poems

Soul Tangled

Soul Tangled.

20/05/2017

She thought he was her pick and mix.

The boy she’d chose to play.

Presumed he was an innocent in a rugged handsome kind of way.

He’d see her from afar as she was danced to school.

Her parents both were cobblers from a richer, finer world.

“You’re mine” she’d whisper later on a sunny college trip,

and warmer in cool waters when neither would need to strip.

Drinking for eternity, bathing in the love of life.

Anecdotal evidence and he’d take her for his wife.

Two children and a fortune later, she was still the better side of pure.

His extravagance all played out just kept him wanting more.

She thought he was her pick and mix.

The boy she’d chose to play.

He left her with a bowl of rice and turned to walk away.

©G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Only me

Only me.

20/05/2017

Daughters.

Pointless goals.

Empty frames on pictured walls.

When they’re not really here at all.

We reminisce with photograph’s of times we held and those we laughed.

With every time we stated facts or rolled around just acting daft.

Walking around London taking in the sights,

Bottle in hand setting the world to rights.

Then quite bluntly withouth a thought.

Your wonderful life was cut terribly short.

A gaping big hole that I didn’t expect.

Where parts of me fell away in neglect.

I often think of the fight’s you’d have won of the reason’s you’d of given and of who you’d become.

I wonder would we laugh the same or if you’d like my daughters name?

I wonder rather fleetingly and then I try to fail to see, because you’re gone for eternity and what is left is simply me.

©G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Fortune Cookie

Fortune Cookie.

20/05/2017

It wasn’t Christmas day. It was some other random day, an unimportant one. Yet a day when I was reminded of that Christmas together.

The one where she lay on me for years and watched a wonderful life.

There was spiced rum in small doses from her lips and later rhythmatic motion from our hips.

I could still imagine the salt as I sipped my beer at some restaurant I was in exactly twelve years ago.

The glass glistened in the yellow light like sweat sliding down a narrow neck and I missed her.

Like her my food had been and gone.

I had an empty plate, my beer and a fortune cookie to show for my money.

©G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Flaming Rainbows

Flaming Rainbows.

20/05/2017

I couldn’t see them at first.

It took practice, lots of practice.

At first I tried around stationary objects, a bath, a table, a sink.

Anything I could squint my eyes around to catch a glimpse before a blink.

Then the spaces between people, the gaps in how they walk, spaces in their words or adjusting how they talk.

It took many hours.

I watched the nights turn thin.

Then just like flaming rainbows I felt a stir begin.

A sound a shuffle made or a shuffle made sound.

It matters not the motion the sight was most profound.

A hazy mist came coloured and I dare’d not turn around.

For a goblin fought a lion both not one foot off the ground.

A pygmy choked a fairy and an Ogre beat a cloud.

All of which danced between a hungry pack of hounds.

©G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Strangest of times

Strangest of times

20/05/2017

From the strangest homeless times,

came the weirdest darkest Ryhmes.

The men who died who’d taught me more than both my parents had before,

Because of Matt I’d learnt to write because of Lee I’d learnt to fight.

Soldiers in a silly war, against the years we’d had before.

Families left with empty holes with broken bones and pointless souls.

Homeless is where homeless goes try to fix your pointless woes.

©G.P Williamson 2017

 

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