poems, Short poems





She’s watching Mr Tumble.

She’s drawing on the wall.

She’s tapping on the door and dancing in the hall.

She’s sleeping like a baby.

She’s excited at the rain.

She’s every ounce of hope I’d lost.

She’s every reward I’ll ever gain.

© G.P Williamson 2017

Short poems

The cold of death.

The cold of death.


There’s not always growls and howls where the stalkers prowl.

rustled bushes, bulrushes, ivy dances in midnight crushes.

Smell of tomatoes where the water meets cold toes, shoes thrown.

Where home-grown ropes are sewn.

Where moral justification is two-tone.

Below the scaffolding of a crimson dome.

It was cold there, underwater.

She’s another innocent man’s daughter.


© G.P Williamson 2017


The sun shone on the weatherman

The sun shone on the weatherman.


The sun shone nice today on the weatherman.

Like the whole eclipse perfected the spin, together, as it should be.

Rainbow’s dotted daisys to raindrops where sky fallers dance.

Their was laughter.

Songs of the birds chirrups where hiccups laugh so much it hurts.

Where memories of the wedding make the church burst.

A thousand white balloons and not one hearse.

Not one sad dace to slow down an insane race.

She grimaced at a sour Gargamel Smurf sweet.

We chased with water sprays the growing pains of the nation’s never ending selfish media tirade.

We grew as people and I forgave myself.

The sun shone nice today on the weatherman and I let the battery on my phone run out.

We are here not there.

A shoelace tid itself and a four year old smiled.

So did her parents.

All for a smile.


© G.P Williamson 2017



The Language of Children


The smiles are the same everywhere.

When you watch me and my daughter.

Tilted heads with tight lips as though you’re hiding laughter.


A close bond,

compassionate connections.

something we’re all looking after.


I see you as you watch us.

I feel your warm eyes within.

The chemistry pronounces something…….

……something which makes us kin.


Language is no barrier.

It matters not Italian or Pole.

There’s magic in a high five which makes all people whole.


There’s innocence in knowing

“I’m nearly 4 today!”

Everyone remembers,

wishing older every day.


Returning home from work.

A limp dandelion on the side.

“I got you a flower Daddy!”

She sparkles – eyes open wide!


I smile with cosmic flawlessness.

My ocean of pride is full.

It’s then they fail to pay me and I watch her eyes turn dull.


The shades of green turn softer.

Delicate meadows, now replaced with a simple kind of hopelessness.

A tear down her face.


She now doesn’t understand why the Theatre is off bounds.

Why she cannot dance with Elsa to the tune of Disneyland.


The language of children.

“I want to laugh and play”

Tainted by our adult world

which turns its face away.


I’m dissappointed in the aftermath.

But never in my girl.

She’s a special kind of perfect in a bitter, sour world.


Copyright G.P Williamson 2017



A year gone by – December 2014

A year gone by – A competition entry.


A year gone by

I watched myself, watch her watch me watch whilst she screamed.
A lip biting, silent sound of release and exhalation.
In that one moment at that final push was the quiet sound of revelation.
A radiant light lit the room.
Poppies grew an inch and glowed.
Sunflowers turned in respect and admiration.
soldiers knelt in prayer.
I turned older and younger all at once alone with my pride.
Inside, outside and beside myself as my daughter hit the bed between the legs I’d loved many times before and I was born a fresh and a whole in one moment.
As complete and innocent in body and mind as the day I was born.
Daisy’s sighed to the mild wind in release of a breath and I was completed tenfold.
My title “dad” not even four letters but filled with an emotionally dictionary of words all lost in the moment of feelings, reaching a never ending crescendo of love.
Love pure, crisp and clean.
New dew mornings camping in the woods.
Crispy clean sheets.
An unexpected win for life, over joyed, overwhelmed, over love and beside myself.
We relayed the carpets.
Reorganised our finances.
Rewrote my story.
Redecorated the home.
Rearranged our jobs.
Rejoiced in love.
Refuelled ourselves.
Rekindled our passions,
And after one candle lit dinner’s night as the baby slept,
I watched myself, watch her watch me whilst she screamed.
A lip biting silent sound of release and exhalation.

Copyright G.P Williamson.


Your Gift

Your gift.


She’ll have it you know.
Your gift.

She’ll have to bear the burden but I’ll teach her all I know.
How to catch the hearts and how to let them go.

She’ll have it you know.
Your gift.

She’ll walk the nettles barefoot a slim star in a show.
She’ll settle by a stream her face a kindled glow.

She’ll have it you know.
Your gift.

She’ll travel by starlight, all night with insight!
She’ll gain heights at twilight and scream “Dad, Hold me tight!”

She’ll have it you know.
Your gift.

She’ll know what we don’t know. She’ll see it, feel it, have no choice but to believe it and she’ll analyze it you know.
Your gift.

Peeling back metaphysical layers she’ll share love, care love, direct love and raise love whilst you watch…… from up above.

She’ll have it you know.
Your gift.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014


Everything I have

Everything I have

You’re in the warm towel when I’ve bathed.
The sharp wit of my shave.
You’re famous notoriety.
Un-captured by my poetry

You’re the pride within a father,
Cradling his daughter.
Her smile when she reacts to the sprinkling of the water.

You’re the friends I feel good with.
The magic gift I give.
On our ever present path
You’re everything I have.

You’re the denim in my jeans.
The colour in my dreams.
You’re every caring thought.
You’re the mother to our daughter.

You’re the hope on Christmas Eve.
In everything I believe.
You’re the spirit of my past.
You’re soul and mine are similar cast.

You’re the fresh cut smell of grass.
The tinkle from the rain.
Each tear within my eye,
When you wipe away my pain.

You’re the carving in the wood.
The ingrained lows and highs.
You’re the smoothness of the pillow,
When I close my eyes.

You’re here beside me now.
When you feel alone again.
You’re smile is of pretend.
But on us we do depend.

You’re every child’s captured wish.
The shining on the sea.
My life was incomplete.
Until you were here with me.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2013