Parenting, Short poems

The moth died.

The moth died (and the innocence of youth)

9th June 2018

The moth died.

You killed it dad.

He was my friend.

You made me sad.

Never purer words had I just heard.

She had much to learn about this world.

The moth died, it was my friend.

It’s never coming back again?

It’s gone, it was the end?

I couldn’t even fake pretend.

Yes it’s gone baby, I gave it a headache.

Why dad? Just why? She said disgusted.

Four years old and she just learnt what trust is.

© G.P Williamson 2018


How many memories will vanish?

How many memories will vanish?


How many memories will vanish?

Making googly noises in your chair.

Sticky mess in your hair.

Wondering around aimlessly like there’s no cares.

How many memory’s vanish right there?

A kiss on the forehead.

Holding hands, grab my finger.

Summers day plans.

How many memories die right there?

First steps, first word, which first comes first,

First day of school.

First blown raspberry across the room.

How many memories will vanish again?

First bus journey, first trip on a train.

First time skipping.

First dance in the rain.

How many memory’s washed away?

Our first locket like memory’s inside.

Yours might fade.

Mine I’ll pride.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Parenting & the lack of coffee.

Parenting & the lack of coffee.


Did you finish your coffee?

What coffee? Oh yeah.

She asleep?

I hope so.

Did you?


She screamed, she cried, she heckled and moaned.

I rocked, I sighed, I sang and cajoled.

Se laughed, she cooed, she wanted to play.

I smiled, I rolled “hidey boo” we trade.

She settled right down and to sleep I prayed.

She’s there this morning all glowing in love.

I just cannot sleep incase she gets back up.

Did you finish your coffee?

What coffee?

© G.P Williamson 2018 << Hit for 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!


Rolling with the changes.

Rolling with the changes.


I’ve learnt to roll with changes although I like things crystal clear.

I understand it’s circumstance but not why you’re not here.

I understand that people think you don’t really matter.

You didn’t exist in breath or beat and so we just get better.

I’ve listened to the arguments both pro life and pro gun.

Yet they had choices of their own and us….well we had none.

I’ve given up on giving up, when I couldn’t fit you into faith.

Each day I live for here and now the smile grateful on my face.

I’m irritated much more often, angry quite a lot.

Yet I live for I’ve got instead of what we’ve not.

People around me lost plenty.

I hear them cry in the night.

Echo’s of eternity remind me I’m alright.

Then there’s you with everything.

Two jobs, two cars, two kids.

I marvel at the perfectness then shake my head at it.

I like to live my happiness like happiness loves life.

I mirror all the beauties in my daughter and my wife.

I saviour every moment from the mundane to the dear,

Because I’ll not be blind to love that finds itself right here.

I’ve learnt to roll with changes, although I like things crystal clear.

I understand it’s circumstance but not why you’re not here.

© G.P Williamson 2018



Short poems

Tickle and laugh.

Tickle and laugh.


They tickle and laugh giggle and bath in a hundred hues of greens and blues.

Each a tired memory of parenting truth.

I watch as you scrimp and scrape until you teeter on the edge and think it’s too late and then,

I nudge you awake to see those mountains, those challenges, they aren’t all night and I’m here.

Just here.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Short poems

My mini Me.

My mini Me.


She lies like a mini me.

Spins webs of deceit with a sweet clarity.

Tries to stare me out just like I used to do to you.

Her strength is so admirable and yet she never knew, she never had anything she’d need to fight against or stand up to.

Yet here she is, a mini embodiment of both me and you.

© G.P Williamson 2018