Hide and seek.

Hide and seek.


Be that soothing memory, that musical tune, the “Baby it’s a love thing”, the covers, the room.

Be the solemn promise from the sunset to the womb.

Write my name in lipstick as you dream of being wed.

The subtle hue of perfume still draws across my bed.

You didn’t answer my calls.

My messages were left for weeks.

I don’t know what you’re doing.

I don’t like this hide and seek.

© G.P Williamson 2017

poems, Short poems




The best of both worlds is in your hands.

Don’t make dreams and don’t make plans.

You may love and live and learn.

Another’s problems aren’t your concern.

Free your mind of guilt and pain.

The answers are questions with no time frame.

Enjoy each minute as the best of both worlds.

Because it’s not where you were it’s what do you deserve?

© G.P Williamson 2017



Confidence capsized.

Confidence capsized.


Confidence capsized only truth through a lovers eyes supporting viaducts that do not work.

No transport chain, no way to work.

Confidence abundant change the word, pick up the trident.

Shower the world with aqueduct tears.

For you, for the dancing for the cheers.

Same again and same again moody blues to numb the pain.

Meditation, witchcraft, therapy and a forced laugh.

Age old clouds in my head surely I’d be better off – wait a minute, time to sin?

Welcome old friend fate, let it win. Who’s to say it’ll have the last laugh?

You might feel stupid but you’re certainly not daft.

The glint in your eyes from power not cries you know that’s where the confidence lies.

It’s not in the lines nor all in a book it’s deep in the soul you’ll find in my look.

© G.P Williamson 2017



poems, Short poems

At night.

At Night.


Lightening climbs.

Igniting flames.

The lovers looks.

The dancing game.

Smooth and suave.

Swift in motion.

Allowed to drive.

The air a cushion.

Flying together.

Eyes alight.

Becoming one.

Alive at night.

Passion killer.

Brought the crunch.

Broken down.

A different bunch.

Group of guys.

A solid team.

Divided up.

A broken dream.

Tattered edges.

Torn inside.

No other choice but stand and fight.

© G.P Williamson 2017




The last line of reality.

Another one from a fallen notepad I discovered at the back of several books in my wardrobe. It had only five poems in it and the rest were blank.

The last line of reality.


I want to be beneath the last line of reality.

I want to see the beauty in all form of deformity.

I want to hear the whisper of mother nature’s wish.

Is it so unusual to want to live in bliss?

A bliss that’s mine, that I create.

I am your world I seal your fate.

I demonstrate with bleeding crows how I’m alive that fireball glows.

When it’s quiet I have bled and every single one is dead.

All the animals and the people merely ash and now my equal.

I’ve become what I wanted to see.

“The last line of reality”

© G.P Williamson 2017



Plugged in – We are the machine.

Plugged in – We are the machine.


Turn off the Kindle.

Shut down the phone.

Fire up the computer.

I’ve just got home.

Check out the E-mails.

Quick search through the web.

Update my Facebook and off to bed.

Phone off the charger.

Buzz out the gate.

Check the time am I running late?

Breakfast drive through

Screaming speaker.

Turn down the radio so he can hear you.

Clock in to work

Clock out at lunch.

Automatic updates – thankyou very much.

© G.P Williamson 2017


poems, Short poems

It’s feasible.

It’s feasible.


It’s feasible that when you cry mini raindrops fall from your eyes like warriors of light you don’t have the insight for.

It’s feasible that rocking horse does move and it’s not floorboards you’re hearing at night.

It’s feasible, but is it right?

Is it right how the loneliness echos countless boundaries across your soul?

Is it right the frightened squander for a new goal?

Is it right they’re all together and you’re, you’re alone?

Is it perfect that you are your own home?

© G.P Williamson 2017