All I want for Christmas

Apologies on the repeat post guys as this was originally posted on the end of a rather long thread to Ashleigh Money Saving expert’s competition, however I think it should stand alone as a poem and not just an add on. Ashleigh’s draw is on the 5th December if you haven’t entered already Good luck!

All I want for Christmas (a response to Ashleigh Money Saving Expert)


All I want for Christmas is a most amazing feast.
A short dot of red wine and to free the middle east.

All I want for Christmas is to know I’m doing well,
Making universal love a life you live to tell.
Falling autumn leaves into a winter wishing well.

All I want for Christmas is a song we’ll share together,
Resounding through our voices a million accents joined forever.
Frosty church windows and a crunch beneath my feet.
Any faith my friend I’ll not fight for rain nor sleet.

All I want for Christmas is turkey amongst my choices,
And your freedom to air objection kindly with your voices.
Let’s make a child smile, enough with Trojan horses.

All I want for Christmas is freedom for the free.
A single solidarity, a unity to be.
Apart we rain down arrows, bullets and rockets.
Together we managed to land on a comet.

All I want for Christmas is your parcel here donated.
Give it to a desperate child who’s life was once ill fated.
Make that little un smile if just for Christmas day,
And hope another million gifts will somehow fall their way.

All I want for Christmas is for everyone to love.
It matters not the day or time just know you are enough.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014




I’d love to visit Portugal
I’ve never been and yet it holds a certain ring of love.
A hopefulness.
Sunkissed beaches spring to mind although my ignorance and I have never been.
I’d not know if she has them and neither would he.
Anything with a gal at the end paints the most beautiful of desires.
I’d share my rum with a homeless man and my bed with a rich woman.
I’d cry once for him and twice for me.
In my little bit of shade beneath an un named tree.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014.


The Angry Man

The Angry Man.

The angry man’s thumb is bleeding.
He fears it not, the pain a mute sensation.
Stood on a beach, alone, a cactus in his hand.
Protected in a white ceramic pot. His knuckles white with clasping.
Seeking beyond the nothingness that is everywhere.
Pushing the visions of childhood drama into boxes,
he kicks the sand sending another demon into a growing wave.
Enslaved by a mind he attempts to control.

The angry man’s finger is bleeding.
He fears it not, the pain a mute sensation.
A heartbeat, his own ignored, heard with a minor panic as lost loves rise and are pushed down again once more.
Unable to let them go, the emptiness echoes as the waves break.
Memories etched deep into his soul.

The angry man’s lips are bleeding.
He fears it not, the pain a mute sensation.
Enslaved by a mind he attempts to control.
Memories etched deep into his soul.
He gives up and kisses the cactus pricking his lips once more.
Then he throws it deep into the ocean.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014-11-26


Starving Dogs

Starving dogs.


They beg like starving dogs on the streets.
Loyal and unafraid their images capture split seconds in time faking mastery of the spirit or unique acts of kindness.

Yet they beg like starving dogs. Chewing and gnawing at the left over games, competitions past their time frame. Illiterate rambles on notes in champagne. Anything to be seen above the crowd and they beg.

I need this for her, him or them!
I scream “I need!” with a lonely heart help me! I’m torn! Broken! Ripped apart!
I can’t write, read or sing I have no body! No anything!

The verses should get louder and fall into one voice, one meaning, one sound drowning forever until heard by an ultimate voice of saviour that is your own

But they don’t.

They rise and fall in no order, no realism, no sense until all you hear is the same needy “give me!” “give me” over and over again like a poorly beating heart and they beg.

They beg like starving dogs on the streets.

Forgive my crown it’s fallen yet I can make you rich!
You’re the boss, reach the top I’ll follow you I shall not stop!
You are my friend aren’t you? Lend to me your all. I’ll be back in a few.

They bleed together rancid wounds with their sceptic skin in the rain of their own sweat. When the day turns cold you’re led to believe they huddle together keeping warm, singing and protecting each other.
They don’t.
They beg like starving dogs on the streets perfecting their act with one another until the many poor are the richer few.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014.





My soul cascades from the light.
I am as he is, like we were.
At once together and forever apart.
A million pieces of me rain down softly like falling glitter.
I was brighter than any star.
Each threat a motion, a sign, a feeling or experience.
Someone I’d been or something I’d done or vice versa.
See it in both ways that are all ways as I feel it, experience it, Live it.
I’m twelve sat on a wall waiting for the girl I love.
I’m a wall loving a woman, it’s 12 o’clock.
There is no time only perfect confusion.
A mistake waiting to correct it’s accuracies into flaws so it can learn again, yearn again, love again, do it all again.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014





Life’s commitments encased in a smoke filled room.

Trigger happy alibi’s their home the faithful dock.

Invisible names etched in woodwork.

Whispers united against society.

A realism of their own.

Loyal friendship with endless twists.

A blood runs deeper than law perspective.

Forget me not my child.

My backs against the wall.

A gavel clicks and another man’s life falls to fate.

Dreaming endless riddles as the world turns outside myself.

Remorseful of a life I used to live.

A man I used to be.

Forget myself and let me be.


Copyright G.P Williamson 2014