The Passing...

Oh, to be

Loved

With such depth

As to be forever

Despised

For my having passed

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Yes I Must Dust!...

(There's a wonderful poem by Rose Milligan called 'Dust If You Must'...(do seek it out)...and one day, my eldest sent it to me after she'd invited me to a social thing and I'd declined 'cos I was busy cleaning. This was my tongue-in-cheek reply to her)


Yes I must dust

To appease the demon

That stresses me out

If I cease the cleanin'

Yes I must dust

'Cos if I want the time

To enjoy life's pleasures

I must first vanquish grime

Yes I must dust

Regardless of weather

'Cos that's what helps me

Keep my shit together

Yes I must dust

So bear in mind, please

You would dust too

If you had OCD's

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Wings...

Tomorrow

May flaunt its miseries

And clip our wings

But tonight

We fly

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Alone...

Better I should hate the world

And endure a life alone

Than face the unbearable loneliness

Of loving you

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Bugbears And Bathhouses...

One of the things I loathe about public swimming pools...is the 'public' in swimming pools.

I have an aversion to the notion of an aquatic army of bacteria surfing on the shed shavings of folks dead skin and skimming across the undulating waters before finding refuge in any open gob hopelessly oblivious to the invasion.


And, of course, the detritus of the human body is not restricted to mere flesh.

The thought of unwashed anal hair, waving like seagrass as it penetrates the restraints of swimwear tight enough to challenge circulation, randomly flicking unwiped wastage into the path of unsuspecting swimmers, has the potential to bring forth through my repulsed state an impressive tsunami of bile-infused vomit.

When I was a kid at school, the only horror WE were programmed to worry about gatecrashing public baths was a renegade verruca!. The teacher supervising our submergence would line us up, pre-entry, and check our feet and God forbid she should discover this wanton wart brazenly embedded within the foot of some poor wide-eyed and hobbled foot youngster.

Should this be so, the plague carrier would instantly be subjected to the walk of shame to join any other verruca lepers in the changing room where head bowed, they'd slowly drag a crusty heeled sock over the offending protuberance whilst pondering a future of ostracisation.

And, talking about changing rooms...there lies another horror waiting to be endured post-swim.

Your body is hot from the swim itself, much to the delight of your newly acquired bacterial passengers, each busily burrowing through every open pore in your unsuspecting flesh.

Eager to rid yourself of dripping swimwear, you enter the changing room....and instantly stand in the cold, gestating, puddles of someone else's bacterial debris!

If you're really unlucky, as your face creases into folds of raw repulsion worthy of some bizarre origami project, you'll quickly try to avoid the puddle only to discover that someone's old plaster, aka band-aid, is using your foot as a raft! And Gawd only knows how much residual infected tissue from the previous owner is clinging to THAT!

Of course, there's always the reassuring contemplation that public pools are safe 'cos they're treated with chlorine...and that thought does bring some relief to many....especially those who haven't considered the evolution of chlorine-resistant bacteria.

Also, as brushed over at the start of this blog-post, the gastrointestinal bacteria Cryptosporidium, which can cause diarrhea, stomach pains, vomiting, and fever, is easily contracted when a person swallows water contaminated through the infected residue of feces from other bathing beauties.

And if you're wondering how do I know all of this?....well, let's just say, I know a lot of random shit.

However, don't let any of the above, poo on your pool plans this summer.

You can always purify yourself by relaxing in a nice, hot steam room or sauna after your swim. Don't let the damp, porous, germ harbouring, wooden benches put you off! What's a little impetigo between friends, eh?

And what better way to clear your head of any lingering colds than to take advantage of the therapeutic properties the moist, clammy air provides. 

That is, of course, so long as you don't mind risking the potential bombardment of airborne mold as this polluted, nasal douche journeys up your nostril and spreads its spores up an' beyond.

But hey! I don't want to pee on your bonfire...so, don't let any of this play on your mind!

Summer's here, school's out...so go enjoy yourselves and help put the fun back into fungal infection...

Sweet swims....


© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

From Us To You...

Some people are born with an invisible straw permanently attached to their mouths...and throughout their lives, they use that straw to suck the life out of every undeserving person that suffers the heinous misfortune of coming into contact with them...BUT...


