hour

When this world sees fit

To remove my tired shape

From the confines

Of this mortal coil

May the universe allow

That I should journey onwards

To forever dwell

Amongst the words of masters

In that great library in the sky

Poem Only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Who Knows...

With each breath that I take

How deep?

How deep?



With each beat of my heart

How strong?

How strong?



With each promise I make

How true?

How true?



For as long as I live

How long?

How long?



Who knows.

Poem Only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Holding...

I hold a sadness

That's unshifting

I hold a hurt

That lingers on

I hold a memory

Of our yesterdays

I hold a heartache

For times long gone


Copyright:  Lynn Gerrard

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Teddy & Me...

Teddy and me

Wanted beans for tea

'Cos beans for tea

We adore

If Teddy and me

Had had beans for tea

Mummy wouldn't have been

On the floor

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

The Path Of Shadows...

Let us walk the path

Of shadows

Amidst the shapes

Of woe

Let us dare to tread

Where spirits dwell

And the living

Fear to go

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Fading Stars...

You and I

Are but fading stars

Briefly flashing

Before we are

Tossed into

The great beyond

Not with a bang

But through a yawn

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Heaven & Hell...

Love

Born not of Heaven

But of Hell

For surely

Only the Devil himself

Could so cruelly appoint

That which would tear us apart

Where monsters fail

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Death-day...

Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock

Onward goes

Our Death-day clock

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Mirror...

Each day is but

A mirror of the last

A doleful tribute

To the misery

Of the past


© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Bread, Buns an' Bacteria...

Despite my propensity to embrace all things gross and disturbing, I find the open bakery counter in supermarkets quite gut-churning. You know the ones I mean, the ones where the public are encouraged to pluck their own pastries from the exposed counter display before them.

And here's where my problem lies. Science tells us that every minute of the day we lose about 30,000 - 40,000 dead skin cells off the surface of our skin. That's almost 4 kilograms a year!

Consequently, wherever we go we're leaving a trail of shed skin behind us...and it has to land somewhere, doesn't it? Can you see where I'm going with this?

And yes, I know the same principle of plummeting-dead-flesh-flakes could be applied to other exposed foodstuffs in supermarkets and the like BUT most of that stuff, such as fruit and veg, can either be washed before use or is cleansed during the cooking process.

You can't do that with a baguette or a Danish pastry, can you? 

And then, of course, there's other bodily projectile residue to consider.

Take sneezes, for example.

One sneeze can ejaculate 40,000 snot droplets at a speed of 200 miles an hour over a distance of 8 metres carrying with it around 100,000 germs.

Yep...and if you happen to be passing the bakery counter at that very moment when your nose explodes, well, there we have another interesting ingredient to add to our expelled epidermis as it speedily journeys to rest upon the croissants and the floury bread rolls.

Oh, and let's not forget the dietary accompaniment a cough can provide when one's bronchial tubes are secreting a medley of mucous. Actually, I think I'll leave that one right there 'cos my knee-jerk reaction to all things spittoon is about to kick in with a series of dry heaves that'll send me over the edge!

I mean, ok, some places try to reduce the possibility of a flurry of flesh-flakes and other bodily detritus coating our buns an' stuff by placing them behind a perspex screen and by providing tongs but not all retail outlets do that.

Oh yes, most DO provide the tongs but few people use them, preferring instead to grab and fondle the food with their bare hands...and do we really want to contemplate where those hands might have been!!!

Only the other day I witnessed a middle-aged guy, at the kind of open counter I'm rambling on about, use his genitals as a fidget toy before applying the same hand to a batch of crusty cobs, fondling each with the same enquiring enthusiasm he had his nethers.

Nice.

And don't forget, every time we touch a something minute particles of that something accumulates beneath out fingernails so gawd only knows what kind of adventurous microorganisms could be transferring themselves from grubby mitts to the doughy landscape of our barms an' baps an' beyond!

Anyway, that's me finished...I just thought I'd share a bugbear of mine with you before leaving you with this thought...

 © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

His Lips...

His lips told her

He loved her

His eyes told her

He lied

Her heart told him

Forever

Her tears told him

Goodbye

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Carousel...

The world is just

A carousel

Where baffled souls

Revolve until

Their ride is over

Then off they fly

Too old to live

Too young to die

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Stranger...

Stranger

As you pass me by

Know where you walk

So once walked I

Where I am now

You could be too

Wondering would a stranger

Stop and talk to you

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Dark Shadow...

I do not fear

The darkness in others

It is my own shadow

That brings me

To my knees

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Folly...

Do I wish

My demons gone?

Why no, Sir.

Surely it would be folly

To rid myself

Of that which feeds me.

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Attics...

Attics full of mystery

And other people's history

Dark, dank corners

Hiding long dead shapes

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Let Us Prey...

The parish priest

Peddles through town

Preying on sinners

'Fore the sun goes down

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Moments Spent...

Oh, the ache

Of moments spent

How swiftly

The years unfold

And fade away

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard