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

You Did It...

Y  is for the Youth you stole from me

O  is for your vile Obsession 

U  is for the Unbearable pain I hold

D  is for my Dark Depression

I   is for the Innocence you abused

D  is for my shattered Dreams

I  is for the Insignificance of me

T  is for your Twisted themes.

Poem only  ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

The Headscarf...

Carefully pulling

Her headscarf closer

To mask the bruises

She plucked the card

From the shelf

"To My Loving Husband

Happy Birthday"

Then

Whilst hiding her tears

Behind a well-practiced smile

She slowly passed it

To the cashier.

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 abcess

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

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.

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

©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

They Tell You...

(a blog relating to and preceding this poem titled 'LISTEN' can be accessed by clicking this link)


They tell you to TALK

And you know that you should

And you wish that you could

But you can't

'Cos the words in your head

Are a jumbled up mess

Just a rant

You cannot express

Why you're feeling depressed

On demand

When the feelings you're dealing with

Not even you understand

They tell you to CALM

And the panic gets worse

When you hear that one word

And it starts

That dizzy weak feeling

Your inner voice screaming

As your heart

Pumps dangerously faster

As you face disaster

And death

Whilst they're still persisting

That you stop resisting and chill!



They tell you to BREATHE

And God knows you want to

But air cannot pass through

Your throat

Invisible fingers that linger squeeze tight

As you choke

Whilst their mantra's mounting

Their "in and out"chanting's

No aid

To your situation of fear and frustration

And pain



They tell you to SWALLOW

And outstretch their hand

And expect on command

You comply

Say if you stop wallowing

Take meds and start swallowing

You'll be fine

But the banter they canter through

Doesn't convince you at all

It just adds to your issues

Which refuse to defuse

And you fall




I ask them to THINK

To stop the stock statements

And try to replace them

With words

Not taken from textbooks

'Cos cliche stamped rebukes

Don't work

They just serve to distance

And trigger resistance

To help

  And being barcoded corrodes and erodes  

 Mental health




I ask US to WORK

Together wherever to sever

The pigeonhole style

That labels and brands and demands

That we're categorised

We may seem the same on the outside

But deep, down beneath

We're different so make that distinction

Treat us as unique

Then maybe the talking will happen

When we each adjust

The moment we're heard but not herded

And they've earned our TRUST

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Oh, To Be...

Oh to be in life

That which you see

And not the worthless shape

I know as me

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

A Simple Act...

In the midst of madness

A simple act of kindness

Can keep us sane

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Flow...

Sometimes

Standing alone 

Can be difficult

But to go with the flow

Would be unbearable

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard

The Short Of It...

They used to call us lunatics

But now that's not PC

And these days

You're underachieving

If you haven't got an OCD

I can't concentrate

On what my doctor says

'Cos apparently I've got ADHD

And my mind's just a mess

Of  unparallelled stress

Thanks to PTSD, so says he!

Weight's been a bit of a problem

Doc said that was all in my head

As he glared into my eyes

Said your BMI'S fine

Whilst I flushed at my HBP's strength!

And that's when it suddenly hit me

The cause of my problem was plain

After years of frustration

And personal damnation

Abbreviation

Was really to blame!


© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Ageless...

Young hands

Which once brushed

Against the smoothness

Of your youthful cheek

With such loving grace

Now flutter

With the turbulence

Of times ravages

Towards that same

Tender surface

To find, once there

That despite the

Ruthlessness of ageing

The flawless canvas

Of your gentle beauty

Remains unchanged

Poem only ©  Copyright Lynn Gerrard