Short poems

Holiday eyes.

Holiday eyes.

Rubber lips and tricks.
Fake masks and forest sticks.
Click, unreal relationships.
All predominant features and no kiss.
Hide behind holiday eyes like this.
How I ruin the blood.
Sores from curmudgeon pores of your body on mine.
How our soul’s designed.
I was your play time.
Smile and dance by happenstance your spark meets mine!
Kaboom romance!

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Stab Cupid.

Stab Cupid.
I find myself missing you.
Stab Cupid.
He makes my heart race when I’m happy in last place,
He wants me to pass Go, I’m happy back three spaces.
He wants my pieces checked and mated.
I want to castle and have this game escalated.
I can’t draw I’ve a dull flush.
I’m packing lies to her royal tush.
Stab Cupid.
I find myself missing you.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems


There’s a piece of robust glass in my chest where you used to live all see through clearly and sweetly.
It juts out obviously and none discreetly.
Like how you filled me.
Cut deeply and all briefly.
It’s strange this optical illusion of my reflected expression.
I wish I could taste the whisky to dull the pain which resides in like fragmented lies.
Fermented rope and throated side lines.
Love doesn’t burn.
It hides.
In the memory of your shadow I wait for the night to pass.
Until then, I nurse this robust glass.

© G.P Williamson 2018 <– hit for Instagram!

Short poems

Sport and Sport 2.

9th August 2018

I can feel you shake as the lightning flashes in anticipation for the earth shaking as I control the movement of your hips.
I feel your apprehension at the stagnation of the calm before the storm.
I feel the cold tears and warm rain on your soul.
I feel your heartbeat.
I feel it all.
How your presence manifests the shattered remnants I haven’t swallowed yet.
Black and red,
and wet.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Sport 2

All forked tongues and master.
You wonder why I chain bind and whip rough lustre.
Spit polish, humiliate and find it disgusting.
Talk to me about a lack of trusting.
Rough tussling to crescendo tears and gushing.
Stop, don’t stop.
Keep pushing.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Over complicate.

8th August 2018

It’s amazing how we over complicate matters.
By we I mean me not I or us but a whole, a complete mess of riddles and atoms and cells that wiggle and jiggle whilst everything vibrates and moves as a conscious entity, a living breathing, pulsating society.
A multiverse, universe, planetary cycle.

A membrane with a brain we can’t recycle.
It’s amazing how we over complicate matters or matter.
How hopes and dreams shatter, collide and combust grow wings and earn trust.
It’s most overcomplicated for what amounts to “us”.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Ego & his shadow.

Ego & his shadow.

I turned around and there he was stood in my bedroom as I cupped my coffee, shocked and cautious, I knew him but never knew, never knew how he knew what I knew or how did I know?
With reflex and far too slow I chucked the coffee but he knew me and preempted my flow with a smile, he gripped my wrist and vanished, he was no more.
I knew somehow that he knew I knew he’d be back. He’s my ego. I had no time to react.
Ego knows all and see’s me ever present.
The god of mind who hides behind unequal signs.
I never was tall enough to understand.
Too short with people, I was always above the law.
Ego, my personal indulgence with no real use at all.
Above adequacy.
Below it all.
© G.P Williamson 2018