poems, Short poems

At night.

At Night.

17/08/13

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

 

 

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poems

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.

25/08/13

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

 

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poems

Plugged in – We are the machine.

Plugged in – We are the machine.

25/08/13

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

 

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poems, Short poems

It’s feasible.

It’s feasible.

05/12/17

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

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poems, Short poems

Plastic man

Plastic man

05/12/17

Plastic man waved goodbye with unmoving arms and glazed eyes to a ghost he couldn’t touch or see as he felt her leave through the hazy night air and cold shop windows around Christmas time. He stood invisible, transfixed and naked to her touch.

A touch he couldn’t claim to entertain, to feel to dull some bygone pain and it rained until once again he told the same story months later about another love and another run away train.

Plastic man escapes again.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

Regret

Regret

04/12/17

She wasn’t who she thought she was.

She was worse and that made all his woes better.

He wasn’t who he thought he was and that she never regretted.

She laughed when he said he could go all night.

He cried when she waited a month just for his return.

Together they’d go forever.

In torment devouring each other from within the one soul they shared,

Fictionally – for a writer is always alone.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

Cheating hearts

Cheating hearts.

04/12/17

You’ll tell me tomorrow that you’re sorry for insinuating the things you’ve meant for weeks.

I’ll forgive you and apologise for insinuating things I’ve meant for months.

We’ll both continue lying to one another.

Persuasion, like that tickle on the palm of your hand that they don’t notice.

The warmth in your legs.

The cobweb sensation across your face.

The tingle in your lips that makes them itch.

Persuasion, the choice based alternative to love.

What a fictional perfection.

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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