Short poems

Apples.

Apples.
11/09/2018

A thousand apples on my tree and still I cannot set you free.
Beyond the sunlight breathing bright.
Through greens, reds, an archaic sight.
A taste of future blinding light.
How are you and how are we?
You worry most concerningly.
Play and heal.
Heal and play.
Die tomorrow, not today.
Celebrate the poor gods test.
Our time is now,
There’s not much left!

© G.P Williamson 2019

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Parenting, Short poems

Rising to fly.

Rising to fly.
26/08/2018

Your chest rises as you breath.
A tiny gust clenches and released.
Eyelids twitch and I,
I start to believe.
My sight traces your eyebrows and the full of your thinned hair and I know love.
I know care.
You cry like stuttering ducks at first flight, like a rainbow seeking light all fidget and fright and I,
I rock tightly.
What I want and need are somewhat the same thing.
Autumn leaves and purity, humour and to succeed.
The water rippling on the lake, the silk against your skin.
The water in your eyes, the drowning in my sin.
What I want and what I need are somewhat the same thing.
What is it you do not bring?
You perfect little thing>

© G.P Williamson 2019

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Short poems

Her name was Charity.

Her name was Charity.
24/08/2018

Her name was Charity.
That name stung more than the slaps that followed.
Her donation was my damnation.
She stung my throat going down and sin was born.
Words couldn’t ensnare your absence anymore than I could suture the thirst of my wounds.
Quenched by the undesired.
Charity.
You’re hired.

© G.P Williamson 2019

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Short poems

Like a glove.

Like a glove.
20/08/2018

Atrocious indignities.
Beware looming obituary’s.
dogs fallen into sullen corners.
Cold waters, frozen daughters.
Minute b*tch from lone wolf.
Lack of trust you learnt the truth.
Strong pack.
Pack of lies.
No soul.
Fires behind those eyes.
Baptise you and your lack of love.
Stick to yellow.
It fits like a glove.

© G.P Williamson 2019

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Short poems

Just a cover.

Just a cover.
17/09/2018

They see a cover.
Just a book.
Don’t turn the page.
Don’t dare to look.
Assume on.
Take your place.
Amongst the others.
All walled up faces.
Blocked out and blocked up.
No gained perception.
No learnt to stand up treasure trove.
Open stove.
Crispy golden holding love.
All the things you’ll not begrudge.
Assume the mother.
perception other.
Dare not dare look beyond the cover.

© G.P Williamson 2019

https://cursedrider.home.blog/

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Short poems

Diagon House! The poorly made spell.

Diagon House! The poorly made spell.
11/08/2018

Black door ironically.
A 68 Metaphorically.
Good neighbours categorically.
Hidden rooms magically.
A new home – for family.
Poof! Diagon House!
Oh squeak! – I’m a mouse.

© G.P Williamson 2019

The I can’t fail house.
12/08/2018

You feel like a new home that’s on the horizon.
Like a porch light I could see myself in.
Nestled down unquestioningly.
Diligently, cozy, refreshed see.
A homely home.
With scorpions and ropes.
Dark cabins and twisted jokes.
A new home for roasting.
A hot precipice, open air prayer kiss.
A tin bath and cigar, hell I could get used to this.
A lusty love with leaves and twigs,
I inhale,
If you’re my world I’ll set sail.
The oyster’s born.
I can’t fail.

© G.P Williamson 2019

 

 

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Short poems

That ballroom dress

That ballroom dress.
09/08/2018

The swirls turned like boy and girl danced for the world.
A rotated pedestal, A black and red dress you wore.
Pure ballroom, pretty and innocent all good vibes, reminiscent.
The crowd watched pure and adoring, adjoining smiles.
60’s rock and roll and Old Lang Synes lines.
I never prayed for better times.
I’d never love them.
They couldn’t be mine.

© G.P Williamson 2019
(Hit for Instagram)

 

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