I don’t know why


I don’t know why


I don’t know why they call it death, I’m still here.

I can still see you crying from where I am, with you.

Why can’t I hold or touch you?

Well it’s just like there.

I can ask all the questions but I don’t have all the answers.

There’s a belief, well a few actually, each tends to involve a magic birth and a kind of return, some speak of a whole new conjoined world.

Truth is I watch you cry and feel your tears, I remember every minute of every year.

I believe in you.

You’ll do great things now as you did before I left, and I’ll love you just as much if not more each day.

Come what may.

You don’t believe where I am now is a place I can stay?

Oh no, it doesn’t work that way…

I forgave my ancestors for the pain I’d seen.

So I get an eternity token it’s like a giant pinball machine.

This token gives three rolls of the dice, a card to draw, a stack to play then three balls more.

Each ball can hit a bonus or a replay slot.

It’s like recieving an extension on a life we haven’t got.

I forgave myself (Forgiveness is a regular theme) for the things I’d done and made people see.

So I got another token, that’s three plus three.

This process continues through a library of options but if I’m honest I wasn’t much good at owt else.

So I left with six balls and played them through, of that I lost four so then I had two.

That’s why I’m stood here watching you.

Ten minutes in eternity as the token’s sky blue.

I watched you grow, love and mourn.

I watched you win, grow and fall.

I watched you marry have kids and losses.

I watched you stand up like a boss.

I watched you teach them, watched them grown.

Happy for all the things you went on to show.

Life everlasting us having you would mean.

You’re my angel, my princess, my queen and went on to birth for the team.

I watched them grow.

I watched you lie.

It was nearly your time to die.

I watched them pull near, I watched them mourn, you were near the edge when my idea was born.

A hand in my pocked I discovered at ten minutes into eternity had nearly gone by.

I was lucky by comparison and a fool I was not.

I placed that last ball in a circular pot.

I released as it chimed to accept my last plight.

It spun to the left and rolled to the right.

Down a tube of existence, through nine birth’s of creation it landed on “Granted” to my exhileration.

Twenty more years you’d get with the team and I’d get to watch from here in between.

So back to your question, why am I here?

I can ask all the questions but the answer’s quite clear.



© G.P Williamson 2017



Obituary of a relationship.

Relationship Obituary


When I look through that glass to see where we are from what we had…

I feel ashamed for feeling sad.

Your enthusiasm doesn’t spark me.

Same glow I used to know, because your enthusiasm doesn’t show.

Weak at the knee’s in my chest like the last line of obituary laid to rest.

A pinnacle of broken parts, a car that won’t start and other things which….

Broken, wounded, floundered, scolded, a thousand things I should have shouldered.

An opportunity perhaps to correct our mistakes.

Who’ll make the first move?

I bet neither….so we wait.

©G.P Williamson 2017


Nigel Mottram Exhibition!!

I simply had to share this E-mail I received today from a dear friend and extra ordinary artist. It arrived at a time when I was looking up ‘moving pictures’ on youtube. People have created some incredible ‘haunted’ pictures via the use of video. Nigel has created the real thing. My nan had a picture of the crying boy above her bed in Macclesfield in the late 1980’s and I was intrigued always as his eyes followed me around the room. I didn’t know the opposite power – it’s positive message could be so well intertwined until I discovered Nigel’s amazing gift. Don’t take my word for it. I’m naturally as biased as I am mesmerised, Go see for yourself and please share any emotional, haunting, inspiring stories you may have from the master himself and his work.

I do believe that one just blinked…

You are invited to view a series of paintings by Nigel Patrick Mottram:
Glimpses of the Sacred  – Interfaces Between Art and Faith

Nigel was born in 1943 and brought up in Liverpool, where as a child played on bomb sites. Throughout his life he has been fascinated by sites of urban dereliction. Imagery and meaning in his paintings emerge as layers are uncovered and discovered. The sacred is glimpsed in this process and in the forms that emerge. Scapegoats, heroes, and themes of isolation and fragmentation, reflect a quest for understanding of self and the sacred.

– Opening -All welcome-  Sunday 9th August, 7-9pm Sacred Trinity Church, Chapel Street M3 5DW

– Exhibition Open -Tuesday 11th August, 12-3pm, Saturday 15th August, 1-5pm,Tuesday 18th August, 12-3pm Tuesday 25th August, 12-3pm

For further information contact Nigel on 0779 448 9994





I’d say I was entwined in hopefulness,
Yet my hope had left long ago and my fullness was quickly catching up.
I’d manicured, pedicured and lipped up.
I felt like a poorly made china cup.
My hollow insides craved the completeness, fullness, oneness of your presence.
Not even your touch.
Although it might help.
You wouldn’t call tonight like last night and the eve before.
You’ve not messaged since you met That…that whore.
I’ve forgiven you for her ways.
When I seek my reflection she’s both gone and stays.
Tonight’s the night.
I close the door on your shadow.
On your form.
On the unmade bed I’ve not used since it was warm.
You still smell so concrete.
A stability, so just.
I cannot forgive the emptiness
And yet….I must.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015


poisonous politics

Poisonous Politics



Wringing the washing through a mangle. Soapy tears by her bare feet.
Consoles her child to breast Christmas morn.
A two fold job, she’s keeping them warm.
Happy new year! Her solemn eyes swell.
She leans into his cheek ‘all will be well’
I’m sorry, I failed. I have nothing to give.
If we can’t earn then how can we live?

Balancing the books on a knife edge. Drowning in whisky he can’t afford.
Cardboard board games hand made.
He sold his carpentry tools yesterday to provide.
Mows the neighbours lawn. Digs up twelve tree’s.
Purchases the cream he rubs into her knee’s.

Wringing the life from the balanced books of good people whilst dining on lobster.
Consoles the masses to keep them calm, a two fold job. They own more homes.
Cardboard truths written with the cost of sold tools.
Happy new year! All will be well.
I’ve chosen your freedom, that’s not mine to sell.
I’m sorry you failed, but why should we give?
If you can’t earn this is how you should live.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014