Short poems

Throwing logs.

Throwing logs.
26th July 2018.

Yes it was falling apart.
The world was dark.
It left terrible cuts and marks.
Out went the sparks.
I revved the carts, watched them motor on,
Saunter over a hill and nearly gone.
I became the father talking to the son asking “Dad where’s the rainbow gone?”
In wonder I pleaded deceitfully release me.
Smile to a categorically stitched up heart all full and complete with spare parts.
The soul yearns.
Bible tattered ribbon.
Adding logs to a fire when I can’t stand the burn.
Will I ever learn?

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Not fun Jim.

Not fun Jim.
26th June 2018

Not fun Jim.
Look at him!
A parable of lunacy.
Never wears a grin.
All black hearts,
Frozen darts.
Rose buds with black sharps.
The negative reaction.
The cataclysmic pattern of dim eyes and sour expression.
Unloved in his own reflection.
Look at Jim!
Watch him fall! He’ll risk everything,
He’ll lose it all.
Look! Watch Jim go, fallen over his own shadow.
Leave him be, he’s miserable him.
What do you expect?
He’s not fun Jim.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Can’t not.

Can’t not.
29/07/2018

I tried to hide.
Keep it inside.
I know what you’re thinking.
You’re half right.
There’s no bad equations.
No misogynistic liaisons.
No hidden meets or fingers touching souls incomplete.
No sparks flying, left dying be all that ends all love you’re buying.
No love lost, trust cost remainder of us lost, there is a crimson oath bust.
A seam of a heart crushed. Still beats.
Blood from the crease is released.
Pumps half hazardly.
Like I beat but inadequately.
Half the man I should be and glad.
Father and dad.
Something for which I fight.
I can’t not write.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Relapse.

Relapse.
26/07/2018

I know it will occur.
Occur, no.
Happen perhaps.
If happening occurred in a blaze of glory and eastern sunrise.
A ball of flame where the world capsized.
I know it in lightning bolts.
In scorched toast, coast to coast where smoke dotes.
I know it will occur amongst winter colds and jumbled coats.
Long gones and too far bygones.
I know when your rainbow meets my midnight black the whole universe will collapse.
I know you’re my relapse.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

It’s going to be amazing.

It’s going to be amazing.
28/07/2018

It’s going to be amazing.
Bright lights in the night sky racing.
Doing laps making crazy faces.
Fingertips touching, lips embracing.
Old lovers dig up graves and re marry, spoken vows
from earthbound ground a second try on a new go around.
Amazing grace, a tender place.
The gift of a cup, a friend that stays.
I do, congratulations.
We’ll do it too.
Let’s ride this train tonight to another better wall and take down every brick so another bridge is born.
Let’s build the steps to heaven as the angels are overcome.
Let’s do it for our dead.
Do it for our mums.
Let’s do it for our lifeblood.
Let’s do it just for fun.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Eleven.

Eleven.
28th July 2018.

What do I want to know?
Every rainbow every half dream.
Every ripped unfulfilled damaged seam.
Each curled expression, a pressure, a tension.
A breezy walk, a sweet indiscretion.
What do I know?
Borderline obsession.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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