Love becomes a fashion

Love becomes a fashion


Love becomes a fashion.

A supreme divine hope.

Solitude a masterpiece

a replica to cope.

Magnify my looking glass for all who fail to see.

The resemblance of the emptiness

which resides in you and me.

Adorned within society

but yet who matters most

is a simple silhouette

of tomorrow’s aging ghost.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015


I love the balance

I love the balance


I love the balance.

The trepidation to the edge.

Which way to circumnavigate,

where to place my pledge?

The signing of my soul.

Ensnaring my body to my mind

with all inside, and outside.

That magnificent never changing tide.

Elastoplast sutures on unopened scars.

Swapping brand new automobiles for battered old cars.

Halls filled with holly with no doctrine in sight.

I’ll hold you forever if you’ll love me tonight.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015


Let me explain…

Let me explain…


Your expectations do not justify a reaction.

I am not a


talk behind your back,

mad as a hatter

who framed him for that?

Kinda character.

I won’t rephrase

your paraphrasing.

Dance to the tune

of your centre staging.

Share my voice with your out of tune ilk

or take the mick over a drink.

I can’t stoop to bother to single out

if he’s better than her or his brother.

It’s not worth the cost of my own humanity,

my moral sense or alter fine reality.

My word is my bond.

My facts show the lines,

Alterations to reason

transform business to crimes.

Paint a picture that’s flawed

and dealt out with begrudges.

It’s set up to fail

with clear visible smudges.

Map out a new story

and I’ll praise your fiction.

I won’t question why I

am your favourite addiction.

I sleep soundly at night.

I’m proud of what I’ve done.

Just lay down your cards and let’s see who’s won.

I understand chess.

I’ve won medals – there’s plenty.

Static wooden figures,

It’s just a game – they’re empty.

I don’t play with people.

I have self respect as a man.

so let me explain,

you do what you can.

It’s not worth the cost of my own humanity,

My moral sense or alter fine reality.

My word is my bond.

My facts show the lines.

Alterations to reason

turn business to crimes.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015.


No reason

No Reason


I cannot play guitar.

My fingers are awful numb.

I cannot find the tune,

my plectrum should be a drum.

It echo’s with uncertainty

we’ve only met but twice.

I digress with a memory

I apologise times thrice.

I cannot play guitar

the sunlight warms my veins.

through a little speck of glass

that does not hide my shame.

I could replay the memories.

The photographs of mind.

but I cannot play guitar

and you’d still not be mine.

completeness comes with wholeness.

The unity of one.

Knowledge of perception,

not an intermittent sun.

Happy enters from within

the minds eye lets it loose.

Upon decision of the thought

the one we chose to choose.

I cannot play guitar.

Reality is just.

my instrument’s a pen.

my words are your mental voice.

A read a poem recently

something about a donkey.

I cannot play guitar and yet that man’s words spoke to me.

Dithering of mind and a waste of all my senses.

I keep to strumming daily

in the sunlight of all places.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015


Use them

Use them


Use the dark orb to swell those rotten dreams into a mist so pure and tangible it’s as tasteful as it is unknowingly poisonous.

Breed them, multiply the law of three seven fold then behold the birth of many treasons.

Forgive them in lies to earn their trust and burn them. Burn their dreams and twist, contort and turn them. Find them subscribed in devious times, walking each black, faded bloody line.

mine, mine, mine.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015


Repeat performance


image – Wikimedia.org

Repeat Performance 29/6/15

The seagulls bark on a bench in a place I won’t see today.

Pecking at chips that aren’t mine whilst a black cat idly crosses my path.

Cranky because I didn’t listen to my inner voice.

Cranky because my intuition wasn’t strong enough.

I kick the leaves a fountain of colour swims like a shoal of fish in the wind.

The yellows peek through like every mirrored memory,

taunting a reaction to which I refuse to respond.

Each step brings me closer to success I recite booting another mountain of leaves.

A twig wrestles its way past my cheek cutting deep the anguish.

I bring this on myself and it’s in my choice I relish.

Having gone to the place I’ve been so many times before,

I smile as the sunlight warms my eyes.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015