Confidence capsized.

Confidence capsized.


Confidence capsized only truth through a lovers eyes supporting viaducts that do not work.

No transport chain, no way to work.

Confidence abundant change the word, pick up the trident.

Shower the world with aqueduct tears.

For you, for the dancing for the cheers.

Same again and same again moody blues to numb the pain.

Meditation, witchcraft, therapy and a forced laugh.

Age old clouds in my head surely I’d be better off – wait a minute, time to sin?

Welcome old friend fate, let it win. Who’s to say it’ll have the last laugh?

You might feel stupid but you’re certainly not daft.

The glint in your eyes from power not cries you know that’s where the confidence lies.

It’s not in the lines nor all in a book it’s deep in the soul you’ll find in my look.

© G.P Williamson 2017



poems, Short poems

Lost the indefinite version.

Lost the indefinite version.


Everyone’s okay and there’s nothing to hold, nothing to replace you.

Nothing in my soul.

Everyone’s ok and I can’t fathom the tree.

I’m looking up aimlessly, are you around to see?

They’re all trading tokens, you’re worth your weight in gold to me.

They’re all flying high and my weight’s a solidarity.

Begone the phantom humbug. I’ll put the jar back and turn that lid.

I’ll keep the feeling buried, for you’ll always be my kid.

© G.P Williamson 2017


poems, Short poems

It truly is not fair.

It truly is not fair.


One reel of lights, four boxes of baubles, a packet of icicles some snowflakes and four reindeers.

Five three meter lengths of tinsel, three packets of lamette and a Robin made of real feathers, which the children love to stroke. Yet you, you look down at me as the only memorable bauble like I’m some kind of irrational joke.

You sit there innocent on your string as the corals rage on and you don’t say a thing.

You just watch, a reminder of every wrong that was ever caused me. Each self defence moment gone too far, each family argument, each war. every fallen brother I can’t help but miss and the true loves of last year, week, lifetime for which I still ache to kiss. Then you turn slightly in the gentle breeze and I capture my image alive on my knees and I freeze.

Out of more etiquette than respect I Aikido bow. I believe only in myself and sometimes, sometimes even I don’t know how.

This year may be the best year yet and still I’d miss that I’d never have.  I wonder where the Angels keep you and who that you call dad.

© G.P Williamson 2017


Be Still, mind your mindfulness.

Be still, mind your mindfulness.


The kind of world where nothing stays still is not kind.

The world turns, love rewinds.

Ego finds new places to hide and the mind boggles at the swaying tide.

Everything’s in motion, emotion, commotion, derailed destruction.

The breath you don’t have for your hearts malfunctioned production.

Rot to ruins, reborn as Autumn leaves some half conjecture connection with Christmas eve.

You know what I mean.

Everything’s giving, taking, sharing, repairing, nothing’s just still.

Apart from free will.

Which we watch silently through the window over a rolling hill.

Be still.

© G.P Williamson 2017


Unique ways.

Unique ways.


I present myself in unique ways, mystical fragrances and persuasive radiance.

Hand gestures and innuendo mostly about smiling and appetite.

Occasionally a poor tasting joke or something that ain’t right.

It’s all a magnificent dark sheet to cover up the boring reality.

The truth.

The actuality.

The tepid morbidity of routine continuity,

and other words that I’d know if I didn’t keep failing to hope.

As a measure to cope I drink the radiance of what’s left in the sun’s heavenly rays.

Perhaps I can play a part in all of her days.

I do present myself in unique ways.


© G.P Williamson 2017

Short poems




You held your leg up in jest like an offshoot of your divine absolute.

I didn’t know then I’d fall for you, without a parachute.

The depth’s of nothingness where both faith and reason would collide.

I’d have nowhere, nowhere left to hide.

You’re everything filled the room,the town, the country and more importantly it filled me.

And I was nothing, nothing left that I could ever be,

Except free.


© G.P Williamson 2017


Letting go.

Letting go.


Forget her she’s never there.

She’s not the girl she was, she cannot care.

No memory, no warmth to her hair.

No Summer days with swaying hips no “We can just be.” No kissing lips.

No buttercups to crimson cheeks, no daisy chains the commitment’s weak.

No links, no corrections, no birds and no connection.

Life it took a new direction.

Left me weak but with affection.

You’re there somewhere under this broken starlit jar. This damaged precipice of waiting to crumble.

The broken cycle of shatter and recycle.

You’re out there because I remember you.

Because I sense you.

Because I need you.


© G.P Williamson 2017