Short poems

I’m still here.

I’m still there.

I love how I can simply reach through the screen and run my finger down your chest to let you know I’m still here.
In your mind.
Beside your side.
When you need to hide or the kind when you have to look behind.
That’s what was.
Not what’s here, reach out, don’t stop.
You’ll see me softly behind if you look long enough through a mirror.
The hazy apparition still holding your hand.
That chance encounter you’d not planned.
A memory of potential you’d dare not which believe.
Crazy in our faith.
Then we don’t have Christmas eve?
Call it ESP, telepathy, call it astral travel.
It’s all the same to me.
How I can simply be.
How I can simply be.
© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Lack of a smile.

Lack of a smile.
The only difference is the lack of a smile.
All worthwhile, dark clouds change things.
We push light out.
More doubts.
On a plus note you’ve let more out.
Grow and learn.
Equalized progression.
Less highs maybe but better navigation.
Move up without trepidation.
Quick march!
Equal and opposite reaction.
Dramatised dogma.
Why did you never speak of your father?
© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Bad dad

Bad dad.

Bad dads….lost days all the time I had.
I watch you playing alone when I’m here watching, can’t assist.
It’s sad, there’s only you I miss.
I watch your eyes glaze slowly and hold hope to calm strokes from your eyes where the hair pokes.
I gently mop your brow from the unholy tears, how have you coped all these years?
You grew up in seconds before me.
If this is a test from god I object, objectively.
Stand proud at the helm of reason and sentence him myself to treason.
I love her and she’s my reason, for living.
Whilst you’re stood grieving, know.
Know it’s in you all my dreams are living.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Can’t not.

Can’t not.

I tried to hide.
Keep it inside.
I know what you’re thinking.
You’re half right.
There’s no bad equations.
No misogynistic liaisons.
No hidden meets or fingers touching souls incomplete.
No sparks flying, left dying be all that ends all love you’re buying.
No love lost, trust cost remainder of us lost, there is a crimson oath bust.
A seam of a heart crushed. Still beats.
Blood from the crease is released.
Pumps half hazardly.
Like I beat but inadequately.
Half the man I should be and glad.
Father and dad.
Something for which I fight.
I can’t not write.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems


28th July 2018.

What do I want to know?
Every rainbow every half dream.
Every ripped unfulfilled damaged seam.
Each curled expression, a pressure, a tension.
A breezy walk, a sweet indiscretion.
What do I know?
Borderline obsession.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

that heavy sigh laugh.

That heavy sigh laugh.


It’s been a while since I sighed that heavy after laughing so hard your stomach aches.
Laugh we used to have sigh, aye.
It’s been a while because I filed it inside a cry.
It gets too close to laugh, I don’t know why.
I pretend as I look at the sky trying to glimpse a memory.
It’s been a while.
I relive the end daily.
Remind me of that laughter, This teams banter gives me a time I’ve draft.
Maybe I’ll resign up at last and yet it couldn’t replace our old chats.
There’s a fear in that.
I’m not awkward I’m malnourished.
The unpublished memory of the you I cherished.
I know what I have and what I’m scared to have.
It’s been a while since I sighed that heavy sigh laugh.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Misogyny & the catch 22.

Misogyny & the catch 22.

Blue eyed catch as eyes clash in a mismatched match of what could be and has.

Who knows what devastation could hatch.

Preplanned hardwired, mesmerised trip wires.

All slap dash misogyny catch 22 irony with a you who’d graciously best me.

You don’t dance the longest road.

You walk the vogue holy stroll ass home.

© G.P Williamson 2018