Short poems

Just a cover.

Just a cover.
17/09/2018

They see a cover.
Just a book.
Don’t turn the page.
Don’t dare to look.
Assume on.
Take your place.
Amongst the others.
All walled up faces.
Blocked out and blocked up.
No gained perception.
No learnt to stand up treasure trove.
Open stove.
Crispy golden holding love.
All the things you’ll not begrudge.
Assume the mother.
perception other.
Dare not dare look beyond the cover.

© G.P Williamson 2019

https://cursedrider.home.blog/

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Short poems

Holiday eyes.

Holiday eyes.
18/07/2018

Rubber lips and tricks.
Fake masks and forest sticks.
Click, unreal relationships.
All predominant features and no kiss.
Hide behind holiday eyes like this.
How I ruin the blood.
Sores from curmudgeon pores of your body on mine.
How our soul’s designed.
I was your play time.
Smile and dance by happenstance your spark meets mine!
Kaboom romance!

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Stab Cupid.

Stab Cupid.
12/08/2018
I find myself missing you.
Stab Cupid.
He makes my heart race when I’m happy in last place,
He wants me to pass Go, I’m happy back three spaces.
He wants my pieces checked and mated.
I want to castle and have this game escalated.
I can’t draw I’ve a dull flush.
I’m packing lies to her royal tush.
Stab Cupid.
I find myself missing you.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Glass

Glass
09/08/2018
There’s a piece of robust glass in my chest where you used to live all see through clearly and sweetly.
It juts out obviously and none discreetly.
Like how you filled me.
Cut deeply and all briefly.
It’s strange this optical illusion of my reflected expression.
I wish I could taste the whisky to dull the pain which resides in like fragmented lies.
Fermented rope and throated side lines.
Love doesn’t burn.
It hides.
In the memory of your shadow I wait for the night to pass.
Until then, I nurse this robust glass.

© G.P Williamson 2018 <– hit for Instagram!

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Short poems

Sport and Sport 2.

Sport
9th August 2018

I can feel you shake as the lightning flashes in anticipation for the earth shaking as I control the movement of your hips.
I feel your apprehension at the stagnation of the calm before the storm.
I feel the cold tears and warm rain on your soul.
I feel your heartbeat.
I feel it all.
How your presence manifests the shattered remnants I haven’t swallowed yet.
Black and red,
and wet.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Sport 2

All forked tongues and master.
You wonder why I chain bind and whip rough lustre.
Spit polish, humiliate and find it disgusting.
Talk to me about a lack of trusting.
Rough tussling to crescendo tears and gushing.
Stop, don’t stop.
Keep pushing.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Pillow talk.

Pillow talk.
03/08/2018

Pillow talk on flower beds.
Greens, orange, crimson, reds.
Flowers talk on pillow beds.
Cotton clouds, feather threads.
Crimson threads and lining clouds.
Filled with wished, lived with doubts.

Orange, crimson, reds and green.
Half awake when life’s a dream.
Satin sheets and purple themes.
Don’t we make the perfect team?
On pillow beds, flowers talk.
Petals, thorns, spikes and storks.
Pillow talk on flower beds.
Greens, orange, crimson, reds.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Eleven.

Eleven.
28th July 2018.

What do I want to know?
Every rainbow every half dream.
Every ripped unfulfilled damaged seam.
Each curled expression, a pressure, a tension.
A breezy walk, a sweet indiscretion.
What do I know?
Borderline obsession.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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