Grab it and whisper.

Grab it and whisper.


The foolish bard drinks merrily the poison of desire.

No recollection of a future.

No marriage to impress.

No children who’d enquire.

My walked paths held holed shoes in my souls truth.

The whole truth walked in the souls earth.

What is this coat worth?

To grab it and whisper. “I’m sorry I kissed her”

Now you’ll claim die on the twitch of an eye on what else would I lie?

You’ll not trust as much as I said as such and now it’s just dust.

Goodbye to your touch.

For all that I had and all that I loved I wish I’d held on for the greater good.

Here take it – take my blood.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Letting go.

Letting go.


Forget her she’s never there.

She’s not the girl she was, she cannot care.

No memory, no warmth to her hair.

No Summer days with swaying hips no “We can just be.” No kissing lips.

No buttercups to crimson cheeks, no daisy chains the commitment’s weak.

No links, no corrections, no birds and no connection.

Life it took a new direction.

Left me weak but with affection.

You’re there somewhere under this broken starlit jar. This damaged precipice of waiting to crumble.

The broken cycle of shatter and recycle.

You’re out there because I remember you.

Because I sense you.

Because I need you.


© G.P Williamson 2017


What gave again

What gave again.


Like a chime unheard.

We don’t speak or listen.

Like the phone you hear ringing.

Yet the reciever never moves in it’s cradle.

We look but don’t really see or comprehend.

Often silently questioning, Is it the end?

There’s an apple tree which ages as apple tree’s do.

It bears no fruit and so the apples never get a chance to fall far from the tree.

There’s questions I alone can’t answer.

Questions about you and me.

©G.P Williamson 2017


Exceptional circumstances

Exceptional circumstances


Beauty in your eyes.

Where the contour of your cheek lies.

Flames of desire rise.

Tingles of freedom call new to me, beyond, reason , ideal.

Full unity.

I’ve known you five minutes but you’re not new to me.

Amazing hair, beautiful.

Blazed a million times unethical.

Rogue and distinct.

Can’t articulate what I think.

Face, hair, eyes……sink.

©G.P Williamson 2017


The Night Train


Sometimes it’s cloudy but the sun’s still there.

Sometimes You’ll skip a gear but it’s usually worth the journey.

Sometimes you won’t listen but I know you can hear me.

I may not reflect your compassion on occasion but I can feel you, always.

On centre stage your cosmic rays brighten dismal forgone days.

You apply bright metaphors to simple conversations.

Keep me guessing with warm suggestions.

Right upto the point where it’s no longer a question.

Let me reiterate our suggestive conversation with another question.

Would you ride the night train?

Marry me again?

Run screaming through mud puddles whilst holding hands in the pouring rain?

I’m game.

It’s time to turn the tides.

A new leaf to regrow what hurts inside.

Shared wide, broken hearted.

A new oath that reinstates where we started.

Plasma guns, lazar rays and medical equipment.

Memories we don’t need, lets get a new shipment.

Sometimes the sun’s still there when it’s cloudy.

Sometimes you’ll reach your destination safely.

You won’t hear me but I know you’ll listen and that’s good enough for me.

I thank God for what I’ve been given.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2017