Saturday, 25 October 2014

Fingers of Deceit...



Where lies the truth

In honesty?

How many sins

In a Saint?

Fingers of deceit

Touch everything

And whatever they touch

They taint!



Poem only  ©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

The Change...



We've changed and shifted

Moved and drifted

Things are not

As they were

He's almost indifferent

To my very existence

He sees through me

As if I'm not there

In bed he lies huddled

Denying me cuddles

Should I dare to brush

Past his flesh

I speak and he quivers

He cowers and shivers

He's just not the same man

Since my death



Poem only  ©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012



Brenda...**BLOG POST**...

Ted's a character I introduced in a series of writings I penned a while ago...He's a twenty something young man of best intentions and dubious outcomes with an insufferable old granny, whom he loves very much, despite her terminal irreverence to everything!...

I'm sure Ted will share such goings on with you some other time, but for now, he has a few things he needs to say about his friend...


BRENDA...

I first met Brenda at Slimming World...I helped to open the double doors to let her in. 

;)
It was a beautiful summers day which was perfect because a little party was being held outside in celebration of one of the members losing an amazing amount of weight...( personally I thought Cancer was cheating...but...hey-ho! a party's a party I suppose ).

Me and Brenda got chatting over a low fat pork pie at the buffet...well, I say 'chatting'...she was trying to wrestle it out of my hand. Nevertheless, I couldn't help thinking how eye catching she was...not every woman could carry off a muzzle. 



To break the ice I asked her how she'd got there that day...( I suspected airlifted )...and before we knew it we were nattering away like old pals. I'm glad to say that that's exactly what we became.


Our relationship's always been platonic and that's nothing to do with her prices...to be fair she does offer a discount for mates...it's just how it was and there was no one as happy as I was when she met Barry through the 'Syphilitics On-Line Dating Agency'.


Brenda said it was uncanny really because she remembered Barry from when he was a little lad. Him and a few of his like minded mates, each keen violinists, formed their own little group called 'The Kiddie Fiddlers'.



Apparently they were very popular too in their youth and used to perform a lot at children's parties but sadly, for some reason, they didn't do as well when they got older.


Electric Chair Whoopie CushionAnyway, me, Brenda and Barry have all been pals together now for many years and in that time, I'm proud to say, I've got to know their families very well. So much so that I even got an invite to Barry's Dad's execution in Georgia last Christmas. It was a warming affair, I can tell you. 

As for Barry's Mum, well that woman always makes a particular effort to make people feel at home...indeed she never fails to welcome everyone with open legs...as Brenda's Dad will attest most fervently.


But enough of all that...I think it's time we got on with the celebration of the occasion..so all that's left to say now is......

"Ladies and Gentlemen...without further ado...would you please be upstanding and join me in raising your glasses, to the Bride and groom....Brenda and Barry...........hip hip......hoorayyyyyy"

Ahh I do love a good wedding...



©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Friday, 24 October 2014

Dancing Dead...



When a midnight moon

Smiles on them

And there's no one

There to see

The dead rise from

Their earthy beds

For a night of gaiety!



Poem only  ©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012



Wednesday, 22 October 2014

The Thing on the Stairs...



With the darkness

Came a sound

To fill her heart

With dread

Footsteps dragging

Up the stairs

Amidst a graveyard stench

Of Death!



Poem only  ©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Tuesday, 21 October 2014

His Heart...



She wanted more

Than roses

If they were not

To part

And so to prove

How much he cared

He gave to her

His heart



Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Grumbling Gargoyle & Mother Gargoyle on Tour: Week One!... **BLOG POST**




Neither myself nor my ever present neuroses travel well, preferring instead to congregate within the confines of the haunt we call home where we can enjoy the tumultuous discomfort of endless bouts of prolonged misery in a familiar unsettling setting.

In this Shangri-la of derangement and mental maudlins, random panic attacks, general wailing and sudden bursts of hysteria roam free, unfettered by the judgmental arched eye brows of those who walk beyond this curious sanctuary and would question the bizarreness of such unorthodox 
behaviour...them being so perfect an' all... 


So, all this being considered, you'll probably find it strange that moi and the aforementioned neuroses..( who for the sake of this journal shall lovingly be referred to as 'friends' )...took it upon ourselves to accompany my octogenarian mother...( or MG as she's fondly referred to 'Mother Gargoyle' )...on her travels to Spain, as part of her ever expanding bucket list.

