Sunday, 20 January 2019

The Dream...



When she woke up

From the dream

Still haunted by

The things she had seen

She could not wait

To dream again

Those long dead things

Were her only friends



Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard


Wednesday, 9 January 2019

Happy Hour In The Mortuary...



It was Happy Hour

In the mortuary

And as the clock struck twelve

Steely doors swung open

And cadavers shuffled from shelves

Some were sturdier than others

A few were missing odd parts

But this didn't halt rictus reverie

Nor did it Formaldehyde farts

Old Mary was giving it big licks

As she grooved to songs from the grave

That's what brought her here in the first place

When she fell off the stage at a rave

Big Barry had choked on his supper

Whilst devouring a hearty pot roast

The irony being that posthumously

Breakdancing popped pork from his throat!

Shelf-stacker Sheila from Sheffield

Was lovin' a bit of hip-hop

Just as she once had in her living years

'Fore succumbing to a dodgy hip op

But the one who displayed all the best moves

Was Stan the night porter who dropped

Straight to the floor at the sight that he saw

His new dance being 'Convulsions In Shock'.



Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard