Short poems

Direction of the wind.

Direction of the wind.

10/05/18

I’ll know more by the direction of the wind,

which emotion by which hymn he sings.

I’ll know love or pain it’s all the same by what he brings.

These god forsaken broken wings.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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Short poems

Second guessing the special obsession.

Second guessing the special obsession.

5/5/18

Imaginary gates with blocks and breaks.

Stop barriers we fake and create.

Why do we partake in these sweet dreams that scare our progression to skeletal screams?

It’s like our obsession stops short of confession.

Our god as our faith just keeps us guessing.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Leap of faith.

Leap of faith.

They call it a leap of faith when the shelf disappears and the yelling stops.

When you can’t help but face what was making you drop.

Broken knees, buckled gut wrench like angle grinders to fingers on a workbench.

Cut down and stood up to fall through dark mud. What’s the colour of your blood?

They say you have to face it to make it. That vulnerable sickness you feel when you want to run.

That’s step one.

Stopping and perceiving the believing of the problem.

Those issues, phobias and fears.

Newsflash: We’ve all got those.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Make believe in teddy bears.

Make believe in teddy bears.

21/04/18

I try to make believe you know as mad as that doth sound.

She says her teddys talk to her and I hope that you’re around.

They teach her things she tells me and so often they are right.

She wakes with deeper knowledge almost every night.

I try to make believe and there’s no way I could ever tell her.

I’m just a naive hypocrite. An innocent kind of fella.

With walls of stone in Jericho a placebo for a whim.

I only believe in facts, I’m dying here again.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems, Short poems

Tested

Tested

09/04/2018

I watched her purity read my spirit.

I watched her thirst drink my mind.

I refueled my forgiveness when she placed her hand in mine.

She read my every thought with a finger down the line.

A sentence to the solitude “I’m not yours but you are mine”

I watched her purity read my spirit.

I succumbed unto her breast.

Was this a new reality?

Another of his tests?

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Seven story building

Seven story building.

23/03/2018

A top a seven story building stands a seven story man. With seven story windows and a bible in his hand.

A seven story crisp packet blows way down below the street.

Where a seven story drop awaits beneath his feet.

A seven story inpact awaits with a patient curse.

Amidst a seven story ambulance the police and a nurse.

A top a seven story building stands a seven story man.

From a seven story building a bible hits the ground.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

The Creator

The Creator

16/12/17

He watched the creator silently by a stream he’d made to see if it was enough.

He’d given them his life, he’d given them his love.

Would the people be in order?

The colours catered for?

Would they pass the judgements?

Would they go to war?

Would a famine kill them?

The glutinous, the poor.

The cosmos and the ether,

The chemicals, the plains.

The mountainous, the beaches and the in between terrains.

Each blade of grass each breathable note.

Filled with emotion protected with his cloak.

No gender specific no better or worse.

Yet he had to fin had he passed this course?

On his knees his lord set sail and told him bluntly “you were destined to fail”

“But why father? Look at all I’ve done. The humans have only just begun”

“Because I can’t let you go  – you’re my only son”

So we’re destined to fail each and every one.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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