On Being Offered A Counselling Appointment At City Hall Bradford.

Verbal FarterThere are places I don’t want to visit,
There are people I don’t want to see
There are are ghosts I don’t want to encounter,
They are all much too painful for me.

My psyche is terribly fragile
My burden of stress is immense,
Such things are emotionally tricky,
Taking risks doesn’t make any sense.

I need to be where I’m protected,
I need to be out of harm’s way,
Safe places and also safe people
Are where and what I need today.

There may be a time, some time later,
When the nightmare is over for me,
I’ll be older and bolder and stronger,
Until then I’ll proceed cautiously.

So don’t ask me to visit those places
Or the people I don’t want to meet,
Don’t organise ghostly encounters,
Wait ’til my healing’s complete.

Even then I won’t want to go there,
Or to meet those from times now long gone,
I won’t want to revisit the ghosts from the past,
Instead I prefer to move on.

Lynne Joyce 17.08.2017

Shapeless Days

The days have lost their purpose,
Their structure and their form
Since I lost the elements
That together were the norm.

I used to have a husband
We planned the days together,
We prioritised commitments,
Work, duty and pleasure.

I used to have companion dogs,
They had fixed routines
And so I used to shape my day,
Around canine Kings and Queens.

My husband’s in a nursing home
Dying as we speak,
My much belovéd canines
Died in the same week.

My days have lost their purpose,
So each and every morning
I wonder what the day will bring
Other than grief and mourning.

Lynne Joyce 06.08.2017

The Shopping List

(American friends, in England getting pissed means getting drunk.)

Salad veg and toilet rolls
Are on my shopping list,
But I never write the things I need
To buy to get me pissed.

Getting pissed’s essential
To keeping me alive,
It circumvents the crap stuff
And helps my soul to thrive.

So I sneak down to the booze aisle
With shopping list in hand,
Grab wine as if at random
Just like it wasn’t planned.

But anyone observing
Week after dreary week,
Would very quickly work out
What wine I choose to seek.

I’m partial to a Merlot,
I love a Pinot Noir,
And I’ve become an expert
At knowing where they are.

Salad veg and toilet rolls
Are on my shopping list
But they’re the ones that I forget
When intent on getting pissed!

Lynne Joyce 31.07.2017

Solitude – The Choice.

Involuntary solitude
Is loneliness,
Whilst voluntary solitude
Is utter bliss.

No human’s endless prattling
Invades your space
You can dress in old PJ’s
Or expensive lace.

You can decide whether or not
To comb your hair,
You can decide to interact,
When and where.

You can sing loudly and freely
Out of tune,
You can decide to gaze at stars
And watch the moon.

You can eat candy for breakfast,
Chocolate for lunch,
You can drink the purest water
Or Planters’ Punch.

You can determine what to watch
On TV,
You can play loud, rock music

You can have a conversation
With yourself,
You can be joyfully single
Not on the shelf.

So make sure your solitude
Is voluntary,
Say no to lonely
And yes to free.

Lynne Joyce 29.04.2017

Primitive Technology

Back to primitive technology,
I left my phone behind,
Suffering from too much stress
I’ve got a muddled mind.

I struggle to remember
How to use a pen,
I’ve totally forgotten
The what, the how, the when.

I’m glad I carry primitives
Like pen and notebook here,
It saves me from connecting
From those who’d bend my ear.

Like crashing bores and small talkers
Who really want to chat,
About their sad and mundane lives,
The news and tittle tat.

I scribble as I ride the train,
I bag a single seat,
The seat that saves you meeting
Those you don’t want to meet.

Maybe they’ll be interesting
To earwig or to sketch,
Maybe I’ll write a verse about
Some poor, adjacent wretch.

I really must do this again,
Leave my phone at home,
Use primitive technology
To write a bright, trite poem ( contrived rhyme owned and celebrated)!

Lynne Joyce 24.04.2017

2014 Policy Statement

Self Help

I’ve given up massaging egos,
I have found it a waste of my time
For while I was massaging others’
No-one was massaging mine.

So if you come to me for a massage
In the hope that I’ll make you feel great,
I’ll tell you that I’m much too busy
Attending to my ego’s state.

I have no doubt that you’ll be bewildered
For you’re used to my ego massage,
Taken without giving credit,
Because I made your ego too large.

I fear that you felt quite entitled
To more ego massages free
From gratitude or obligation
To give the same service to me.

Maybe undermining my ego
Made yours, by comparison, huge,
But I have no more room for people like you,
A draining emotional Scrooge.

So I’ve given up massaging egos
For all those who used me for free,
So go get it massaged by somebody else,
‘Cause you won’t get a damned thing from me.

Lynne Joyce 05.09.2014


Anti Depressants
Consider a bottle of anti-depressants,
Of anti-anxiety, happiness pills,
You pop one at mid-day, then six, then at midnight,
They dry all your tears up and cure all your ills.

They don’t turn the clock back and stop him from hurting,
They don’t stop his mistress enjoying the thrills,
They don’t make you younger or stronger or lovelier,
They dry all your tears up and cure all your ills.

They don’t stop your friends being faithless and fickle,
They don’t stop your boss underrating your skills,
They don’t stop you feeling you’re worthless and dirty,
They dry all your tears up and cure all your ills.

They don’t stop the heartache but stop it from showing,
They don’t cure your nerves but the twitchiness stills,
They don’t stop his cruelty making your heart break,
They dry all your tears up and cure all your ills.

Consider a bottle of anti-depressants,
Of anti-anxiety, happiness pills,
You pop one at mid-day, then six, then at midnight,
They dry all your tears up and hide all your ills.

© Lynne Joyce