Sunday, 26 June 2016

Sands Of Time...

Through a dead man's eyes

Spill the sands of time

How swiftly they fall and scatter

Be sure to treasure every grain

Before you no longer matter

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Friday, 24 June 2016

Paved With Misery...

And the streets are paved

With misery

Traversed by the weary

In search of solace

Already knowing

There is none to be found

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Tuesday, 21 June 2016

A Web Of Tears...

Through tears of sorrow

How soft the web we weave

It's tender threads a cushion

And a comfort as we grieve.

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Tuesday, 7 June 2016

Our Town...

St Helens, Merseyside is my home town. I was born, bred and fed in this northern reservoir of industrialisation, grazing freely and liberally upon the cultural and more earthy buffet which permeated my childhood and beyond.

And, as modest as my home town may seem to some, the larger than life characters, who once walked and those who remain to walk upon the tarmac covered cobbles of yesteryear, continue to add colourful textures to the town's diligent layers.

Of course, St Helens, like many other areas, still shoulders the brunt of an economically tumultuous climate which whilst leaving the town bruised has certainly not left it beaten!

Thanks to the work, support and encouragement of a number of dedicated people and organisations St Helens is progressively being recognised as an enterprising hub of interest and entertainment rather than just a stepping stone to the larger cities.

So, in appreciation of my hometown and in celebration of its vibrant past I've written this poem with every confidence in St Helen's vibrant future...


From Johnny Wellies to Johnny Vegas

Beechams pills for ills that plagued us

From Pimblett’s pies and Pilkingtons glass

To the Theatre Royal for a touch of class

For all those with a thirst for learning

The Gamble Institute filled that yearning

And for other thirsts and needs to quench

Greenhall’s brewery was Heaven sent!

And for those in search of an arty buzz

You need look no further than Cultural Hubs

As libraries showcase all you need

Through their ever expanding entertainment feed

Whilst Heart Of Glass keep pulses thumping

By supporting creatives and providing funding

Then there's the scoring might of our rugby team

Fuelling cheer and feeding dreams

Of fans and folk so proud to be

Part of the St Helens Family

And  family we are through thick and thin

Bearing hardship with a grin

Because it’s in our history and in our blood

To help the other as families should

So let’s celebrate the past we share

And re-generate wealth in a town we care

So much about, a town that’s as true

For future generations as it was for me and you

Our town

Our future

St Helens

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Monday, 23 May 2016

In His Head...

He hides her in his head

Where she walks with brazen confidence


To the echo of my faltering footsteps.

He thinks I cannot see her there

He is mistaken

She is visible through every

Testing glance he casts my way.

Through every cautious smile

He squanders in my direction.

And through the spidery lie

Of his awkward caress.

He hides her in his head

Where she casually strolls

Through the mausoleum of his heart


The abandoned remains of lovers past.

He thinks I cannot hear her there

He is mistaken

I hear her through every

Desirous sigh his thoughts of her evoke

Through the brittle silence

My presence induces

And through the blistered lie

Of his excuses.

He hides her in his head

Where she calmly replaces

The frayed remnants of my existence

With the vibrant tapestry of her own.

He thinks I cannot feel her there

He is mistaken

I feel her through every

Quickening beat the mention of her name

Allows his heart.

Through the icy absence

Of his hand in mine

And through the splintered lie

Of his goodnight kiss.

I once lived in his head

Where I trusted and believed

The intensity of our love was flawless

And would forever bind us.

I was mistaken.

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Friday, 6 May 2016

The Undoing Of Can't...

Some days I just can't

So I don't.

I used to try and do

But the doing was

Always bullied

By the disparaging whisperings

Of can't.

Always tainted

By can't's mocking derision.

So, to hush the badgering torment of can't

I didn't.


Can't has its own tormentor


And the voice of could

Is getting louder

The voice of could

Is getting stronger

The voice of could

Is chipping away at can't

And one day

All that will be left

Of can't

Is can

And when that day comes

Don't will become do

And so I shall

Because I can!

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Sunday, 24 April 2016

Clicks An' Licks...

She pressed the phone against her ear

The noise was strange, not very clear

And so she pressed and pressed some more

But all remained as was before

A whispering, hissing, rasping sound

Crackled within a weird background

Of haunting tones of groans and moans

And grinding creaks as of old bones

And though she knew she should resist

She pressed some more and with a twist

She bent the venting phone much closer

But sure enough the gross got grosser

When suddenly a thing went click

And in her ear a something licked

Then down and deep and deeper still

A slimy, slithering, something drilled

And burrowed through the fatty matter

Of her craniums brainy batter

And as her eyes began to bulge

She pulled and pulled and pulled and pulled

But to her ear the phone was fixed

And onward went the viscous licks

'Till, flopping through the other side

The thing squelched on as her battery died.

 © Copyright Lynn Gerrard