Short poems

Just like her father.

Just like her father.

26th June 2018

Dad I’m colouring the world black!

The lights are taking over!

The unicorns are all gone!

The night is pitch, the darkness won.

The curtains, the sofa, the people, the walls.

The duvet, the mountains the trees and the hall.

Daddy I’m colouring the world black!

Mum: “Just like your father”

© G.P Williamson 2018


P.S It’s not poetry if it’s a true story.





Short poems

Kindness & kings.

Kindness and kings.


So kind the way his strong fingers play with your mind.

tussling your hair, starting to bind.

Hex threads with a kneading stress releasing duress.

The ultimate pain confession that’s heaven no less.

You’re the fork in the road in which he gets to trespass.

Begone dark memories and clouds galore.

Clarity in a moment wiped clean to the floor.

Purge the resistance and taken in totality.

I’ll be your man. You’ll be reality.

You might nurse heartache and blisters.

You’ll never forget the way he kissed ya.

© G.P Williamson 2018


The bad believer

The bad believer.


The darkness whispers gently and is gone into the silence as she sighs beneath me.

The love is rekindled like a candles warmth, relit as her fingers cup here, a mitt.

A glove of warmth.

What had once gone south has headed promptly north.

Gather around those “It’s not possible” preachers.

I bid you well but I can teach you.

Pull yourself upright on a hard rock with your back straight whilst I settle in my comfy life.

This they call sharing but the parable’s not fair.

The darkness whispers gently as intent ears prick the night sky and I wonder.

How shall I deceive them this evening?

© G.P Williamson 2018 <—- Hit for Instagram. 


Time will tell. I promise.

Time will tell. I promise.


From the confines.

That dark place we’d come to die.

The echo of the penny in the middle of the well.

No shaft of light no shaft at night no cleansing bath’s just mean moonlight.

Sans everything the man once said.

He never witnessed a living dead.

Here you’re not inside my head.

A rotating ball endlessly fed.

From the confines we give diligently to escape our insecurity.

Purity destroyed in a world of angry boys.

They get paid more.

The dark place we care to dwell.

Our happy place, our secure hell.

The echo of the penny in the middle of the well.

Time will tell. I’ll torture him until he speaks.

Sans lies.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Sugar Plum Candy.

Sugar Plum Candy.


Gonna get me some sugar plum candy.

A little rose petal stingy nettle come nicely.

Wrapped packs of ribbons.

Stacked gift packs that’s where the jewellery’s at.

Perfume spreads like wide legs tied to bed pegs with a red grin.

No commitment.

All the sin.

© G.P Williamson 2018



Hide and seek.

Hide and seek.


Be that soothing memory, that musical tune, the “Baby it’s a love thing”, the covers, the room.

Be the solemn promise from the sunset to the womb.

Write my name in lipstick as you dream of being wed.

The subtle hue of perfume still draws across my bed.

You didn’t answer my calls.

My messages were left for weeks.

I don’t know what you’re doing.

I don’t like this hide and seek.

© G.P Williamson 2017

poems, Short poems

Just another tuesday night.

Just another Tuesday night.


Her knee’s stuck in the mud as the twigs lashed her face in torment of her beauty.

The sky darkened and groaned as the tree arched and moaned, gnarled hands dragged her flailing awkwards.

Falling downwards to a cloud of woods.

A flock of doves flew and they knew,

Grabbed ankles through the roots of tree shoots as the wind kicks up a new noose and she gasps as her shoes fall loose.

Her eyes roll momentarily as a raven lands and tells her soul that she’s found a new man to call home.

© G.P Williamson 2017