poems, Short poems




The best of both worlds is in your hands.

Don’t make dreams and don’t make plans.

You may love and live and learn.

Another’s problems aren’t your concern.

Free your mind of guilt and pain.

The answers are questions with no time frame.

Enjoy each minute as the best of both worlds.

Because it’s not where you were it’s what do you deserve?

© G.P Williamson 2017



The last line of reality.

Another one from a fallen notepad I discovered at the back of several books in my wardrobe. It had only five poems in it and the rest were blank.

The last line of reality.


I want to be beneath the last line of reality.

I want to see the beauty in all form of deformity.

I want to hear the whisper of mother nature’s wish.

Is it so unusual to want to live in bliss?

A bliss that’s mine, that I create.

I am your world I seal your fate.

I demonstrate with bleeding crows how I’m alive that fireball glows.

When it’s quiet I have bled and every single one is dead.

All the animals and the people merely ash and now my equal.

I’ve become what I wanted to see.

“The last line of reality”

© G.P Williamson 2017


poems, Short poems




Of all the powers you hold over man you’d think by now you’d stop make believing that I could save you.

The priest would tell you only faith could do that and you’d love him for it.

However I, I may be the worst but not by choice.

I may be the culprit but it’s by your voice.

When you have no control, what to do?

Make believe I could save you.

© G.P Williamson 2017

poems, Short poems

Land of the free – on insanity.

Land of the free – on insanity.


Well you I didn’t expect to see until much later.

From another passing star.

We’d cross paths by a misaligned crater where we’d share laughs and find the same page.

Those humans, aren’t they strange?

A quizzical expression and elaborative gesture later and I’d be tamed, yours maimed and you’d be lost in memory and off to find a new game.

The depths of hell and on inside I’d ride the doomsday book where spectral hands play illusionary plans to the tune of a dead man’s band.

I look at you and I can’t stand.

© G.P Williamson 2017


Oh please, less believe.

Oh please, less believe.


The strange thing is your confidence.

Your belief that you’d survive the understanding.

The knowledge that you yearn to have.

Your desire, that’s your weakness.

Your need for control, to understand, acknowledge, it’s an insecurity.

A fear of harm. Nothing more.

I guess that’s the ultimate draw.

The reason we don’t understand what we’re fighting for.

You see we both, we’ve both been there before and we’re scared of our own strength.

Drowning in those eyes and what then? Like the air I breath I don’t understand the unseen and unfound which I read constant as the world turns and I reach out.

Changing in swirls to voices that scream only the whiskey answers this half daydream.

Your face in my tablecloth – torn at the seams.

Am I awake? Or somewhere in between.

© G.P Williamson 2017


When the darkness gets too much.

When the darkness gets too much.


When the darkness gets too much and the sky loses it’s blue.
Know the preacher’s are around you and that they have seen it too.

There’s no eye for an eye.
No Karma to solve the fight.
No conflict without reflection.
This is anothers slight.

No deed does go unpunished.
As the ego rides on high.
That’s the blessing of subconscious.
Our eye for an eye.

Crossed paths will happen often.
The champion takes one step back.
Manouvering with such gracefulness
means there’s no need to react.

The warrior of light pays tribute.
The world’s not always fair.
The enemy harms himself.
Each moment without a care.

The artist see’s the scene.
He takes the crows as done.
He surveys the bigger picture,
and with no action, he has won.

The enemy carries heartbeats.
All of which are stone.
With nobody to attack,
His hell becomes his home.

The crowd praises the wise man.
Who doesn’t seem to hear.
The angel’s make a note.
“He’s passed this test, that’s clear”

Copyright G.P Williamson 2015