There will always be an Autumn.

There will always be an Autumn.


There will always be an Autumn, come winter, rain or shine.

They’ll always be an Autumn where the seasons cling to your eyes.

I watched you reading Austin, I watched you with Shakespeare.

I watched you read by candlelight, the night was oh so clear.

There will always be an Autumn, come winter, rain or shine because the first came second in the verses on the line.

There will always be an Autumn with the passing of my time.

© G.P Williamson 2017



poems, Short poems

It truly is not fair.

It truly is not fair.


One reel of lights, four boxes of baubles, a packet of icicles some snowflakes and four reindeers.

Five three meter lengths of tinsel, three packets of lamette and a Robin made of real feathers, which the children love to stroke. Yet you, you look down at me as the only memorable bauble like I’m some kind of irrational joke.

You sit there innocent on your string as the corals rage on and you don’t say a thing.

You just watch, a reminder of every wrong that was ever caused me. Each self defence moment gone too far, each family argument, each war. every fallen brother I can’t help but miss and the true loves of last year, week, lifetime for which I still ache to kiss. Then you turn slightly in the gentle breeze and I capture my image alive on my knees and I freeze.

Out of more etiquette than respect I Aikido bow. I believe only in myself and sometimes, sometimes even I don’t know how.

This year may be the best year yet and still I’d miss that I’d never have.  I wonder where the Angels keep you and who that you call dad.

© G.P Williamson 2017


It all stopped after that call.

It all stopped after that call.


It just stopped after that call.

Hunger, thirst, anger, pain.

I couldn’t feel at all.

It just stopped after that call.

The petty conversations, the friendships, that picture in the hall.

That wooden rocking chair.

The birds they used to call.

It just all stopped after that receiver fell.

The sudden click of nothingness.

My thought’s they turned to gel.

The holidays, the seasons,

like you Autumn came and fell.

It ended without merit.

Ended without rhyme.

Ended like a poet who’s just run out of …..


© G.P Williamson 2017


Double death.

Double death.


If I close my eyes I can smell the cigarette smoke in your green woollen gat.

I can see the shine on your greasy black hair, half bald with the stresses of a young age.

I can hear you listening to her song, even if we disagree I respect she was your woman of gold.

You held her like the world’s last pearl.

She was your girl, your world.

I remember the black plastic lid of that record player with the broken hinge.

The headphones that covered both your ears and half of your head.

You falling down, us both ending up dead.


© G.P Williamson 2017



Another whisp of memory

Another whisp of memory.

3rd September 2017

Tremble at the fake imagery of her slender frame.

Shake with distrust at a touch unjust for the person you once loved that much.

I knew nothing bar opinion and ridicule.

Bit memories.

I’m on a bar stool in care.

I came home late to ensure my friend didn’t meet the same fate.

It was too late.

She’s on the step in a red cotton shirt with square patches.

The memory fades as another one hatches.

She won’t smile.

She’s scared to watch T.V

She writes, I guess that’s like me.

She wants to be free.

O.C.D, anxiety, depression and drink dependent bring her thin.

They are all veils to protect herself from facing him.

Shawls of control.

Protective cloaks which don’t work.

Why today I’m a control freak.

Set me a task and leave me be.

You don’t want to be my reason for solitary.


© G.P Williamson 2017



He’s dead.

He’s dead.



So it’s true, forever sleeping.

Train lines halted.

The silence in the room is speaking.

I’d listen to what it has to say if it wasn’t for the numbness and the shock.

My gift to you could I bring it, would be more time on the clock.

Sattellites stop swirling and dim to nothing more than metallic nodding dogs in the sky.

A thousand relatives ask a thousand questions all of them are “why?”

Aries dances with virgo up high, an old sheepdog pants and then comes to rest.

As friends go, you’re one of the best.

So it’s true, forever sleeping and I wonder if somehow you brought me that training partner.

I’ll never forget the pose she made which was much like yours, it was so cute.

I’m sorry you never got to meet her Sharpshooter.

There’s a special place in my heart you’re keeping.

So it’s true – forever sleeping.


© G.P Williamson 2017


Burning Ice.

Burning Ice.


Your note was first to go followed by an arm and all that was below.

Moons swapped with suns and nights became days, weeks became years and that glow still stays.

The ice fills the land after a two mile gap.

You won’t find any oxygen the fire saw to that.

Church spires and skyscrapers peek out above the ice, a new land all frozen crisp, a new delight.

No movement, no birds, no people, no mice.

Nothing but silence and ice after ice.

Apart from a glow like a lump in the throat, it can be felt anywhere….

… just like your last note.


© G.P Williamson 2017