Vials of feelings.

Vials of feelings.


Glad for the vials of feelings I’m taking into the future.

Glad the shelf of love and luck holds more than most can conjecture.

The shelf that lasts beyond the depth of time is mine and no more secure could I find a path.

No bows no ties.

The ripples lie within the river but none within her eyes.

The stream of love drowns out the tears she used to cry.

A million other oceans and a thousand other whys?

She doesn’t hold the answers and her passion is my crime.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems, Uncategorized

Lets reminisce

Lets reminisce


Lets reminisce about the last time we laughed during the storm of 64, that time we shared a bath.

I couldn’t touch your hair because the dye was still setting and we both faked high off the fumes.

I can’t lay claim to the universe but we, we’re the only ones in the world.

I splashed and you laughed as the raindrops trickled down your back.

Yeah, what happened to all that?

© G.P Williamson 2018


Short poems, Tom Orrow

Gin and Whisky

Gin and Whisky


She cleaned her teeth with gin and whisky.

Her hair a fresh bleach cream.

She rode him in the darkness in the middle of a dream.

Tom Orrow captured every nuance with a silver plated lense.

The memory like a photograph that never seems to end.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Like protestors.

Like protestors.


They rally like protestors trying to help.

Immediate response now they won’t relent.

Keep coming, pushing, tearing down walls.

Pull her apart piece together the brick.

Unstitch the weaving and reclip the fits.

Reconnect the piping, clear all the tubes.

Polish her eyes to rub away the blues.

Cream and wax her fingers.

Give me back her touch.

Calm down her voice.

Give her back that love.

Titanium her spine.

Her strength was divine.

Open up her ears like dinner with wine.

Crimson her lips and darken her eyes.

Hear all my truths and tell me your lies.

Lay here until the sobbing stops and wipe the years away.

More than just a temporary fix to keep the pain at bay.

Who could ever know how much is too much to take?

They rally like protestors trying to help.

© G.P Williamson 2018





It’s time to burn it down.

Choked up dark clouds.

Foundation falling around like quadriplegic jelly.

A place I used to stand.

An oath of unity – Profound.

The next square in a new turn around – circular dependence.

Eternity in a ring.

I’m not sure I’m ready for that level of depression to sing.

Worse case in a bad state is sob stories are out.

So’s swearing.

So that murderous shit I wrote is too late.

Turn around and start again.

Four years – that’s some bad fate.

© G.P Williamson 2018



Age onset perspectives of positive discrepancies.

Age onset perspectives of positive discrepancies.


The older I get the more I understand less.

The more I leave my body to wonder around alone like a ghost in a poor mans home.

One day she’ll die and I’ll be lost forever but today we argue and pretend that day will never come.

She’ll regret her words and I’ll regret some.

We’ll both regret the hurts but whilst she’s here I’ll come undone.

Make judgements about it being new baby blues and all that hogwash and tish.

These are speculative tendencies I usually blow a bird to a “Sit on this”

This time I’ve no time. It’s much more than this.

It’s an age onset thing like religious parables inside a diamond ring.

Like marriage vows with no V and an R.

Like buying a Porsche when you can’t drive a car.

It’s more of the everything and less of depression.

It’s I can’t lift a finger because there’s just too much pressing.

It’s a song and a dance when the rainbows are out.

The love of two girls when the doves scream and shout.

It’s having the feet but nowhere to walk.

It’s challenging behaviours and nobody to talk.

Fastening seatbelts but not going too fast.

Being scared of heights whilst flat on the ground.

It’s screaming at night without making a sound.

It’s for those who have everything because they came through it with demons.

It’s the 28th March and I still pretend you’re just sleeping.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Nothing more

Nothing more.


I could see the innocence.

I could feel your warmth.

I could sense your touch

But nothing more.

I could hear you stir.

I could see you move.

I could watch you wave

But nothing more.

I could see them light up at your presence.

I could feel our distance manifest.

I could not touch a feeling, claim a belief in or smile unless leaving and……nothing more.

I was a rich man gone poor.

Like the dot had stopped but the illness prevailed.

I was trying to love but the how had set sailed….and nothing more.

I could see your perfection.

Could claim adoration.

I held with intention….but nothing more.

I stand a dramatic pose to a man I despised.

A mirror I faced to a man of lies.

Tears of hate

but nothing more.

I hated and hated despised and negated.

Photoshopped memories to empty church gates.

Grabbed myself by the balls and kicked myself back into shape

but nothing more.

I praised my achievements.

grieved for believements.

Stood up to my demons and screamed “I am not leaving!”

But nothing more.

I love you forever.

I love you, you treasure.

I love you small fry.

I love that you’re mine

And nothing more.

© G.P Williamson 2018