Short poems

Endlessly Winking.

Endlessly winking.


Tonight the shutter winked endlessly, capturing your memories until you were nothing but a blur in the aura of candlelight.

I was as cold as I was warmed.

You saw through me until we were one another’s memory.

I just hope you recall as often as I do.

Sleep until the day we meet again.

© G.P Williamson 2017

poems, Short poems

Just another tuesday night.

Just another Tuesday night.


Her knee’s stuck in the mud as the twigs lashed her face in torment of her beauty.

The sky darkened and groaned as the tree arched and moaned, gnarled hands dragged her flailing awkwards.

Falling downwards to a cloud of woods.

A flock of doves flew and they knew,

Grabbed ankles through the roots of tree shoots as the wind kicks up a new noose and she gasps as her shoes fall loose.

Her eyes roll momentarily as a raven lands and tells her soul that she’s found a new man to call home.

© G.P Williamson 2017


poems, Short poems




So many things I’ve seen and done.

Some good some bad, some dumb.

Full of life’s experiences we grow like rotting wood.

Forgive the pastures in the green the blue-bottle of the deep.

Remove the sour apples let the seeds grow in my sleep.

I watch you watch her watching me and a thousand more I wrote.

I love the older princess as she becomes my coat.

I don’t like to think in ways that scare me all the time.

But I’ll not forget the oath I made, your hand within mine.

© G.P Williamson 2017

poems, Short poems




If tonight you were to vanish.

A few stars would twinkle dim.

I’d ache a little piece inside.

A part of me would thin.

Bring out that shining rainbow.

Progress through all the dirt.

You are the pot of gold.

You eased many of my hurts.

Thankyou for the memories.

Bless you for the drink.

I’m honored for the chats,

and how you taught me to think.

© G.P Williamson 2017

poems, Short poems

Longing for an appetite.

Longing for an appetite.


I spiral indeed,

A taste of pomegranate.

Downwards towards the spiteful onion.

Then I’m back with a cigar and brandy during a total eclipse.

I pen words to transcribe the poor workings of a livid mind.

Erratic, eroded, ever changing and corroded.

The moon turns, the girl’s awake.

I settle with fresh tea and cake.

My jaw aches with a caring smile as the eggs bubble in the pan.

Our eyes meet fleetingly with promise and I lean back as the sun breaks as our daughter runs after her mother with a fresh bake.

I think of making another.

© G.P Williamson 2017



poems, Short poems

None the less.

None the less.


I’m carrying a chalice for you he sent some years too late.

When loneliness had been and gone and friendship took its place.

An acknowledgement of no reply came some months too soon.

He emptied out his mind of her, all but her perfume.

Washed down in a memory, part drink part aging flesh.

Things did not quite all make sense, He loved her none the less.

In youth he’d been a jack the lad he’d played and made the rules.

But forty years of mistakes and she was his crown of jewels.

© G.P Williamson 2017


Memories of Love in 2015

Whilst unwell and looking for Lemsip (My saviour) I discovered this old notepad I’d at one stage partially filled. Queue some more old scribblings I never got around to sharing.

Memories of Love in 2015


Down a little muddy path between two tiny little towns.

A woman by a stream can often be seen or found.

She drank some men quite merry in her younger more physical days.

She once had herself a business in more physical kinda ways.

It’s said her eyes still glisten if you know what I mean and if you’re ever passing by you might glimpse her by the stream.

She was a blacksmith’s daughter. His grip was like a vice.

Her mother had passed early in the deathness of the night.

Down a little muddy path she drank some men quite merry.

Until her husband found her and she was not quite ready.

She had two other sisters, because there’s always three.

They still walk amongst us circling that old bare oak tree.

Two sets of calves shine through the night bypassing any kind of worry.

Dancing to forget the reasons they are sorry.

If you look real closely, nothing much will change.

But you’ll glimpse three pairs of legs around that oak tree stage.

I watch them joined in misery, I feel them joined in love.

Some kind of enigma sent when the world needed their touch.


© G.P Williamson 2017