Graphic, poems

Lake feet

ghostchickenwire

Lake feet

30/10/17

She stood in the lake and pondered.

What kind of man he’d be?

Fishing with the sticklebacks on boats just made for three?

Crying over whiskey on nights out with the girls?

Hold her with the strength that a soldier shows his girl.

Sing her deep sweet songs with his fingers in her curls.

She stood in the lake and pondered the kind of man he’d be.

She waited day and night for him to set her free.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Hormoanatoad

Hormoanatoad

20/06/2017

Hormoanatoad like an overload.

The kaboom of the world when she pregaspews all over your common sense rule.

Pyramids, the ultimate building blocks.

Claustraphobic locksmith’s caged in with antilock.

Irrational because I breathed or spoke.

Irritating because I’m a bloke.

It’s Hormoanatoad because you’re up the duff.

A new crusade a beautiful journey.

That’s how it’s portrayed.

I love you, bade well, have children.

They prayed.

Give her chocolate, watermelon and sweet lemonade!

Ginger, more chocolate and a five star platter.

Hormoanataod like an overload.

Heat wave and burning alight!

The weather’s unclear, passion?

Not tonight.

I love you! Don’t exagerate.

Hormoanatoad elaborate!

You have it easy you don’t understand!

I raise the family I married a man!

Hormoanatoad mentions all my previous objectives.

Regurgitating a cataclysmic list of expletives.

Like additives to her favourite narrative.

I smile and laugh internally.

This is where I live?

I’d do it all over again.

I’d do it for you.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Buona Fortuna!

Buona Fortuna!

14/06/17

Wow what a spectacle.

Not like a bad drama.

More like an amazing circus producton which you feel is fiction yet turns out to be real, beautifully real.

Somehow like Karma but more surreal.

Her name was Tracy once again.

Funny how she saved your sticker.

How through all the pain things stayed the same until after many rolls of the dice “Snake eyes.”

Buona Fortuna!

A million languages may affiliate my circumstances but non rival the feelings of seeing those tiny appendages.

You take one look at the colour of my eyes. The colour of my skin or how I speak and presume to know me.

Judge me by how I run a warehouse or how I store goods.

Walk away friend.

I’ve seen more than I should and drank tears from spilt blood.

When you ask my opinion of you judging me – it’s not good.

Buona Fortuna! Spilt blood.

I’ve missed you and mourned you,

couldn’t kiss you to adore you.

I’ve tricked me to ignore you, from the first, last and every day that you weren’t born.

I’ll never stop.

Buona Fortuna!

Today was a new scan.

Her name was Tracy.

Their was a heartbeat on the screen and they are in the right place.

She’d kept the sticker my daughter gave her.

Buona Fortuna!

It was a year later.

She’d remembered from the paper.

We waited.

No sound, no movement, she turned the monitor around.

Full improvement.

Buona Fortuna!

Full heartbeat, twinkle street.

A little being, my baby, now waiting to meet.

Summer sun, roasting day.

Tracy asked if she knew the baby.

Heartbeat inside mummy she replied.

Something stirred behind her eyes.

Buona Fortuna!

Parental ties I realise come with strings I harmonize.

I realise the innocent truth of having you and needing you.

Love is shared and squared then multiplied.

It’s all for you I’m stupified, it’s never gone as love can’t lie.

Even when they don’t live or die.

Buona Fortuna!

There’s two angel’s yet I’ve not said.

Who’ve healed every wound I bled.

Who aid me on this road of life.

One’s my daughter.

One’s my wife.

Buona Fortuna!

No matter what the night may bring or who may come or anything.

Remember from all after or gone.

You’re both my world.

You’re both my sun.

Buona Fotuna!

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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Parenting, poems

Beautiful banality

Beautiful banality

01/07/2017

Ten minutes is a long time for a young girl to sit quietly and think whilst tugging her curls.

Buzzing on candy overload, not understanding.

How was shouting naughty?

That’s how you reprimand me?

I’m being told off in a thousand words,

I don’t understand three.

I’m not being noisy I’m playing keyboard.

