Not the same you see.

Not the same you see.
12th July 2018

When you’ve lost so much you’re waiting to lose again.
Another time frame.
Another place.
Another girl.
Another face.
It doesn’t matter, it leaves a trace.
A fire love.
A chain of command.
An authority figure that stands and demands.
“You’ll not get close to me!”
“You I’ll not let in!”
A sergeants voice and a wide eyed grin.
A little girl hides inside with tears in her mind.
“I’ll get hurt again!”
“I’m sorry!, please tell me a different story.”
You’re there in between willing yourself to just be.
These people might not be the same as Lee.
When you’re alive but not free.
Suicide, suicide, suicide, see?

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

that heavy sigh laugh.

That heavy sigh laugh.


It’s been a while since I sighed that heavy after laughing so hard your stomach aches.
Laugh we used to have sigh, aye.
It’s been a while because I filed it inside a cry.
It gets too close to laugh, I don’t know why.
I pretend as I look at the sky trying to glimpse a memory.
It’s been a while.
I relive the end daily.
Remind me of that laughter, This teams banter gives me a time I’ve draft.
Maybe I’ll resign up at last and yet it couldn’t replace our old chats.
There’s a fear in that.
I’m not awkward I’m malnourished.
The unpublished memory of the you I cherished.
I know what I have and what I’m scared to have.
It’s been a while since I sighed that heavy sigh laugh.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Suicide reality.

Suicide reality.


It’s been six years this year.
You never said goodbye.
No adios, no see you later.
Just vanished after everything like you so often had before, days turned to weeks then a message at my door.
You were no more.
You were no more.
I still find it weird.
Still expect you to just turn up demanding pizza and helping yourself.
I went to your funeral, it didn’t help.
You weren’t the type to kil yourself.
It’s been six years this year.
You never said goodbye.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Brown coat.

Brown coat.

23rd June 2018

They don’t stay, empty vessels sail away.

Picture frames of empty homes where echos grow and ghosts won’t even show.

Memories that I myself don’t know.

They don’t stay but they watch on judging through this empty window.

The grass continues to grow in a world I can’t touch in a place I don’t know.

They don’t stay, because they can’t go.

Fascinated by brown coat, thick and warm like December’s charm on some reluctant American dream street behind a movie set with visions of a woman I’ve never met.

Pulled tight warm all cosy then alarmed at her warm smile and vacant charm.

A piece of me no longer matters, her smile fides and bursts into full crow shatters.

Splinters of her engulf me like wolves toss bones for flesh wound woes.

I explode as realisation cures all my goals.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Parenting, Short poems

The moth died.

The moth died (and the innocence of youth)

9th June 2018

The moth died.

You killed it dad.

He was my friend.

You made me sad.

Never purer words had I just heard.

She had much to learn about this world.

The moth died, it was my friend.

It’s never coming back again?

It’s gone, it was the end?

I couldn’t even fake pretend.

Yes it’s gone baby, I gave it a headache.

Why dad? Just why? She said disgusted.

Four years old and she just learnt what trust is.

© G.P Williamson 2018


They still mourn.

They still mourn.


A thousand monks couldn’t heal her.

Kneeling in prayer, filling the air a cloud of fire and love for the world to share.

Scooped up, segregated and sliced part by part.

fed to her mind, body and heart.

Kept her in limbo, no wish to let her go.

Diana for queen.

Where did that time go?

The world mourned.

Parliament scorned as the public sadly grieved, unarmed.

We knew loss like we felt the reasons of price and cost.

It was too much.

Worked on and through adventure restrained.

Still nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Feeble reality, a world that will never be the same.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

No Rewind.

No rewind.


A light goes out behind their eyes.

That’s what it’s like to watch them die.

It leaves a mark right here inside that shimmers and lights then fails to hide,

And it leaves other things inside.

Be good, be strong, love, be kind.

We don’t live forever, there is no rewind.

© G.P Williamson 2018