poems

Like me.

Like me.

05/10/17

Like me winter drifts through naturally.

Each year leaving its mark amongst its echo of memories.

Like me the sting sits warm as memories turn cold.

Reminders of curled toes, cocoa noses and ghostly pictures of spring roses.

Places adept at being close to our heart.

Another year over, another year starts.

Like me the snow cloaks, warms and protects at least once a year.

Until I set sail, curtail the emotional derailment in lieu of Christmas and all its merriment.

I guess I was never one for personal development.

Where’s the man who paints with his heart a family he can’t touch?

Where’s my own home? Photographic disasters, mistakes and a thankyou very much.

Like me winter drifts through crisp and clear.

Like me, just once a year.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

 

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poems

The wolf in the kitchen

The wolf in the kitchen.

05/06/2017

The wolf in the kitchen.
Red eye’s tresspass beyond the cupboard doors.
Watching without fear.
Looking without need.
Feeding upon desire.
Mentally attuned to it’s unwitting prey.

Laughing at your conversation.
The way you dance by youself.
Each time you’ve felt less than.
That’s the wolf who stole your glory.
How you leave butter on the side or can never crack an egg cleanly.

The wolf in the kitchen.
Forestation through cucumber roses.
Herbs and spices where time lapses.
Cherry tomatoes where the red is so succulent it leaves marks on your lips.

Red eyes tresspass beyond the cupboard doors.

©G.P Williamson 2017

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