poems

Weighed heavily in my throat.

Weighed heavily in my throat.

14/05/18

I’m so far up the ladder of make believe the pixies consider me a large uncle.

A gentle giant they’ve known for years who visits in sleep time and ruins their dreams by tickling their feet.

I’m not discreet.

All was well until the tulips started asking for more pocket money.

I thought I’d paid them enough in tears and sweat until they chanted “more!”

They wanted regret.

The bookcase of faith had tripped and fallen on its flat white face.

Empty pages fell open all over the god forsaken place.

Two pillars lodged in stone weighed heavily in my throat.

They’d live to sing an eternal tune had I not taken the boat.

I’m so far up the ladder of make believe even the dead take time to grieve.

© G.P Williamson 2018                                               <———- Click for Instagram.

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poems

Take off your clothes.

Take off your clothes

25/04/2018

“Take off your clothes” he said from the open doorway.

She reluctantly removed her jacket and dropped it to the floor as she bit her lower lip.

“Not those clothes” he said gently his eyes briefly flashing white.

She removed the coat of protection, unzipping each reinforced piece and laying it out like cards in a circle around her, black solid and strong.

She removed the scarf of binding and her hair came down with all of her friendships like falling raindrops they shattered into nothing.

She hid a tear as he placed a hand on his hip patiently.

She undid the blouse of courage button by button, she pushed out her chest standing straight. Damned if she’d break.

He smiled briefly at the lies she told herself.

“Remove the skirt” he instructed.

She knew that was over halfway there. A hot dog with mustard, passion without care.

She knew what was next, she’d soon be laid bare.

The cold tiles jumped through her feet as she tiptoed around removing her legs from the hooks of deceit.

The pantyhose where all dreams go followed with every regretful story she’d ever told.

Arched back and clasped fingers, tense jaw and smite tingles.

He turned on his heel and slammed the door to it’s hinges.

“Next!” He bellowed into the hall.

What use was she if she wouldn’t give her all?

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

The well of Nevermore.

The well of Nevermore.

21/04/18

She hid beneath the well of Nevermore watching as they made wish after wish.

For kisses, for one true love, for money, a turtle dove.

She watched below them, never touching the measly coins they threw in the hope of something more.

She was seen as brief flickers on the waters surface.

Shadows in the corners of their vision.

Mostly she watched.

Feeding on your dreams in leu of her own.

Destined to be hopeless in the well of nevermore.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Sugar Plum Candy.

Sugar Plum Candy.

29/03/18

Gonna get me some sugar plum candy.

A little rose petal stingy nettle come nicely.

Wrapped packs of ribbons.

Stacked gift packs that’s where the jewellery’s at.

Perfume spreads like wide legs tied to bed pegs with a red grin.

No commitment.

All the sin.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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poems

Beautiful bird.

Written with my four year old. I was asking her what she wanted me to write about for her and she was telling me.

Beautiful bird.

3rd March

She’s a beautiful bird.

How high can she fly?

A him or a her?

Do we know why?

What’s in her name?

Who will she be?

Called Odessia to you or to me.

Where oh where did you find that name?

Pinkalicious Rose said it couldn’t be the same.

Where will she fly?

What will she do?

Back flip flies and reach the sky too.

Reach very high with colorful rainbows as she laughs but never cries.

She does lip flips, nose flips and eye flips too.

She flips all the body parts but hasn’t got a clue.

She’s pure imagination that could only come from you.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Pocket Roses.

Pocket Roses.

22/02/18

She hands down pocket poses like love struck roses.

The fairy dashes.

Crimson ashes from fireside flashes where the cauldron whirls.

She reacts in favour at the suns birth.

Fairy dust, a pinch of trust all falling to the green earth.

Kisses softly in meeting, bounces, settles and takes root.

Off shoots of a new family tree.

A meeting in a million unity’s.

New blood for a climax in a land over an ocean away where they dream of pocket poses like love struck roses.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

“You are my world”

You’re my world.

19/02/18

She seethes a groped etiquette of disrespect until the punishment has been dealt and met.

She weaves transpondent memories with tearful eyes which begs and please.

She smiles a happy pleasured tone.

She’s on her knees.

That is her home.

Intertwined her hair in fist.

The bare white teeth the blood red kiss.

Crimson lips of fake despair.

The healing tongue, how she repairs.

It’s her choice to be ridiculed, vulnerable.

Pretend it hurts.

Her coy expression, twirling curls.

Pet names for a naughty girl.

Her actions scream “You are my world”

© G.P Williamson 2018

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