Tuesday, 21 August 2018

Slave To Censorship...

I'm a slave to censorship

I can't say shit

In case you're offended

By my colloquialistic quip

I'm a slave to censorship

Must be careful when I joke

Can't have you sensitive hypocrites 

Complaining I'm having a poke!

I'm a slave to censorship

And the social media prudes

Reporting ART on Facebook

For 'containing semi-nudes!'

I'm a slave to censorship

Mustn't voice my personal views

Even though we all know

You feel the same way too!

I'm a slave to censorship

In a world of claim and compensation

In case you rush me off to court

For causing aggravation 

I'm a slave to censorship

In a world that's too PC

But then again who gives a fuck?

Most certainly not me!

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Sunday, 19 August 2018

Traffic Lights...

The car stops at the traffic lights

The one behind parked so closely

Through the back window

I can clearly see the crumpled, teary faces

Of the mourners within

Cold eyes staring blankly ahead

Studiously intent on their performance

Of their own, personal interpretation of sorrow.

How entertaining

To witness such a parody of emotion

Played out

 Through the strained, tumbling, debris

The situation commands.

Flakes of fallen, sodden tissues overloaded

With evidence of their grief

Cling to the black costumes of the cast

Each flake awaiting the applause of its audience

To be provided by the obligatory mumbling

Of others condolences

And by the sombre passing of hastily scribbled

Sympathy cards.

Bravo! Bravo!

Such a moving production

Surely worthy of an encore?

Which there will be, of course

Once the players are gathered together for the last act

The finale

The flamboyancy of their floral tributes serving

To verify and measure

The earnestness of their regard

For the leading lady.

How touching.

And how unforgivably empty, the play of it all

For never in life was any appreciation delivered

Never in life were tears shed in true sympathy for the now deceased

Never in life did any one member of the spurious troupe care to listen

 Nor choose to 'hear' the real, desperate reply to their automated question

"How are you today?"

Not a one.

Without doubt, the only genuine tears

Ever to crawl down their cheeks

Are the ones spilled for themselves.

No surprises there.




The traffic lights change

Granting permission to move forward

Allowing access to the destination

Of their journey

And with that permission

I also move on

My spirit returning

To the white silk of my temporary lodgings

In the back of the hearse

Where even that very silk which my waxen form rests upon

Is fake

A cheap, rough version of the real thing.

Of no matter

The ground will welcome me soon enough

The ground will gain nourishment from my passing

And, in due course, pass it on

The ground will comfort me

And at last, expose my hidden worth.

I am eager to reach such contentment.

Move swiftly on, driver!

Let the theatre of this absurdity come to its end

Far better things await me

Beyond the final curtain.

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Monday, 13 August 2018

How Busy The Night...

How busy the night

Where, in my head

Troubled thoughts

Each filled with dread

Stand in line

To make it known

They will never

Leave me alone

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Thursday, 9 August 2018


Give me a book

To calm my mind

Give me a library

To comfort my soul

Give me the company

Of words unspoken

And I will give you


Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Monday, 6 August 2018



May flaunt its miseries

And clip our wings

But tonight

We fly

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

For My Michael...

No truer love

Than his

Have I e'er known

No headier heights

Through him

Have I e'er soared

No better life

Thank this

Could I e'er hope

Than the one

I share with he

Who holds my soul

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard


Better I should hate the world

And endure a life alone

Than face the unbearable loneliness

Of loving you

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Thursday, 2 August 2018

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

Tuesday, 31 July 2018

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

Saturday, 28 July 2018

Drone On...

I wandered lonely

As a drone

And took quick snaps

Of others homes

And peeped on people

With my infrared eye

Transferring images

As I droned on by

To the perv on the ground

With my control in his mitts

Trying to catch a glimpse

Of ladies naked bits!

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Thursday, 12 July 2018

Bad Day...

I'm having a bad day

But you'll never get to know it

My heart's too broken

And my head's too proud

To show it

I'm having a bad day

But I'll smile

And crack the funnies

I'd rather hide the pain inside

Than verbalise my worries

I'm having a bad day

If you ask

I'll say "I'm fine"

So don't persist in asking

You're just wasting

Precious time

I'm having a bad day

So my mask is brightly painted

Don't stare at me

Through curious eyes

With glances that will taint it

I'm having a bad day

Too scared to talk

Of how I feel

'Cos if I share my hurt out loud

That will make it real

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Monday, 9 July 2018


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

Tuesday, 3 July 2018



One heart that is not broken

Two eyes that know no tears

One soul back with its soulmate

And the promise of many more years.

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Friday, 29 June 2018

Look For Me...

Please look for me

I know I'm there

Deep inside your head


Look hard and long

Until you find

This lonely soul

Lost in your mind

I cannot be

Too far away

I walked beside you

Just the other day

So, please, unfold

Old memories

Let us walk again

My love and me.

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard