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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poems

Insane Bolt.

Insane Bolt.

27/05/18

She crashes and flashes without care this humongous white giant of electric air.

A powerhouse current of oblivianic proportions,

The mother of lost souls.

The keeper of abortions.

Raised souls long gone, hair raising talons of daughter and son.

Fountain claws and mismatched paws.

She screams and comes with wild white jaws.

Off with roofs and down with trees.

Human dust with backhand ease.

Awakened skies, awakened nights.

Blackened souls with jet white eyes.

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

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Short poems

The shoulder of the girl next door.

The shoulder of the girl next door.

27/05/18

What we like to plant doesn’t fruit for the seed is never watered.

I’ll say no more just wilt and wonder until they’re older.

Then who knows the nature of another’s shoulder?

Until I’m older.

© 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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poems, Tom Orrow

Half drunk – Tom Orrow.

Half drunk – Tom Orrow.

21/05/18

I inhaled her presence as she passed me by.

Relaxation pure, intoxication knowledge of why.

Passively she catches my eye.

Rewind to another time when I’d not have to pen this beauty.

Begone the old days. I’m feeling fruity.

May conjecture pass by and her aura do me good.

May she give up and relinquish her goods.

All fickle fevers and upskirt laughs.

All’s well and good no need for silk hoods.

The ropes and the ties can stay in the trunk.

Her very existence has me half drunk.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

A flat white please.

A flat white please.

21/05/18

I signed my life to a girl behind a line of shadows.

I didn’t know her name yet her form caressed my hand and mind.

Riddled with electric air a fire was rewired.

I allowed myself the breathing space the old excuse of age.

I immortalised her anyway.

Inside a flat white page.

© G.P Williamson 2018   <– Hit for Instagram.

 

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poems

At high noon.

At high noon.

20/05/18

At high noon he was shot beneath the sun in full view of all.

That pleasure pain thing they speak of?

Yeah, there’s no truth in that. I freefalled.

Face down rapid, arms sprawled.

Unarmed injured and alarmed.

A badly laid carpet, unkicked and underlayed.

Her love I’d lost but I fabricated the strain.

We all over elaborate the inadequacy of pain until it’s too late.

When there’s no care in the rain and the memory replays over and over again.

In her eyes at high noon he was shot down.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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