Short poems

Above all else.

Above all else.

10/06/2018

My hands feel their way.

They don’t need you for me to know my place.

My tongue doesn’t need you for me to know what I dislike.

My diary doesn’t need you to fill it in.

My heart doesn’t need you for me to love myself.

I want you.

I don’t need you.

Above all else.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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Short poems

I don’t need it.

I don’t need it.

21/05/18

You can let me breath.

Release your grip.

Become tender, ease off a bit.

I need space, I need room.

I’m independent.

Kaboom!

Your choices, your decisions, your life.

It’s not mine, I don’t want twice.

It’s yours, live it, dream it and believe it.

Keep your choices for you alone.

I don’t need it.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Little reminders.

Little reminders.

21/05/18

Bless the approaching mist of over elaboration confusion and your clarity, in force to impress upon me your illusion.

I’m sorry, I really am.

I’m not your favourite delusion.

I know there’s pieces you’re missing even if you abode is full.

I’d be your well if time was reversed but today I’m full throttle.

I can’t see reverse.

Amidst conjecture, gossip and reason.

Outside lies a meadow with a dream I’m believing.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

It feels like dying.

It feels like dying.

19/02/18

I’m here and it feels like dying.

It’s silly how the hours will fly and feel like years when I’m gone.

I have to remember, I’m not the only one.

I see you change, grow, learn and progress.

I watch your cheeky smile, eyes glisten, wink and kiss.

Sometimes just not being in the same room and it’s you I miss.

I’m here and it feels like dying, but I’m not the only one.

I see your fear about the mortgage with your manicured suit and smile on.

I’m not alone, the thought doesn’t please me.

Soldiers of slavery unite against me.

I’d rage against the machine but the alternative’s prison.

There’s something missin.

A closed door to faith in the graveyard of truth.

The death of humanity.

Whatever it is at least I have my own sanity.

Look at me!

Sit up and see!

I’m unimportant, I go to work diligently.

reluctantly.

Take part!

Don’t leave me alone in a place I can’t depart.

Wait! let me start…

My home is that place we call the heart.

Your life I watch at my window frame. In the little snips as it stops, freeze frame by frame.

I want to play a new game.

Where we don’t record moments, we live them daily.

Where I see you grow from baby to lady.

Where I’m at the beach and we go to the zoo.

Where you’re scared of the dark and I’m there scared too!

I want to be the dad you look up to.

The dad that’s also a friend.

I guess I’m selfish.

I don’t want your childhood to end.

I’d play pretend forever in a world of fictional bliss.

It wouldn’t be half as good as a world where we both actually exist.

You’re so lucky in what you have.

You do have the best mum and dad.

So sometimes when those tears of joy make you mad, don’t be sad.

I love you,

                      Dad.

 

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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poems

My soppy woman.

My soppy woman.

12/05/2018

There’s this woman I love.

Three times three.

Well, two girls and her you see.

Through petals of life’s absurdity.

They’re not rose tinted.

We’ve had our share of brambles and weeds.

It’s just clear now they’re not all they seem.

They’re important, often difficult, sometimes gut wrenchingly hard.

Yet the good outweighs the bad by far.

For every one who is not here in this moment now with us in it.

There’s you three girls every, single, passing, minute.

Through petals of life’s absurdity.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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poems

Vials of feelings.

Vials of feelings.

09/05/18

Glad for the vials of feelings I’m taking into the future.

Glad the shelf of love and luck holds more than most can conjecture.

The shelf that lasts beyond the depth of time is mine and no more secure could I find a path.

No bows no ties.

The ripples lie within the river but none within her eyes.

The stream of love drowns out the tears she used to cry.

A million other oceans and a thousand other whys?

She doesn’t hold the answers and her passion is my crime.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Travelling the road to acceptance.

Travelling the road to acceptance.

09/05/18

Oh the best of friends comes closer than any wives title.

Knowing that pressure point the inane vulnerable weakness that doubles as a pleasure point’s beyond me.

How I abscond at control see.

Edipus complex and euphemism free.

You’re more than a wife and friend to me.

A pleasure dome of hope and forgive the intrusion.

A make of it what we will illusion.

How nothing is ours in ever changing motion.

How we experience it amidst a frightening commotion.

The sea saws in all directions like the new comer to a general election and without trepidation we take the next step.

Together we’ll travel this road we accept.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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