I am not writing this to rant about pernicious an' shallow folk such as those, 'cos I am certain that, one day, Karma will knock on their door and serve them the sh*t sandwich they have most definitely earned in life and their souls will forever bear the skid marks of that very meal.... 

I AM, however, writing this in praise of all the beautiful souls out there who make other people's days just that little bit more manageable simply by being thoughtful, caring and kind.

By offering an ear that doesn't just listen but actually hears.

By providing the sort of company that doesn't expect conversation but respects the healing qualities of silence.

By providing valuable help without making the other feel helpless.

By not pressing well-meaning but often unrealistic and untimely advice upon the other.

By knowing when to step back, without being offended, whilst quietly keeping watchful from the wings.

And simply by being there, wherever 'there' may be...when the other feels as if they themselves are nowhere at all.

Such folk as these are precious.

And throughout all the crazy stuff myself and Michael are experiencing at the moment, it's thanks to folks like this...that we are able to get through another day as seamlessly as is possible under the current circumstances.

So, thank you for the strength and support you provide us with...every one of you....from our AMAZING family....wonderful friends in the physical and the virtual world on here...right through to every single person in every capacity in the NHS who are working relentlessly to get my Michael back on his feet so me and 'im can carry on with our life's journey of 53 years plus together...

We are immeasurably grateful to each and every one of you.... 

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Birdsong...

I am a song

Yet will never

Be heard

I am an airy brush of wing

Yet will never

Know flight

I am a hint of summer skies

Yet will never

Greet dawns blush

I am the contented coo

Of Motherhood

Yet will never

Nurture my own

I am the notion

Of all that could have been

Yet was not to be

Still, through this

I am.

Poem only Copyright Lynn Gerrard

The Humble Bumble...

Early this morning, contrary to my usual ritual, I sat in the garden awhile and enjoyed the light blush of morning sun as it tiptoed across my waking flesh.

With eyes closed, I let the earthy sounds of nature massage my rousing senses...the bird upon the branch calling to its young...the hypnotic rustle of a gentle breeze tripping from leaf to leaf...and I savoured the attention a host of humble, bumble bees chose to afford me as they hovered, en masse, ever closer, in curious flight, towards my resting form. 

What was it that had drawn these industrious & delicate angels towards me?

Was it that these beautiful & sensitive creatures were honing in on the residual echoes of my melancholia with a want to administer the healing properties of their soothing song perchance to comfort me?


Or...was it that they simply sensed a fellow creature, akin to themselves, desperately endeavouring to maintain a safe passage whilst journeying through the turbulent maelstrom that is existence thus prompting them to seek the solace of likewise company?

Or...was it that I'd liberally covered myself from head to toe in several thick layers of Lidl's own Luxury Strawberry Jam during my most recent episode of BatShitCrazy?

I guess I'll just never know.....*wistful sigh*... 

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Would She?...

Would there be an answer

To her prayers?

Would anyone touch her life

Who really cared?

Or would she grow to realise the best

Times were spent alone

On cold worn steps.

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Of Lives & Lies...

Governments and Warfare

Politics and Deceit

Countries blaming the other

Whilst filing each other's receipts

(artwork: Banksy)

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

True Love Exposed...

True love

Knows no boundaries

And, thus, must never be restricted

To the subtleties

And niceties

Of all things sweet and tender.

True love

Must also be expressed

Through the pain, torment

And passionate convulsions

Its frenzied course assaults

Upon mind and body

Only then

When ecstasies and agonies

Are allowed to coexist

Can true love be found.

Such is this

I lay before you


My Ode To True Love.


My love for you

Is as gushing

As a burst abscess

As intense

As the agony

From a gangrenous toe

And as teasingly

Unpredictable

As a bucket of vomit

On a trampoline.

Indeed

Through all of this

And more

Know

That you

Are truly loved.

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

The Gathering...

I had forgotten how you used to make me feel

Until the night I was reminded

In the Restaurant

After the meal, as we each sat around the table

Everyone laughing and joking 

Oblivious to my discomfort at your presence.