I’m sorry it’s too loud I’ll use the guitar….

Can’t think for half a second’s quick space of none banality.

Hoped to rain an analogy of half decent quality.

Dad, dad, dad, dad, dad?

“Yes baby?”

“What’s a family?”

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

The Language of Children

trampontrampoline

The smiles are the same everywhere.

When you watch me and my daughter.

Tilted heads with tight lips as though you’re hiding laughter.

 

A close bond,

compassionate connections.

something we’re all looking after.

 

I see you as you watch us.

I feel your warm eyes within.

The chemistry pronounces something…….

……something which makes us kin.

 

Language is no barrier.

It matters not Italian or Pole.

There’s magic in a high five which makes all people whole.

 

There’s innocence in knowing

“I’m nearly 4 today!”

Everyone remembers,

wishing older every day.

 

Returning home from work.

A limp dandelion on the side.

“I got you a flower Daddy!”

She sparkles – eyes open wide!

 

I smile with cosmic flawlessness.

My ocean of pride is full.

It’s then they fail to pay me and I watch her eyes turn dull.

 

The shades of green turn softer.

Delicate meadows, now replaced with a simple kind of hopelessness.

A tear down her face.

 

She now doesn’t understand why the Theatre is off bounds.

Why she cannot dance with Elsa to the tune of Disneyland.

 

The language of children.

“I want to laugh and play”

Tainted by our adult world

which turns its face away.

 

I’m dissappointed in the aftermath.

But never in my girl.

She’s a special kind of perfect in a bitter, sour world.

 

Copyright G.P Williamson 2017

 

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It’s the most wonderful time of year.

It’s the most wonderful time of year
15/12/14

It’s the most wonderful time of year.

I awoke to bright lights.
Diamonds sparkling in my wife’s eyes.
Toe to toe at the window pane.
Blankets of snow.
A clean finger through a window frame.

Chicken soup with a fusion of herbs.
Warm hands on hearts.
Touching fingertips to lips.
I love you.
Share gifts.
Unwrapping starts.

My angel gazes at the twinkling tree, her bottle and back to me.
Defiantly amazed.
Glittery eyes meet.
Photograph by a real tree.
Keepsakes for eternity.

Crunching icy steps to Grandma’s house.
New wellies.
A smell of frankincense.
Chestnuts crackle.
Children scream in play.
Oblivion on Christmas day.

Clean napkins.
Extending table.
Help dish up if you’re able.
Granddad mourns the same old jokes.
Silent prayers to long gone folk.

A solitary sprout, perhaps there’s two.
Pull the crackers!
Charades too!
Giving thanks for more than food.
A moment shared around the world.

A coal fire burns down memory lane.
Past and present unite in flame.
Sleeping warm all cosy and tight.
Merry Christmas to all and to all Goodnight.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014.

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Uncategorized

It’s the most wonderful time of year.

It’s the most wonderful time of year – Competition entry.
15/12/14

It’s the most wonderful time of year.

I awoke to bright lights.
Diamonds sparkling in my wife’s eyes.
Toe to toe at the window pane.
Blankets of snow.
A clean finger through a window frame.

Chicken soup with a fusion of herbs.
Warm hands on hearts.
Touching fingertips to lips.
I love you.
Share gifts.
Unwrapping starts.

My angel gazes at the twinkling tree, her bottle and back to me.
Defiantly amazed.
Glittery eyes meet.
Photograph by a real tree.
Keepsakes for eternity.

Crunching icy steps to Grandma’s house.
New wellies.
A smell of frankincense.
Chestnuts crackle.
Children scream in play.
Oblivion on Christmas day.

Clean napkins.
Extending table.
Help dish up if you’re able.
Granddad mourns the same old jokes.
Silent prayers to long gone folk.

A solitary sprout, perhaps there’s two.
Pull the crackers!
Charades too!
Giving thanks for more than food.
A moment shared around the world.

A coal fire burns down memory lane.
Past and present unite in flame.
Sleeping warm all cosy and tight.
Merry Christmas to all and to all Goodnight.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014.

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