poems

I guess.

I guess.

23/03/18

I guess I’m mad because there’s not enough time for me to watch your grandchildren’s grandchildren grow old.

I know that’s nature.It’s not wrong.

I guess I’m mad, but I’m strong. You don’t have any time at all and here we are twenty-six years on.

A father, a friend, a lover, a son. Figuratively speaking what have you done?

You have no time. The sun’s not shone.

I guess I’m mad time’s not like cake. I can’t make more.

My slices you can’t take.

It’s probably for the best. I can’t bake.

I guess I’m mad, each year it’s still too late for me to save you.

Too late to fight the good fight make the wrong things right to say “Look mum here’s my daughter, hold her tight”

It’s too late, and the world’s still not right.

We still squabble about power and fame.

Monopoly games the E.U and bullshit time frames.

We imprison dog dads and comics for saying “Fags” and good dad’s who lose their kids to matter of fact lies from drunk b*tches with sperm eyes and each time we don’t kill a pedophile or inprison a killer a part of me hides, dies and lays dormant at the bottom of a dark ocean of doom to spark torment.

I guess I’m mad because like these comics I talk sh*t to to get a reaction sometimes. Choose words that aren’t wise and believe free speech should smack you between the eyes and have poetical justice.

The choice to blur the rules, change Haiku’s to two four two’s and do things others dare not do.

With words fool, then there’s you. Raping and killing, abusing the woman. The thrill you still walk the line of your doing no time and they wonder why I’m anti establishment they’re half of the crime.

I’m mad you won’t be read.

Mad you’re in the land of the free.

Give me three minutes.

Come take a walk with me.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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poems

Best ghosts ever

Best ghosts ever.

20/07/17

Interestingly she said don’t forget to be yourself, which is strange considering I was me or at least I presumed I was until she’d commented.

It was then I overthought her presence.

Fantasized about the situation and allowed my mind to run wild with unstoppable conclusions.

Illusions, falsities and make believe delusions.

Realities which could be if I believed and yet I didn’t believe.

I didn’t because I couldn’t remember who I was pretending to be.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Basic Chaos

chaoslinewalking

13/05/2017

I’m at my worst when I’m crying, breaking and the earth’s shaking.

I’m at my worst when you hurt girls, with no reason why.

They run and hide and I tear inside as the earth opens wide.

I’m at my worst with no goals, seeing shallow souls as no hope grows, and you’re building totem poles?

You’re creating a hierachy?

A regimented scheme of decievers and daydreamers who bully high school kids and none believers?

Kicking and punching as he gasps for air trying to move, no time lapse there.

Be free, let me be, what did I do to you? Why me?

I can’t subsidize the pain inside but climb higher, no higher, you’ll see why.

Let’s take a ride.

You’re gonna look in the mirror and foretell your own suicide.

I’m through saying prayers,

I’m done making pacts,

Here’s my sword laid bare let’s see how the devil reacts.

Spontanious unity how chaos reaches clarity.

Then it’s clear to see how this mix can be the answer to my new found calamity.

Join me.

let’s father the fathers, parent the partners and squash all those petty worthless dramas.

Work alone or in sync I don’t care what you drink,

but if you use poison then make sure you think who you send to the brink.

Existence itself!

A none lyrical metaphor.

There’s no meaning true but…

….more war.

Fighting for things that are what you reap,

That aren’t yours to keep.

When you’ve been digging real deep but still fight in your sleep.

I awoke to a fall the drop screamed through the hall as I bounced off the walls was I there at all?

A dream in a dream my reality everlasting, fictional people all me, who are we casting?

My army eloped because they couldn’t cope, with the P.T.S.D and the lack of clear hope.

They all think it’s a joke.

I’m sorry, you didn’t come for a basic spread.

To read between the lines of the membrane in my head.

You’re not a sheep not easily led.

So let me raise a golden goblet on a chair of fine oak to celebrate your welcome.

Let’s praise your humanity in humouring me and rejoice in splendor and glory.

I’d try harder but in all honesty, you bore me.

Spontanious applause is the end of the story.

G.P Williamson 2017.

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poems

Mirror and time

mirror

07/05/2017

It’s only with time they’ll see them.
Looking at a mirror only shows your adoration.
Through time your flaws become evident.
Your passion becomes real.
Through time.
Hatching a plan, decieving man, metamorphosing into….

A unique wonder of distinct worlds.
Meditative travels through sand and wood.
Etched in crop circles beneath foot.
Standing sideways watching the sun.
Allowing peace to unite everyone.
The rays etch through my sisters head scarf tight bun.
I was five and her hair was brown and she’s gone.

Entering a church of silver birch.
Earth strewn with maple leaves on all hallows eve with a burning bush and people believe.
Don’t be decieved.
The mirror of man is what your viewing.
You’re the answer to your own undoing.
Micromanage your own kind of philosophy.
Allow knowledge of your inner democracy and say a prayer for me,
This mirror is my form of insanity.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Ice Asylum

icewall

Growing wall of glacial solidarity.

Nine inches thick and frosty.

Mirror of fear and irregularity.

Then it starts moving back to me.

Slow grinding along the floor.

Icy blades chip off in a minature war.

The ground howls menacing cogs in echos of clothes she once wore.

My reflection stares back at me innacurately.

There’s fear in a moment of inneficient capacity.

There’s no room to move or air to speak.

I grimace as that wall touches my feet.

Knowing what’s to come you’d imagine I’d think of hope or mum.

Not so, I was angry, tense, when had this thing begun?

I’d seen it years before in dreams of ripped seams and falling.

Later in echos of fears and warning.

In daylight times behind a voice that wasn’t mine.

Naturally I convinced myself it was all in my mind.

Ironic really that my ice has nothing to do with the cold, growing old, years of walking the long road with the same soles.

If anything it’s my own fault, a series of own goals.

There’s no excuses in the past, books I won’t start.

Lost friends or pains of the heart.

There’s no addiction in anything bar control.

If I’m on top there’s an illusion the world’s whole.

I need another spark.

Ignite a light.

Find a different path and give up the fight.

Allow myself time to relax without a voice.

Things I want for me, my choice.

No echos which go against reason.

No demonic references or wars against treason.

I’d let go, let it slip but my back’s against the wall and I’m going with it.

Icy pain burns into my eye socket as blood leaks, tickles down my face and cheek.

Compressed air, gasping, can’t move, barely there.

Freezing muscles, gushing blood now, a warm knee.

Crimson ankles, rising damp, warm pools.

Can I light the lamp?

The wall has stopped, Something’s faltered.

An inch off the top, it’s melting, altered.

Blood is warm or so it seems,

Can anyone hear my silent screams?

The minutes pass, I lay there smashing icy blocks that were everlasting.

The moral of the story: Give all you’ve got, you’re not moving forward.

You’re staying put.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2017.

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