poems

It feels like dying.

It feels like dying.

19/02/18

I’m here and it feels like dying.

It’s silly how the hours will fly and feel like years when I’m gone.

I have to remember, I’m not the only one.

I see you change, grow, learn and progress.

I watch your cheeky smile, eyes glisten, wink and kiss.

Sometimes just not being in the same room and it’s you I miss.

I’m here and it feels like dying, but I’m not the only one.

I see your fear about the mortgage with your manicured suit and smile on.

I’m not alone, the thought doesn’t please me.

Soldiers of slavery unite against me.

I’d rage against the machine but the alternative’s prison.

There’s something missin.

A closed door to faith in the graveyard of truth.

The death of humanity.

Whatever it is at least I have my own sanity.

Look at me!

Sit up and see!

I’m unimportant, I go to work diligently.

reluctantly.

Take part!

Don’t leave me alone in a place I can’t depart.

Wait! let me start…

My home is that place we call the heart.

Your life I watch at my window frame. In the little snips as it stops, freeze frame by frame.

I want to play a new game.

Where we don’t record moments, we live them daily.

Where I see you grow from baby to lady.

Where I’m at the beach and we go to the zoo.

Where you’re scared of the dark and I’m there scared too!

I want to be the dad you look up to.

The dad that’s also a friend.

I guess I’m selfish.

I don’t want your childhood to end.

I’d play pretend forever in a world of fictional bliss.

It wouldn’t be half as good as a world where we both actually exist.

You’re so lucky in what you have.

You do have the best mum and dad.

So sometimes when those tears of joy make you mad, don’t be sad.

I love you,

                      Dad.

 

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

Advertisements
Standard
poems

Rolling with the changes.

Rolling with the changes.

17/02/18

I’ve learnt to roll with changes although I like things crystal clear.

I understand it’s circumstance but not why you’re not here.

I understand that people think you don’t really matter.

You didn’t exist in breath or beat and so we just get better.

I’ve listened to the arguments both pro life and pro gun.

Yet they had choices of their own and us….well we had none.

I’ve given up on giving up, when I couldn’t fit you into faith.

Each day I live for here and now the smile grateful on my face.

I’m irritated much more often, angry quite a lot.

Yet I live for I’ve got instead of what we’ve not.

People around me lost plenty.

I hear them cry in the night.

Echo’s of eternity remind me I’m alright.

Then there’s you with everything.

Two jobs, two cars, two kids.

I marvel at the perfectness then shake my head at it.

I like to live my happiness like happiness loves life.

I mirror all the beauties in my daughter and my wife.

I saviour every moment from the mundane to the dear,

Because I’ll not be blind to love that finds itself right here.

I’ve learnt to roll with changes, although I like things crystal clear.

I understand it’s circumstance but not why you’re not here.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

 

Standard
poems

Does she dance with you?

Does she dance with you?

21/04/18

I wonder if you’re in the oil of the bubbles which she blows.

Wonder of your strengths, how you’d stand on tiptoes.

I think about you writing.

Would you learn from her at all?

Would craft be your magic or the writing on the wall?

Would your smile be just like hers?

That thought tends to hurt.

If I blow my daughter bubbles in a rainbow around the world.

She dances in the bubbles where there stands just the two.

So justified and happy, innocent with no clue.

“Daddy blow the bubbles!”

I wonder,

Does she dance with you?

© G.P Williamson 2018

Standard
poems, Short poems

Full and complete

Full and complete.

23/03/18

Full and complete beneath the sheets as emotion hits wonderlust like snow meets sleet.

Bare feet and crisp white sheets hand in hand.

Coffee with no plans.

Warm stone towards a never never kind of home where a parrot squawks and curtains blow gently.

A manly hand clasps a pillow as a wind up car makes its way along the bedroom floor ruining any plans he had of driving – but he’s still smiling.

Give me your kingdom and you could keep it.

Reap what you sow.

I’ll take mine neat.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Standard
poems

One day baby, one day.

One day baby, one day.

23/03/2018

One day you’ll read me when questioning your own sanity.

Your own reasons for doing things and think that I’m quite mad.

I’m not, you’re perfect. It does happen to other people.

You’re not alone.

You will be okay and I do love you.

Besides, of course you’re crazy.

I’m your dad.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Standard
Short poems

Home – Where the heart is.

Home – Where the heart is.

10/02/18

I’m home – Where the heart is.

Where the start begins and the buried rests.

Where time stops and stress is caressed.

Where the unplanned becomes extraordinary.

Where if you’re back late we extra worry.

Where the colours paint their own story in scarred knees and fallen leaves, autumn days and broken dreams.

Tear filled chalice. Captured presence. No such malice.

Treasure our difference.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

 

Standard
poems

Ice skating, dancing doves.

Ice skating, dancing doves.

10th February 2018

 

Like a sea-saw with give and take, equal weights where the roundabout turns at the hands of fate and we trust adults because, you know, it’s not too late.

We “Heads, shoulders, knees and toes” kiss trees and hug rainbows, watch fairy’s dance and…where did the time go?

Ice skating, dancing doves. Christmas eve, hot chocolate mugs.

Spicy aroma, not alone.

Family noises, a warm log fire home.

Like a sea-saw with give and take,  a bouncy trust continues late. When you can’t stand your hand I’ll clasp. We’ll “ring a ring a rosy” until our last.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Standard