Short poems

Bad dad

Bad dad.

Bad dads….lost days all the time I had.
I watch you playing alone when I’m here watching, can’t assist.
It’s sad, there’s only you I miss.
I watch your eyes glaze slowly and hold hope to calm strokes from your eyes where the hair pokes.
I gently mop your brow from the unholy tears, how have you coped all these years?
You grew up in seconds before me.
If this is a test from god I object, objectively.
Stand proud at the helm of reason and sentence him myself to treason.
I love her and she’s my reason, for living.
Whilst you’re stood grieving, know.
Know it’s in you all my dreams are living.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Girlfriend to lover.

Girlfriend to lover.


Question everything and nothing will ever be difficult he said.

I didn’t ask why.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t try.

Don’t take what’s not yours, I was told.

I couldn’t give her heart back.

She said it was broken.

How should I react?

I’d taken her heart.

These were her facts.

Theft was my thing apparently.

I did four years for one, seven for another.

Changed them completely from girlfriend to lover, wife and then mother. Broken to pieces then traded them in for another.

Question everything and nothing will ever be difficult he said.

Then riddle me this “Why aren’t you dead?” I asked him instead.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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

Parenting, poems

Popped Kaboom’s

Popped Kaboom’s


I breathed in as you exhaled.

It was like a thought bubble had bloomed which filled the room when all my feelings popped kaboom’s.

Tiny crackles, major pops.

Icicles on stickledrops.

Like sticklebacks but always falling.

Raindrops shouting, snowmen calling.

Waiting in parks because the ice cream man’s here.

Dancing in puddles and knowing no fear.

Best friends holding hands as calender sheets fall.

January, February, March as he leaves to join the war.

My thought bubble pops and I’m aware once more.

She’s twenty, at the kitchen table, holding his photograph and trying not to cry.

All I can do is watch.


© 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