poems

Come to tears

Come to tears.

25/10/14

Come to tears she said with her eyes
I’d love to say it touched me.
Perhaps I was too far gone.
From her, from anyone

Come to tears she’d written upon my coffee cup.
Red lipstick, I drank
The thought warming my chest not my heart.

Come to tears she pleaded inaudibly as I dressed
Seeing only my reflection in the wardrobe mirror.

Come to tears as I shaved,
Waved,
Said goodbye to an empty space where once I was saved.

Come to tears written on the bus’s boarding sign.
Stamped my ticket in a rain filled line.

Come to tears she nudged my shoulder.
An empty seat where I used to hold her.

Come to tears! She played with my hair.
The emptiness moved but she was not there.

Forget me not at the florist shop.
Come to tears written on the top.

Smelling the rose laid by her grave.
Remembering that time I was saved.

“come to tears” I heard her speak
and that’s when I broke down to weep.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014

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poems

There’s an ache that rides the seven skies the seven skies of sin.

25/10/14

There’s an ache that rides the seven skies the seven skies of sin.
Where children play in old buildings and the cold air does creep in.

A Christmas in a mad house
Is much better spent outside.
If the snow hadn’t grown too high
He might still be alive.

There’s an ache that rides the seven skies the seven skies of sin
Where people praise each other with lies not held within.

As you walk around all hateful
With nowhere to begin
You add nothing to society
But another unsightly din

There’s an ache that rides the seven skies the seven skies of sin
The blasphemy of any God and by that I mean our kin.

Accumulated wealth tends not to feed the all.
Preach me of your favourite God as our men lay in the soil.
Why have we not yet learnt of nature’s perfect call?
Wouldn’t it be obvious if the spring followed the fall?

There’s an ache that rides the seven skies the seven skies of sin.
The law of man makes fortunes all of which are grim.

Five years here for murder
Yet a country is fair game.
The money just keeps flowing in
And I’m for one ashamed.

There’s an ache that rides the seven skies the seven skies of sin.
The people are the many and it’s your lies we live within.

Political correctness
should be more fact than phrase.
We wallow in authority
as you act out on centre stage.

There’s an ache that rides the seven skies the seven skies of sin.
Where communication is all lost as technology steps in.

Your computer is an amazing gateway
To all but two eyes meeting.
An amazing tool of solitude
With no response to greeting.

There’s an ache that rides the seven skies the seven skies of sin.
Authority in magnitude which favours cash to kin.

Where children cry and adults mourn in homes they yearn to own.
Grateful for the privileges awarded here at all.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014

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poems

Pumpkin coffin

Pumpkin Coffin

31/10/13

It was just before the dawn
As you recalled the night before.
You placed those four big pumpkins
in a coffin on the floor.

Today we’d cut and carve.
To decorate and laugh.
Shaking plastic spiders
at the fears we do not have.

We’d bake our favourite pie.
Set sky lanterns to be free.
sit beside the fire
then snuggle up with me.

Time to make the coffee.
A good start to the day.
then right on the floor beside me
an empty coffin lay.

Amidst the broken glass.
and as no burglar had been.
Your breath caught all at once.
When you realized what you’d seen.

Four screaming children
(who were tucked up in bed).
Floating through the window
with pumpkins on their head.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2013

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poems

Special

Special

12/8/13

Special it moves and grows with the daisies.
Special has motion and is never too lazy.
Special it rises and ebb’s like the sea.
Special is you and special is me.
Special it writes of a world that is good.
Where all of its leaders do just what they should.
Special climbs whenever it falls.
Without our high’s we are nothing at all.
Special has a house of wine and a bendy pen that doesn’t rhyme.
Special lives and special learns and doesn’t grow and often burns.
Special learns he’s right beside the teacher that’s within his mind.
Special succeeds and dances in leaves.
We wallow in ditches and our counties we lead.
Defending our land hiding in sand,
following a scheme of fate that we planned.
Special lies awake at night after a fitful dream.
Special aids another who often came from in between.
Through growth and compassion they gain and learn trust.
Then special and special they both turn to dust.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014

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poems

Signals

Signals

30/8/13

Website pictures.
Adoring squiggles.
Writing lines that give off signals.
Up in smoke.
The great flambé.
Fireworks; where the monks pray.
Auld lang syne.
A different time.
When free love was not a crime.
In a circle, we’ve just met.
Singing songs of great regret.
Royalty your majesty, we over throw your tyranny.
The great word play.
Up and over we stray.
You’ll make of this what devils may.
Website pictures, adoring squiggles.
Writing lines that give off signals.

Copyright G.P.Williamson 2013

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poems

Life

Life

12/8/13

Life doesn’t love you.
Life doesn’t love me.
Life doesn’t care and life doesn’t come free.
Life is an oracle through which you can see.
All that you are and aren’t meant to be.
Life is a tree which grows and then falls.
There is rebirth or nothing at all.

Copyright G.P.Williamson 2013

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