You were threatening to be as annoying as ever

We had shared enough time together for me to notice the signs

Quiet at first

Barely noticeable

Sly digs here and there

Building up the pressure

Your usual devious self

And the more drink consumed the harder you were to control.

Louder and louder you became

The classic party pain that everyone has had to endure at some point.

But why that special night?

Because that is when you are at your best, is it not?

When excitement for the occasion spreads its merry glow upon those gathering

And you strike! 

Relishing the vulnerability of the captive audience 

Unprepared for your assault.

Consuming all the joy and replacing it with your bloated arrogance

Always needing to take centre stage

Overshadowing everything with your vicious rumbling dialogue

A hideous embarrassment for those who suffer you.

You were not supposed to be there

Yet there you were

Tainting every morsel of pleasure

With your increasing demands to be heard.

I tried to shake you off without success

Until unable to bear the invasion of your tone any longer

I had no choice but to leave the celebrations and return home

Where alone, at last, I conceded to find melodious relief 

From the ever-expanding agony

That is you

Trapped Wind!

Poem only    © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

A Brief Encounter With A Little Bit Of A Rant...

Why do some people when commemorating a deceased persons birth date, you know, someone who's been gone from this immoral coil for a considerable amount of time...why do they insist on saying things like ...

"If he'd have been here with us today...Great Uncle Gerald would have been 135 years old" Why make a point of this as if it's an amazing achievement? I mean, it would have been an amazing achievement if Great Uncle Gerald HAD been with us today at the age of 135, if only for the TV appearances and cake.....but he isn't.....so, it's not!!!

We don't apply this strange reference to anything else do we?...and there's a reason for that...it's 'cos it's daft!

It's like me saying "If my childhood dog, Sandy, was here now...he'd be 350 years old. Yeah...he just...he just went too soon, you know!"

And how far back do you want to take this stuff?...If  Tutankhamen was with is today he'd be 3,359 years old"...*releases wistful sigh*...

I'll shut up now...

©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Listen...

Quite rightly we are urged to talk about our mental state of being. To share whatever is going on in our head with someone we trust.

But sometimes, as much as you want to talk, the words won't come. They buzz about your head in a scramble each tripping over the other and you are desperate to sort them into an orderly line so they make sense. So you can seek the help you need. So the person you are talking to can understand you. So the disjointed babble in your head will cease its jumbled racket!

And because that is so hard to do, sometimes, it's easier not to try because HOW can you make that phone call. HOW can you talk to a family member or anyone, for that matter. HOW can you begin to tell someone what's happening in your head when you are afraid that any words spilling from your mouth will be illegible and you'll just feel humiliated and you fear being ridiculed??


And that's the other thing.... FEAR.

All of this is frightening and that fear can trigger other reactions and sensations until you feel you are plummeting ever downwards and you're NEVER going to climb back up. Never going to unscramble those words. Never going to be understood. Never going to get to understand yourself. NEVER going to be able to manage whatever it is you are dealing with in your head.

But......with the right help...I believe that you CAN manage to do all of those things!

Although, that help has to be that which best fits you and that may take some time in the finding, still, every step you take towards seeking the help that's right for you is a step towards unscrambling those jumbled words.  And I know this 'cos I'm still taking those steps myself and I'm still working on unscrambling my words and for me, writing is helping me do that. 

Nevertheless, coping with ones own mental state isn't easy and pressures exist that seem to work against us and I feel that some of those pressures involve certain members of society who, by their reasoning, are only doing what they consider best to help us. However, to some degree, I feel they serve to exacerbate our situation...purely by their addressing our personal issues in one clump...by their categorising and subsequently 'treating' us as a group rather than the individuals that we are.

Of course, for the sake of managing mental health matters in society given the scale of its presence, there has to be a degree of order but AS a society we must not lose track of the person beneath the issue.

We are each one of a kind. It is dehumanising to treat us as a collective. Give us the chance to allow our nuances a voice...even if that voice is only a whisper at first.

(I also feel the need to add...that in my opinion, this government, through punitive legislation and twisted guidelines, does more to perpetuate mental health stigma than reduce it and serves mostly to add to many of our mental health issues rather than remedy them).

(a poem relating to this blog titled  'THEY TELL YOU' can be accessed by clicking this link:)

©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard