Thursday, 27 August 2015


We are afloat

Upon a sea of your indifference

Our weary heads barely bobbing above the waters.

Soon we shall succumb to the reality of your disinterest

And vanish beneath the waves

Where even there we will be no more invisible to you

Than we are now.

Oh fellow traveller on life's journey

Why do you banish us from your shores?

Why do you fear our tread upon the path we each share?

Ours is not to take your treasures from you

To pillage the bountiful stock of your reserves

Ours is only to harvest the succour and sanctuary of human kind

To watch our children grow without the haunting presence

Of hopelessness in their eyes.

Have you a care?

In this universe, do we not each cling on to the precarious raft of life

With tired fingers?

Were your grip to loosen, would you not seek the refuge of a firmer hand?

I would be that hand for you should you so need it

How sorry the day that sees you raise your own to turn me away.

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Sunday, 23 August 2015

Moments Past...

They tell us that we die alone

My friend, this is not true

For everyone you ever loved

Remains a part of you

So when you take your final breath

Find comfort as you go

In the company of moments past

Residing within your soul.

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

50 Minutes...

50 minutes

To make 'em laugh

Read 'em her poems

Show 'em her craft

50 minutes

To put on a show

Screaming inside,

Can't let them know

50 minutes

To prove to herself

She won't be defined

By her shaky mental health

50 minutes

To pretend she's fine

To canter with the banter

Through a well rehearsed smile

50 minutes

Heart pounding, mouth dry

The Grumblings of a Gargoyle

Quietly wishing she could fly

50 minutes

Then whilst holding back the tears

She smiles and says her 'thank yous'

Before she quickly disappears

50 years

Gradually gathering the dirt

That's settled in her system

Covering tracks of her self worth.

 © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Saturday, 22 August 2015

Keep it In Your Genes... think we are each agreed that music is a very powerful motivator. It inspires, soothes and ultimately drives us to react in all kinds of different ways.

Indeed, a few familiar bars of a certain tune and we're instantly transported to a place in time where a particular melody was of such significance as to evoke either tears of laughter or tears of maudlins and miseries as we reminisce.

But then I have to wonder, as some of us snivel and snort when a favourite song is exhumed and emotions take over, if anyone really listens to the soddin' lyrics?

To explore this ponderage let's take a look at a couple of old heart-breakers from yesteryear.  

First up is Gene Pitney's 1963 classic, 24 Hours From Tulsa.

Back in the day, young girls (ok probably boys too, let's not go all bloody PC and ruin the flavours here!) blubbered their way to a puffy eyed sleep, over the misfortunes of the poor individual who was heinously attacked by a severe case of temptation when he was but 24 hours from returning home to his wife.

Oh how those tender souls bled to think of him suffering so, cruelly molested by his own libido...not as if there was anything he could do to prevent it eh? Let us be reminded of his plea of innocence:

"Dearest darlin' I had to write to say that I won't be home anymore
Cos somethin' happend to me while I was driving home
And I'm not the same anymore
Oh I was only 24 hours from Tulsa
Ah only one day away from your arms
I saw a welcoming light and stopped to rest for the night
And that is when I saw her
As I pulled in outside of a small motel
She was there and so I walked up to her
Asked where I could get something to eat and she showed me where
Oh I was only 24 hours from Tulsa
Ah only one day away from your arms
She took me to a cafe I asked her if she would stay
She said okay
Oh I was only 24 hours from Tulsa
Ah only one day away from your arms
Oh the jukebox started to play
And nightime turned into day as we were dancing closely
All of a sudden I lost control as I held her charms
And I caressed her, kissed her
Told her I'd die before I let her out of my arms
Oh I was only 24 hours from Tulsa
Ah only one day away from your arms
I hate to do this to you
But I love somebody new
What can I do
And I can never never never go home again"

Ok, lets consider what REALLY happened here:

24 hours in Vulva.

A man-whore meets a slut outside a motel. Slut and whore go to a cafe where they are probably the biggest tarts in the room.

Discovering a mutual penchant for exhibitionism, they go for a marathon make-out in front of other diners. The man-ho's penis proclaims undying lust for the nether regions of the she-ho.

All is confessed to wifey via letter. Looking at the video below it seems Mr Can't-keep-it-in-my-pants must have taken his secretary with him as he's obviously dictating the letter...and here he is discovered in another lie, quote "somethin' happened to me while I was DRIVING home" 'cos he's actually on a bus and I doubt he's the driver! Oh and as for the intro "Dearest Darlin'"really??? Not only an adulterer but a condescending adulterer! The crooning b****rd!!

So then, was he worth all those crusty, scrunched up tissues? No...a profound and absolute NO! He was worth several slaps in the genitals with a cactus...........and THAT'S being kind!

Next we pay a quick visit to the nonsense that was Atomic Kitten's hit of 2001, "Whole Again".

Once again, the emotionally bewildered were dripping mucous over their hair straighteners as this lot wailed on, in a pathetically needy fashion, about missing their man! *groan*

Now I'd like you to visualise the images the first verse conjures and then I'd like you to consider what you would do if you were 'him' and you caught 'her' doing this...

"If you see me walking down the street,
Staring at the sky and dragging my two feet,
You just pass me by..."

Picture that can you? What scene's playing in YOUR head here? 'Cos in mine...there's a scene from 'The Walking Dead' on view with brief flashes of 'The Exorcist'! "Staring at the sky and dragging my two feet" As if you'd need to be instructed to 'pass me by'

Oh I could go on and on and maybe one day I will, but for now I'll leave you to revisit and reassess old favourites of your own and when you've done that feel free to share them with me...and we'll have a groan together... :)

Speaking of's the Atomic Kitten video of 'Whole Again'.

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Wednesday, 19 August 2015

The Devil's Tree...

In the Devils Tree

They placed their trust

Foolish slaves

To loveless lust

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Thursday, 13 August 2015

Love Thy Neigh-bour...

Over the years I've had more than my fair share of to put it...'interesting' neighbours.

Ranging from the woman who kept a horse in her living room (I jest ye not) to the family who borrowed a friends goat to keep their grass short! I mean how did that conversation go?

Her: (eyes glued to Loose Women) "Grass needs cutting we're gonna have to buy a mower" 

Him: (scratching a beer gut threatening to escape a gravy stained vest) "Nah, sod it, give Ken a ring, see if his goat's busy this weekend"

Goats farm goat gate sign
A further point of interest regarding both horse and goat is that, like mine, the homes and gardens they frequented were not part of some countrified landscape. There were no large, echoing rooms befitting a stately home to wander through, nor were there acres of rambling pastures to graze and gallop upon. 

Nope, these houses were just your ordinary town residences, hardly big enough to swing a another neighbour of mine once discovered just prior to his arrest.

Still, mad these people may have been but at least they were pet friendly!

And then of course there was the lovely Mr and Mrs Peters. Both in their late seventies and a  delight to live next to, back in the day. However, just like any of us, they could be prone to the odd mood swing, as happened shortly after we brought a cat home to stay with us. 

Anti-smoking advertising design
Our back gardens were adjacent to the other and separated by a low fence which didn't afford any privacy but neither of our families were invasive of the other so all worked out well.

One day, after a pain-in-the-arse kinda day at work, I walked into the garden to calm down with a fag ( packed in years ago, best thing I ever the lie I keep telling myself. Sometimes I've walked past someone who's puffing away on a cigarette and I've inhaled their spent smoke with such zeal, I've taken their ash with it!) anyway, Mr Peters was quick to beckon me over to him.

As he did so I noticed he held a photograph in his hand.

"Take a look at this" he said, in an unusually gruff manner.

I did as he asked, politely smiled, even though a tad perplexed and said, "What lovely hedgehogs" 'cos they were but I'd no idea as to why he was sharing this image of the prickly pair with me. I was knackered and in no mood for a David Attenborough moment!

"Yes! They WERE lovely weren't they?"

Mr Peters eyebrows, so long and thick it may have been worth considering tie backs, began to slide down his anger creased brow to meet with the other in the middle of his nose, which itself was host to nostrils flaring like bellows!

I had no idea what kind of a response was expected of me here so I just stood still and hoped for a clue, quietly marvelling at the gloss on Mr Peter's ear hair as it fluttered slightly in the wind.

"Me and Mrs Peters have fed these hedgehogs every night for years and now, because of your cat, they've gone"

"Gone? Mr Peters I'm sorry to hear that they've gone but I don't see how my cat can be responsible, she hasn't been out of the house yet!"

His little rheumy eyes narrowed as he practically spat.

"They must have seen it in your window then! It must have been goading them!! Mrs Peters is very upset!" and with that he sharply turned to walk back into his house, photo grasped in palm, passing Mrs Peters who had, by then, come to stand on the back step.

Evil Hedgehog PicturesNow awaiting to suffer Mrs Peter's reprimand, I remained rooted to the spot and watched her turn to check if Mr Peters was out of earshot before she spoke

"Filthy, flea riddled, disease carrying, freeloaders!. I hate the spiky little bastards. Oh, and forgive Mr Peters outburst, the hedgehogs disappearance had nothing to do with your cat. But if you don't mind, there's no need to tell him that, is there?" and with a gentle smile and a mischievous glint in her eye, into the house she returned.

I never did ask Mrs Peters what had actually happened to the hedgehogs. All I know is, the next time I saw her she was wearing a pair of dodgy looking shoes!

( to be continued)...

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard

Monday, 10 August 2015

How Sad The Song...

How sad the song

Of all that is gone

And never more

Shall be

Poem only © Copyright Lynn Gerrard