Short poems, Uncategorized

Retro festival

Retro festival


Retro festival all mod con rockers donning fine dress beyond old ions of scones and military ear phones.

The smell bakes a thousand hearts home to kingdoms of ancient thrones.

Dancing rock songs like jiggly jangling bags of bones trying to find a hip swinging, tail wagging drunk route home.

Fake bobby’s all plastic nobbys acting fat round like crime’s just a hobby.

Blue suede shoes, lots of booze, icons, pinups, braces and Elvis too.


© G.P Williamson 2018


Quick post during my B. B. Q.

Quick post during my B. B. Q



A short acrostic for @worldofpoems on Instagram.

Screenshot_20180603-144018A quick reminder that anyone affected by our government whatever your stand point is them today and you tommorrow.

I’m sat having a B. B. Q with my family. My wife, two children, sister in laws and their families, my in laws all totalling 4 kids.  Four kids that should grow up in a world that’s safe. A world where they can say ‘pedophilia is wrong’ without being labelled in any way.

©G. P Williamson 2018

@gpwpoetry (Twitter)

@GPWilliamson (Instagram)



Dotty daughter


Dotty daughter


She’s four years old and introduced me by name to her hair styling shop.

She tells me so proudly the currency is lollipops.

I smile as she cocks her head to one side. “I think purple for your hair” she cries.

Twenty minutes later and I’m covered in flies, a horror story zombie with dark red eyes.

Five minutes more and I fear it’s too late.

She’s mixing a palette and my face is a state.

Five minutes more and I’m running for the door.

“Come back dad! your hair and back and arms need more!”

I’m a man’s man, a super daddy.

An hour in I’m wearing ear rings a necklace and she’s calling me Sandy.

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

poems, Uncategorized

You can’t achieve, under achiever.

You can’t achieve, under achiever.


Here she is again in this mind of mine all snowing with blizzard hail and rainy and pale.

Like a crustacean when I needed a whale all fickle and frail.

Intangible with insurmountable proof.

No matter the choices it’s all no use.

How aloof this deceiver this ridiculous make believe you can’t achieve, under achiever.

Here she is again wearing thin the voices of reason with her ghostly skin all pale and thin.

You can’t touch me, you’re not real! Run horror run.

I’m the king of my queenery and you answer to me.

Just because you sound convincing occasionally doesn’t mean I’ll let you win.

You’re all illusion and might.

Meet logic – hold tight.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Short poems, Uncategorized

Lets reminisce

Lets reminisce


Lets reminisce about the last time we laughed during the storm of 64, that time we shared a bath.

I couldn’t touch your hair because the dye was still setting and we both faked high off the fumes.

I can’t lay claim to the universe but we, we’re the only ones in the world.

I splashed and you laughed as the raindrops trickled down your back.

Yeah, what happened to all that?

© G.P Williamson 2018


Short poems, Uncategorized

Far away

Far away


I came here long ago from a land far away.

Where the rivers run wild and the women tend to stay.

I came here long ago when the steps were brushed and polished.

When coal filled up the bunkers and the window ledge with dollys.

I came here long ago when affection was the word “wench”

When the neighbours knew our daughters through a brew over the fence.

I came here long ago before the internet was born.

When the coal burned up the chimney and a tanned hide was the norm.

I came here long ago when we didn’t always win (but we were scoring)

If I knew then what I know now, I’d send them back a warning.

© G.P Williamson 2018