Short poems

Deer! – A perfect ending.

I had the privilege of working with a small team of grounsdmen for a beautiful area in Kent for a few weeks. The grounds contained a private golf course and some stunning scenery the likes of which I’ve never seen previously and likely will not get to see again. Contained within over a hundred acres of land were deers, foxes, shrews and other animals. I was lucky enough to be approaching the ninth hole (a beautiful view of rolling hills and cottages) when two deer jumped out framing the view in an iconic picture. They froze and stood looking at me for several seconds and then just ran off. It was enough time for me to commit it to memory permanently, and to think I was actually getting paid to do that job. How lucky. Five minutes before my last time on site I was called over by another Groundsman. “Shhhh” he whispered pointing down a tree covered shingle bed pathway. I popped my head beneath the shadowy trees and saw the biggest deer I’ve ever seen. He just stood looking at us for at least thirty seconds and then just vanished. Perfect ending to a great job.

Deer!

18/05/18

Deer! Be still my beating heart and walk don’t run.

Tiptoe before they’re gone.

Don’t capture just confine this bliss to memory.

Photograph in snapshot form this art before me.

Keep the storm still of this wonderous hierarchy.

Add to this a hidden tunnel of majestic awareness.

Like a unicorn in the pleasure dome with no horn I’m called forth.

“Shhhh” he whispered pointing to a different lane.

There he stood all perfect.

In my mind like the rain.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Never could be.

Never could be.

15/05/18

She was his never could be, in a world she never could see.

Wrapped in a shroud of clouds she housed a future beyond his vision, yet fully in sight.

Like viewing the sun in the middle of the night.

She was all there and half not, a full never could be.

There he was in a world she never could see.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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Short poems

Lego days.

Lego days.

12/05/18

These thoughts are lego days built up, knocked down and strewn around the ground, the pattern sways.

These thoughts are jumbled bricks, tit bits, uneven sticks, Matchstick men of matchstick cats and dogs.

These thoughts are frozen icicles on frozen logs.

Burning coldly in front of a ghastly fire of pain and fury. It warms me.

Cosy up a little closer.

Let me tell you a story.

© G.P Williamson 2018          <— Click for Instagram.

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Short poems

Last days at the Lake.

Last days at the Lake.

17/05/2018

The last days at the lake.

Cold in a shimmering state like oil on slate.

All bare legs and flowing skirts, the temptation hurts.

The fountain of truth flows clarity through an aura I forgot I was, that’s purity for you.

It’s what it does.

There’s a ritualistic ending to this place, so clear and blue.

They’ll be a part of me staying.

Staying here with you.

© G.P Williamson 2018           <– Click for Instagram.

 

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Short poems

Direction of the wind.

Direction of the wind.

10/05/18

I’ll know more by the direction of the wind,

which emotion by which hymn he sings.

I’ll know love or pain it’s all the same by what he brings.

These god forsaken broken wings.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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Short poems

Achievements between breaths.

Achievements between breaths.

15/05/18

The fatal connection between love and dependency.

The over caring compassion between trust and unity.

How a feather opens wounds stitched with futility.

These moments mean, so much to me as the pride of a lion roars.

They applaud miniscule achievements between breaths of personal desire.

With each step we reach higher.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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