I’d say I was entwined in hopefulness,
Yet my hope had left long ago and my fullness was quickly catching up.
I’d manicured, pedicured and lipped up.
I felt like a poorly made china cup.
My hollow insides craved the completeness, fullness, oneness of your presence.
Not even your touch.
Although it might help.
You wouldn’t call tonight like last night and the eve before.
You’ve not messaged since you met That…that whore.
I’ve forgiven you for her ways.
When I seek my reflection she’s both gone and stays.
Tonight’s the night.
I close the door on your shadow.
On your form.
On the unmade bed I’ve not used since it was warm.
You still smell so concrete.
A stability, so just.
I cannot forgive the emptiness
And yet….I must.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015


Poor religions

Poor Religions


Ah enlighten the poor hearts.
Grasp your religions with both hands.
Share the wealth of conviction.
Unite against…stop there.

Unite against, really?
Of which God do you speak my friend?
Who’s followers misguided?
Look inside before reflection.

Take that inner being’s light.
It’s purity in darkness.
Acceptance in ignorance,
and it’s guidance in your palm and close it.

Throw it far and wide.
Take that ball.
That lamp.
That seed.
That glow.

Share it wide.
Both high.
Both proud.
and most low.

Keep it near.
spread it far.
Grab a star.
Burn it up.
Burn it out.
Dance and laugh.
Scream and shout.
Live and learn.
Earn and laugh.
Give it all.
Yourself at last.

Don’t be disillusioned.
Grandios exclamations.
Public views on God’s conclusions.
Write a book.
Make a start.
Speak the truth.
Use your heart.

Make a wish.
Grant one other.
Be the friend.
Be the lover.

Stop right there.
Do you see it?
let it go.
You’re the spirit.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015.


Less and more.

less and more.


I am here both less and more it seems.
New job carries time constraints.
A sleep reduction with more open gates.
Less and more.
Justice outweighed.

Passionate insights of butterfly lovers holding hands in a sunlit field with spread wings and dainty feet.
Light and reflective.
Their shine my passion, their glow my direction.
Their destination?
My powerful expression.

Laughing heartily a thousand raven’s leave my throat as a feather falls solitary onto a grave.
A million blue hues are drowned by a million blacks as it lands on marble.
Rest in peace my friends.
My name fades like a famous movie scene as the sky turns dark and the day cold.
Peck, peck all around as they search for remnaints of the spectacle.
Captured once in a photograph.
A poem.
A book.

A bird’s food hits marble once and twice before taking his last breath.
Clasped in the artists hand with both bulging knuckes and raven eyes.
Quite still in the sunlight.
Both dissappear.
Seconds pass as the started dark winged creature flee’s in dread.
The dirt rains down heavily like ink on cream as I stand.
Born a new.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015.


Warped Willow

Warped Willow.

Tired warps the willow into a worldly sign.
An illusion, a metaphysical delusion.
A sleepless crime.

I can’t see for not shedding a tear.
The dryness irritates my eyes where I refuse to miss her.
I am complete.

The world turns the wrong way around as the wind spins in harmony.
It doesn’t blow.

A confined sense of security, surreal.
A bird pecks at the branch and half of Italy is gone.

I must sleep before I wake, or something.

I dream of unimportance and the importance of being unimportant and, you guessed it.
It’s not important.

A sliver of hope and light breaks through partially opened curtains and a closed mind to announce the world has gone.

All gone.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015.


I Question.

I Question


Passion I question leaning close.
A whisper to time.
Will you free me?
Reach out your hand through eternity and turn a dial so I can fit five more minutes into a day to write?
For me alone because passion doesn’t recognise farness nor sanity.
At home.
On the bed.
Up a ladder.
In the shed.
With a pencil.
With a pen.
In the field with the hens.
What he said to me.
I to her.
About what I wrote?
If thoughts can transfer?
In the good book,
beneath a lamp.
Sinking softly.
Rising damp.
Exhaustive heartache.
Wooden plank.
Nail in coffin.
Strength in bow.
I watch them come.
I feel them go.
Ashamed, afraid.
A family pride.
Remove the twins,
There’s calm inside.
Just for me!
Five more minutes!
I ask once more then halt and grimace.
Perfect daughter.
Hair in eyes.
Twinkle toes.
Beside my wife.
Warm home.
Food on table.
Best of health.
Both more than able.
I kick myself.
My smile it widens.
Filled with love,
For what I provided.
Phone’s lit up.
Four job requests.
I couldn’t ask for more and yet?

Passion I question leaning close.
Filled with things I love the most.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015.





I swallowed a lesson in humility just the other day.

He bought a big issue.

I looked the other way.

All I’ve achieved vanished momentarily and I was homeless once more.

He was back my master and I the student.

Then wham like the realisation of being shot after the impact, I was back. At what part of my journey did I sacrifice morality for being self assured?

My old friend said nothing. He simply smiled and raised a glass to the ether,

unaware of his teaching’s. More grain through oak than habit.

I learnt to bend like sapling, grow like tree, swallow the tides, exhale to be free. I picked “I’m important”, I chose “I can.” At what point did I turn my back on man?

He leaned in close “you experianced Astral travel?” A little laugh and my stories unravelled.

It’s hard as hell to explain my friend, But we’re all interconnected, we are one in the end. I explained with a smile, for the good talk was back.

It filled me with Joy, that I could share just that.

I swallowed a lesson in humility just the other day.

He bought a big issue.

I looked the other way.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015


When the darkness gets too much.

When the darkness gets too much.


When the darkness gets too much and the sky loses it’s blue.
Know the preacher’s are around you and that they have seen it too.

There’s no eye for an eye.
No Karma to solve the fight.
No conflict without reflection.
This is anothers slight.

No deed does go unpunished.
As the ego rides on high.
That’s the blessing of subconscious.
Our eye for an eye.

Crossed paths will happen often.
The champion takes one step back.
Manouvering with such gracefulness
means there’s no need to react.

The warrior of light pays tribute.
The world’s not always fair.
The enemy harms himself.
Each moment without a care.

The artist see’s the scene.
He takes the crows as done.
He surveys the bigger picture,
and with no action, he has won.

The enemy carries heartbeats.
All of which are stone.
With nobody to attack,
His hell becomes his home.

The crowd praises the wise man.
Who doesn’t seem to hear.
The angel’s make a note.
“He’s passed this test, that’s clear”

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015