Short poems



A thousand apples on my tree and still I cannot set you free.
Beyond the sunlight breathing bright.
Through greens, reds, an archaic sight.
A taste of future blinding light.
How are you and how are we?
You worry most concerningly.
Play and heal.
Heal and play.
Die tomorrow, not today.
Celebrate the poor gods test.
Our time is now,
There’s not much left!

© G.P Williamson 2019

Parenting, Short poems

Rising to fly.

Rising to fly.

Your chest rises as you breath.
A tiny gust clenches and released.
Eyelids twitch and I,
I start to believe.
My sight traces your eyebrows and the full of your thinned hair and I know love.
I know care.
You cry like stuttering ducks at first flight, like a rainbow seeking light all fidget and fright and I,
I rock tightly.
What I want and need are somewhat the same thing.
Autumn leaves and purity, humour and to succeed.
The water rippling on the lake, the silk against your skin.
The water in your eyes, the drowning in my sin.
What I want and what I need are somewhat the same thing.
What is it you do not bring?
You perfect little thing>

© G.P Williamson 2019


Passive aggressive.

Passive aggressive

They light fantabulous these glorious aspiration hunters.
They light the stage and glow all paths.
A spotlight of future epitaphs.
They hone the night sky.
Bright light in a babys eyes.
They hold tight and record old lies.
Then clutch on like stalagmites.
Growing forth despite me, unwavering diligently.
Until a part of the soul, that’s frightening.
I light fantabulous then glorious apirations I hunt!
Passive aggressive.
A secular front.

© G.P Williamson 2019

Also writing under “Cursed Rider” on

Short poems

That ballroom dress

That ballroom dress.

The swirls turned like boy and girl danced for the world.
A rotated pedestal, A black and red dress you wore.
Pure ballroom, pretty and innocent all good vibes, reminiscent.
The crowd watched pure and adoring, adjoining smiles.
60’s rock and roll and Old Lang Synes lines.
I never prayed for better times.
I’d never love them.
They couldn’t be mine.

© G.P Williamson 2019
(Hit for Instagram)


Short poems

Muted expressions.

Muted expressions.

You never pretended to be something you’re not.
I like that, I like that a lot.
I still think you’re lying.
To yourself, to the world.
Then I would, you’re preprogrammed.
One of them, you’re a girl.
There’s a reason they’re the start of this world.
Both within rumour (all bad I’m afraid)
and then within voice and a touch I should say.
More so always in trouble, the centre of drama.
Life is a B*tch but then so is Karma.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Let yourself be free.

Let yourself be free.
29th July 2018

Let yourself be free.
Just do, just be.
Go with it.
Chill it all out.
Those fears.
Those doubts.
Big Perceptions.
Fatal memories.
It’ll happen again!
Quick! Save me!
You don’t need all that sh*t baby.
You can’t walk on water.
You’ll not always be crushed.
How will you live if you never trust?
The writer knows calligraphy in the arch and the talk.
The model knows the movement in the posture and the walk.
Let yourself be free.
© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Daisy chain my name.

Daisy chain my name.

I don’t want a pocket full of poseys.
I want a heartbeat in a jar.
I don’t want you wearing my skin,
But I want you not too far.
I don’t want your love creamed like a lotion,
But I’ll have you swallow ocean after ocean.
I don’t want to lay claim to fame.
I want your daisy chain to write my name.
I don’t just want those intricate lips to lay me tender.
I want to have you surrender, surrender, surrender.

© G.P Williamson 2018