poems

Disgraceful.

Disgraceful.

07/6/2018

The disgraceful face of an angel rains manicures to pedestal faces.

Gives more than he takes and races eagles in second place.

She watches you win and smiles a rue truth.

Divine inspiration.

A pulled tooth.

Capitulate arbitrarily, leave me alone unnecessarily.

Rise with ambiguity and take your packed cases.

The disgraceful face of an angel rains manicures to pedestal faces.

You lay like sarcophagus that struts its stuff when stuck in a rut.

Stop screaming and accept my love.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

That story you wrote.

That story you wrote.

23/05/18

Those forgive me cries.

Those apologies you give off like fire crackers in dreams, all ripped seams and screams, I feel them.

You don’t know it seems.

How would you?

We’ve never met.

That story you wrote – I read it. It was great!

That course you said you would do – do it, it will suit you.

That song you want to sing, lets be honest you’re tone deaf but love yourself.

That’s what’s left.

© G.P Williamson 2018 <— Hit for my Instagram.

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Short poems

Synchronicity, Karma’s little b*tch.

Synchronicity, Karma’s little b*tch.

20/05/18

There was a synchronicity in the first place 28th March, two meanings on the one date.

I’d chalked it all up to fate.

Then country fiction, a dream I’d never seen coming. Had I got to awaken I’d of took off running.

All deers, foxes, rabbits and shrews.

All gorgeous greens and clear blues.

All for two days and a thankyou too.

One day I’m returning to buy you.

Then there’s you, where the bluebird sings.

I don’t know your song but your vibration lingers.

Quality is often found in the tips of your fingers.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

At high noon.

At high noon.

20/05/18

At high noon he was shot beneath the sun in full view of all.

That pleasure pain thing they speak of?

Yeah, there’s no truth in that. I freefalled.

Face down rapid, arms sprawled.

Unarmed injured and alarmed.

A badly laid carpet, unkicked and underlayed.

Her love I’d lost but I fabricated the strain.

We all over elaborate the inadequacy of pain until it’s too late.

When there’s no care in the rain and the memory replays over and over again.

In her eyes at high noon he was shot down.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Desire – The look.

Desire – the look.

18/05/18

She didn’t think she was sexy until she felt my mind cup her breast with a look.

I held her soul in mine with pure fingertips and sinful desire.

I smiled.

She perspired.

She didn’t think she was sexy,

she knew.

She knew I knew it too.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Loved to death.

Loved to death.

16/05/18

You fulfil me like a diary.

You keep all my secrets safe.

Naive to place them in a human, naive to trust so few!

How dare I scoff at reason when logic has no clue.

You protect me in your chains and chain me with your hopes.

I hold you with my fears and I wonder how you cope.

I love you with my soul.

It’s not possible with your mind?

They often do forget the two are quite entwined.

I’ll bring you second guesses but not without first thoughts.

I’ll drown you with affection and then smother you with my heart.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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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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