poems

I may believe in Christmas Eve.

I may believe in Christmas Eve.

14/10/17

I may believe in Christmas Eve.

The silky touch of holly leaves and every season in between.

I may believe in snowy tomorrow’s, carrot noses and borrowed clothes.

The squelch of wet trainers on the mat.

Yes I may believe in all of that.

I may believe in the love of ghosts, spirit echo’s and the smell of burnt toast.

Faith in the family both here and gone.

Belief for you, for everyone.

I may believe in curled up covers,

T.V nights and naughty words.

I may believe the good die young,

that time will till,

that I’ll right those wrongs.

I may believe I earn my credit.

I’ll progress if I work hard or that morality keeps us steady.

I may believe all sorts of silly stupid things.

I may believe I’m through being the puppet and you can’t take my strings.

I may remember who I am with passion.

Where I came from with emotion and who I’ll become with hope.

I may habitually joke and laugh, sarcasm may navigate a less sturdy uncertain path.

I may occasionally find bubbles in the bath.

I may be the light on dark days, may stand tall with lost strays and may not see the colour for the greys.

I may be fearless in the pursuit of happiness but I’m still dreaming. Awake or not freedom calls.

I’m feeling.

I may be the pilot of my own flying time. I may soar from mountain to cliffhung tree.

I may be me but am I free?

I may attain peace without over thinking due to a miracle pen with invisible ink in.

I never saw that coming.

I may believe in wedding rings and unity in when she sings.

A dancing place a one way course.

Crossing the line on a galloping horse.

I may believe in an unending purse.

Macclesfield rules and the crying boy curse.

I may believe in where I lived in stately homes and farmers with pigs.

I believe that Wales is home with white picket fences and garden gnomes.

I may believe in hikes and camps and firelight nights with the smell of damp.

I may believe in tenderness, love compassion and no stress.

In all of these I may believe and I may believe in Christmas Eve.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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poems

Thief by nature

Thief by nature

14/10/17

He wasn’t a thief by nature.

Steady job.

Hospital porter.

Generous, caring,

fathered a daughter.

Well known as dad.

Not your typical bad lad.

He wasn’t a thief by design.

Enjoyed a laugh with the boys.

Chess player’s, fresh donut’s, messy kitchen, victimless crime.

Their wasn’t much he couldn’t turn his hand to, but his eyes they didn’t shine.

Now when they married, nor when they dated and dined.

It was surreal, a unique love, sublime.

He wasn’t a thief by nature, but her….he had to have.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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poems, Short poems

She forgets his name.

She forgets his name.

29/09/17

She simply forgets his name.

The smell of him.

His clothes, the fragrance he wore.

How he walked, danced.

How he spoke, how he swore.

They all just ceased to be – like before.

Before he existed, before he was real,

before she enlisted, before she could feel.

Before she was herself.

She knew her own worth.

before she had full love.

before she was cursed.

He simply ceased to be as she walked away.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Coast to Coast.

Coast to Coast.

28/09/17

Coast to coast.

Wasted drench coat in the heat I love the most.

Can’t feel beyond the dull breeze of tomorrow.

Where will all the rainbows hide?

Water down a children’s slide with no child in view.

All the things you fail to see are because they once were you.

I cannot give up forgetting to remember.

All of my dreams were born in September.

Coast to Coast

wasted drench coat in the heat I love the most.

Frost bite’s nightly.

We sleep alone in quietness the deafening bustle is unsightly.

I’d ignite a flame but the passion passed right by me.

Come to me, find recourse. Elaborate on the misgiving’s move on – clear remorse.

Too easy for the statue of liberty.

Cold stone hearted no emotion all cold and fool hardy.

Broken swords on open books from lyrical stories with souls on hooks, dangling gangly, wriggling in the open air all painful and full view.

One of which is me.

The other’s we’re through.

I can’t see your soul, what happened to you?

Masquerade the sad parade. Happy sad and start to fade.

Nightmarish dreams children’s screams.

Were you ever what you seemed?

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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poems

Quantities of love.

Quantities of love.

27/09/17

Pure angelic quantities of love.

Sky gifts from night lifts.

Dancing ankles, changing shifts.

Flowing gowns through midnight towns.

Birds howl where the tides growl against rocks made for the soul.

Shoals move as one in the cool water.

fishes swim across her thighs as she’s lifted through the darkest sky.

Rain drops on smoking lips.

“Forever mine” she quips.

Cascading memories like fallen hair.

He’s drawn with her through tarnished lair.

An incomplete serenity gives rise to birth of unity.

Somewhere silenced the owls do howl.

Flowing gowns through midnight towns.

Quantities of love the ghosts allow.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

 

 

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poems

October

October

09/10/17

October and the month held the same letters as her name.

We’d swam in fallen leaves which held more prickles than you’d actually believe.

The smell was divine and the leaves were fresh.

Her touch a tender reminder of a harsher happiness.

October and the month held the same letters as her name.

I was used to change, the seasons, the natural flow for many reasons.

Somehow I knew these memories would be stationary.

A new world of eternity forever encased.

Forever swept over.

My autumn love – October.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Six word story.

Six word story.

(The idea behind a six word story is that each person comments to create the best or most interesting and most often than not they work as prompts for future works. However I’d noticed I was commenting a fair bit on one post so I put them together and got something……different.)

Six word story.

Together they never forgave each other.

Bludgeoned to ecstacy in chaotic wonder.

Last night they cried mercy, eternally.

Forget me not remember me always.

Death was the release they longed for.

A long release pained every crevice.

Each popcorn bit, a silent scream.

Memory blanked from depth’s just discovered.

He stopped my pain, squeezed throat.

Reiterate my start, unblock my heart.

Beach house blinds the graveyard neighbours.

Standing on stones, blood red rivers.

Many women died within his eyes.

Together they danced, entwined in tomorrow.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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