Short poems

Sport and Sport 2.

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

Short poems

Misogyny & the catch 22.

Misogyny & the catch 22.

Blue eyed catch as eyes clash in a mismatched match of what could be and has.

Who knows what devastation could hatch.

Preplanned hardwired, mesmerised trip wires.

All slap dash misogyny catch 22 irony with a you who’d graciously best me.

You don’t dance the longest road.

You walk the vogue holy stroll ass home.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Danger Man

Danger Man


Don’t dare to care for a danger man on the whim of a careful “I can.”

You can’t.

You won’t.

You’ll be the scapegoat.

It might be fun hun, cut throat with a two gun hip tote.

But when you cry real stop – he won’t.

The roleplay man on the other hand.

Crucified dead pan all gagged up and tied down shares his what why’s and when you’re upside down.

He’s your people.

You’re his town.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Come quietly.

Come quietly.


Called herself a feminist as she worshipped a hot ended candle in prayer for the world to see.

Proud and pure she wore nothing from the neck to her navel.

She said it was to show the true spirit of femininity, that and ten thousand likes.

She won the internet, and after all else cable.

The perfect nun on the masters table.

She spoke latin, played violin and stole hearts from husbands and warriors.

She was the face of a nation and the body of society.

You only had to imagine her whispers, to come quietly.

© G.P Williamson 2018


So, so beautiful.

So, so beautiful.


It’s like she doesn’t understand how much I’m taken.

Those powerful lines of integration.

The smell of the ocean inside her thighs.

The shine of the moon beyond her eyes.

A metaphysical redundancy where the logic gave up.

She’s Opal Fruits and Starburst filled with a rough love.

Dancing glaciers.

A broken radius.

Bespoke unity in a world not made for us.

Cold clarity.

Harsh reality.

Dance anyway, else the show stops for me.

It’s a pity too,

What’s so cold can be so beautiful.

© G.P Williamson 2018

poems, Short poems




I watched her purity read my spirit.

I watched her thirst drink my mind.

I refueled my forgiveness when she placed her hand in mine.

She read my every thought with a finger down the line.

A sentence to the solitude “I’m not yours but you are mine”

I watched her purity read my spirit.

I succumbed unto her breast.

Was this a new reality?

Another of his tests?

© G.P Williamson 2018





It’s okay buttercup, come take a sip.

It weeps if you will of sheer deceit.

A parable a book of sweet notoriety.

Look and see don’t be shy to me.

Sit quietly, fight internally with those open books.

Skirt worn legs, hair a mess, caress pages for lessons you undressed.

You knew in one look.

I was the figure for every lesson you never took.

© G.P Williamson 2018