The reason I had to do this, despite my peculiar mindset, is quite simple...I love this woman. I want to savour whatever time we have left together and she is completely unaware of the odd company I keep in the darkened corners of my raddled mind...and that's how it shall remain.



To discuss the matter further would evoke far too many intrusive questions and require answers that I myself simply do not have nor bear to consider... so it is that, me and my curious pals continue our relationship in secret....as best we can...

Over the course of these chunnerings about mine and MG's travels you'll meet many of my little 'friends', though not all...some are far too disturbing to disclose even unto myself!!......Right...let's get on with it...


DEPARTURE...

Arrive at airport inwardly screaming 'cos am terrified of flying

Board plane - watch MG settle down in seat with book and barley sugar sweet - cast envious glance at her brazen nonchalance - swallow an inaudible sob.

Mentally revisit inane statements of recidivist flyers who bleat supposedly soothing comments - "Oh nothing to worry about, it's not a long flight" - also revisit fact that length of flight has f**k all to do with time it takes to dive bomb into oblivion!


Look around plane to determine if anyone looks dodgy - catch sight of own reflection in window - realise I qualify!


Fellow catastrophist thoughtfully
prepares for post-crash situation
Listen as cabin crew go through emergency procedures - only  hear " we're all going to die"

Quickly scan rest of passengers excited, smiling faces just before take off - wince as mind replaces this idyllic scene of rapture with graphic images of blood, guts and general post-crash carnage 

Spend entire flight covertly monitoring every nuance of cabin crew's body language, looking for signs of masked panic.



WEEK ONE: ARRIVAL...

Miraculously survive flight - eventually identify advancing alien feeling as hint of optimism

Travel from airport to villa - discover villa is up a f***in' mountain - stare wide eyed into cavernous maw of impending doom which straddles either sides of car as it crunches its way up precarious, rugged path of cataclysmic possibilities - commence to quietly shite self - spot MG casually reapplying lipstick previously licked off face in a barley sugar sucking frenzy - waves bye to former hint of optimism


Survive ascent to villa - survey all aspects of breathtaking, beautiful scenery surrounding temporary home - enter perfectly tended and welcoming abode - pause to greet onward return of approaching optimism


Notice steel bars firmly attached to every window including door - feel speedy retreat of aforementioned optimism as it's replaced by disembodied, strangled cry of claustrophobic terror

Spend night covertly hugging fire extinguisher 'just incase' - awake and shuffle into lounge with hooded eyes - spot soon-to-be-83 year old mater relaxed and freshly showered on settee reading


Notice stifled titter she affords me - shuffle off to get ready for trip out to buy provisions - remember this involves road of impending doom - fail to remember applying for Survival Course - die a little inside


Rest of time spent accompanying MG in exploration of beautiful town of Nerja, where we're based - struggle to suppress omnipresent want to rush back to villa to hide and adopt foetal position until time to go home to England - constantly bob and weave through assault course of people and noise of their ceaseless babble - avoid eye contact with anyone, especially with MG who has the ability to see through my soul 




Stand aghast at speedy approach of nun carelessly assaulting all in her path with scandalous flappage of bat black habit - grimace as scar tissue from convent education tears open to expose still  smouldering embers of pain, guilt and fear of 'all loving God'

Notice nun has face like an empty duffel bag, collapsed in a constant state of disapproval, scanning for souls to devour and lives to f**K up - shudder all way back to villa




Plan day around pool - sleep marginally better knowing not going beyond hideaway this day - follow sound of MG's voice calmly sharing "must have been raining through the night, take a look at this" - quickly put bathing cossy on as prep for pool - exit bedroom - enter hallway - spot MG by open door, adorned in vibrantly coloured Gallabaya, breezily sipping coffee from china cup


Smile and saunter over to see what SHE'S smiling at - follow her perfectly manicured talon to point of interest - instantly mind- f***ed by sight of thick carpet of slithering, squirming, pulsing, writhing, bowel motivating worms leading from path to pool, around pool and IN THE POOL!!! which greets my now bulging eyes



Remain rooted to spot as MG turns, smiles again, with a mischeivously arched brow before asking "fancy a coffee before your swim then"? 


Scream into the following week!...

( to be continued )...


© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012