Short poems

Oath of man.

Oath of man.

15/02/18

Don’t bother with the oaths of men for matters of the heart.

Paper doesn’t charge, grow or alter for a start.

A promise meant is a promise kept and a forest grown is an ocean wept.

A mothers love.

A fathers oath.

They have them both.

They have them both.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Just Stay (Short)

 Just stay (Short)

14th February 2018

Just stay.

Stay out of the way.

Arguments come, they go.

Relationships fray.

Just stay.

Uneven carpets in uneven halls.

Cracks in broken, damaged walls.

Foundations strong, the cobbles sore.

Just stay.

Stay out of the way.

From eternity, just stay.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

My Fusion (Short)

My Fusion (Short)

24/02/18

Your clothes came off with cataclysmic audacity as you were born a new to my favourite fantasy.

Doorway shadows, no fear all care. Blankets of light through wavy hair.

Forgone conclusion.
Waking illusion.

Wish I could die inside this delusion.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Growing up.

Growing up.

20th January 2018

It doesn’t feel like I’ll be back this week.

You’ve grown to that point that rounded angelic figurine that’s about to peak.

Each fall, held wall, balance act sickness in free fall. He stands tall. Wobblers thrown, marked tears, accusations and irrational fears. If she’s a girl he has this plus another sixteen years.

He switches gears.

A father feels the gains and losses. Stands stoic with a cup he make believe’s a chalice.

He’s there when she can’t fall.

When she’s one foot tall.

When she can’t balance.

There when it’s “Pick me up” and “Can I sit on the side?”

There when those moments stop because “I’m a big girl now dad!” and a tear he hides.

The world’s growing up and expanding he’s not as needed as he once was, as much as there’s much love.

He fears the landing.

“Dad build a tower”

“Dad lets go out”

“Dad Can I have?”

She’s become demanding, Ipad raging, storytime with Cbeebies line by line. Educational needs “Don’t touch dad that’s mine!” learning to share. “That’s not fair!” and “Come here blow your nose there’s snot everywhere!”

“I don’t care!” It’s bedtime and I’ve repeated a hundred times to eat your tea.

Now she’s copying me cleaning my teeth “No baby, watch. Just like me”

“Dad I’m a big girl, will you read to me?”

“Of course baby, hug?”

“Goodnight dad”

“Snug as a bug in a rug”

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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Short poems

Last night – You.

Last night – You.

02/02/18

I had a dream last night I could move things with my mind and there you were your hand in mine. We had some food the waiter rhymed.

We dated, mated, ate our crimes and there you were your hand in mine.

We lived and died same age one breath, melted rings of metal flesh.

We turned to ash our eyes they met. A dusty, darkened, blackened mess.

I looked beyond to search your mind, our love, your care, what could I find?

Hollow, shallow, different lines.

I dropped my head what do I find?

Your hand somehow entwined in mine.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Bumping Moon beams.

Bumping Moon beams.

30/12/2017

It wasn’t how they bumped into one another trying to chase the same moon beam. It wasn’t the cheeky Freudian slip he’d made about sun cream.

It wasn’t how she’d howled with laughter in the park at something he’d said.

A walk that wasn’t all it seemed.

It wasn’t how she’d whispered her name several times so it stayed in his head.

He didn’t know if he loved her….but there she was in his bed.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems, Short poems

He couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t remember.

30th December 2017

He couldn’t remember.

Remember why he didn’t know.

Why she didn’t show or the missing parts, parts he didn’t know.

So he stood watching sky lanterns dance rhythmic sways beyond the pools of the engines rays as those planes came in to stay.

One after another drawing huge long lines in the sand and coming to a subtle stop, like his memory on a relationship backdrop.

His heart stopped as though he somehow knew.

She stepped from the plane blended by a veil.

He set sail, he set sail.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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