poems

Consider this your Christening.

Consider this your Christening.

09/01/18

I’m starting to love.

To begin a new.

Old friends, same story.

Like old hair that grew.

Kept me warm, placid.

Nice to be knew.

Then chopped and broken.

Doused like after shave acid, caustic and drastic.

How friendships are like a frozen elastic.

Pliable, amiable, broken in two.

You fancy adding cold?

It’s broken in two.

Stop pushing…

….Stop.

…Stop…leave me be.

….you want a reaction? Want something to see?

A chaotic elaboration?

Raise the bar, flip off a nation?

Beyond jurisdiction you’re a work of fiction.

You spew allegations to which nobody’s listening.

You cause your own hurts through your reasoning system.

Illogical expectations through excuses not building.

Your torment, your choices, your words, your christening.

All tied in chains with the dreams you’re imprisoning.

Then you’ll complain that nobody’s listening.

What a joke, as you stand the whole church is whispering.

To pacify your hurts you claim agents of mistrust.

All in the name of your own lack of guts.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Shots

 

Shots – from my life.

02/05/2017

Shots some, like the drink, from my life.

Pictures of a blonde baby, careless, slow aging. I’m putting magnetic letters on a toy board. Who knows? Maybe I spell my first word.

My hand sinks into our alsations fur.

It’s warm in the garden. I can smell his breath next to mine. Mixed with the lightest of green grass, safest here at home.

My sister’s crying. I’ve done her wrong. I witnessed feelings both weak and strong.

I hurt inside, I don’t know why. I cannot cry.

At nine I’m mostly a man in my mind. My grandparent’s both gone I learn if I search then I’ll find.

Discovered some answers, the truth of where I came from, looked up to my mum and then she was gone.

Flames, meditation and hypnotic regression released, destressing not exploding my obsession.

Children in a boat with very muddy coats. Mind’s alive with magic which keeps them all afloat.

Yellow are their rainproof’s with little sailors caps.

Some on straight some back to front some drippin in their laps.

There’s no water in the ocean for they float above the sky.

Balanced on a cloud within a twinkling of an eye.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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