That bloody clock

That bloody clock


Bleeding with tomorrow’s promises.

The pages slowly creep closed.

Creaking like the soft spaces between a broken grandfather clock’s chimes.

I cease to hear them as they die down.

Unless they want something of course.

Then the blood stains are back to clear the ink and the clock is more than punctual.

Yet between is a broken record.

Failure to change the tune.

Turn over a new leaf.

Leave them to burn.

Perhaps I am the culprit.

Perhaps it’s me bleeding with tomorrow’s promises.

Perhaps there’s less ticking left in my clock.

Perhaps there’s no words left in my…..



© G.P Williamson 2017


Remember him

Remember him


Remember the boy who couldn’t show sorrow.

Random acts of kindness his short life brought a nation.

Together sacrificed this love that’s God’s creation.

Remember the authorities did all they could to stop the flow of this angel’s blood.

Ormand street as it shall now be known, for the Great shall always forever have fallen.

Powerful elixirs all over the world.

He gave to our lives and education, highlighted poor morals and united the nations.

Squabbles held dear should forever become lose.

Shouldn’t this life at least highlight the true value of cost?

I’ll not speak his name for it’s more hallowed than faith.

In my country I’m humbled but tonight I’m disgraced.

These parents are legends and I’m filled with regret that their awful struggle is not over yet.

I’m broken all over and all open and wide, through the voice of our people who hold him dear inside.

We cry as a people.

We cry as a nation.

We cry as humanity.

He’s our salvation.

Highlight’s who we really are and the cruelty of our law.

No man is mothered by the court.

We are government from the womb.

Parental ties, one union, efficient etiquette.

No law can beat the love of man.

The war isn’t over yet.


© G.P Williamson 2017



There’s a case beneath my bed.

There’s a case beneath my bed.


There’s a case of bad memories beneath my bed.

Inside there are:

The songs that remind me of you.

A photograph of my dog before he died.

That hospital letter.

The cinema receipt.

Our trip to London.

Why I won’t ride the train.

The smell of onions.

The first time you hit me.

The last time you hit me.

When I couldn’t stay.

Breaking my wrist.

Watching you go.

The taste of bleach.

A foot with three toes.

Being scared to eat.

It’s brown and is sealed down with two thick leather straps, a heavy buckle and a heavy duty chain, with a padlock.


© G.P Williamson 2017


Carelessness causes fire.

Carelessness causes fire


Carelessness causes fire.

It also causes other losses.

Pay attention to what you’ve got.

Things get broken, misplaced when they’re not cared for.

Gone, forgotton in a wince of pain and loneliness.

Do I look like I’ll beg for your forgiveness?

Straight answers with long faces.

This place kept safe with no disgraces.

No embraces.

Soulless shapes like empty suitcases.

I’d give myself a new shape to dictate a new fate but it’s too late.

I asked a million time why we’re here every few weeks, what can we change?

It’s heart breaking and just stays the same.

It’s the no flame game waiting for a stage to reset, get rearranged that’s left stagnating.

What’s left is half a heart beating.


© G.P Williamson 2017


Spinning penny

Spinning Penny


Ever heard a penny spin endlessly before coming to a flat stop?

That’s the longest death rattle, the silence before the drop.

Ever heard the silence tell you all of it’s bad dreams?

When she refuses to explain, the silence doesn’t talk, it screams.

Ever heard the rainbow come to a stop?

A plane cease to land?

An uneaten lollipop?

It pours with unheard trophies.

Soundless unclanging landings cushioned like the softest bed which you’ll never get to sleep in.

Ever heard them tell you “your friend has passed away?”

They think it was an accident.

He died yesterday.

The silence is the same.

The quietness profound.

When your partner dies.

The emptiness resounds.


© G.P Williamson 2017



Magenta Sorrow

Magenta Sorrow


Quell the thirst of a magenta sparrow.

Hawking back tomorrows sorrows.

Muddy puddle, wine glass lass.

Chugging back his lack of class.

Sipping deep the muddy bile, oily memories pacified.

Magnetic glass of darkest sheen.

Mirrors her magenta scene.

Awful taste that’s hard to swallow.

Not there today and gone tomorrow.


© G.P Williamson 2017



Burning Ice.

Burning Ice.


Your note was first to go followed by an arm and all that was below.

Moons swapped with suns and nights became days, weeks became years and that glow still stays.

The ice fills the land after a two mile gap.

You won’t find any oxygen the fire saw to that.

Church spires and skyscrapers peek out above the ice, a new land all frozen crisp, a new delight.

No movement, no birds, no people, no mice.

Nothing but silence and ice after ice.

Apart from a glow like a lump in the throat, it can be felt anywhere….

… just like your last note.


© G.P Williamson 2017