Book of Shadows.

Book of Shadows.


My book of shadows are so dark. I can’t see anything in them anymore.

A shadow of my former self. Where even the darkness ceases to exist.

It’s from this place, this void of voids, that I’m expected to continue to enlist.

With magic, dark magic, black butterfly kisses.

Chained to walls with dismissive unions. Holocaust delusions.

Nasa, Politicians, The Pentagon, where’s the rest of the world even gone?

Book of Shadows and all that’s gone before.

Close the book, close the door.

Existence is perceptual, a hierarchy of numb, with tuned out silences and harsh whispers,

Atmospheric plunges and wishing I could miss her.

Too far, too long and too late.

Ding dong turn the hands of fate.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Confidence capsized.

Confidence capsized.


Confidence capsized only truth through a lovers eyes supporting viaducts that do not work.

No transport chain, no way to work.

Confidence abundant change the word, pick up the trident.

Shower the world with aqueduct tears.

For you, for the dancing for the cheers.

Same again and same again moody blues to numb the pain.

Meditation, witchcraft, therapy and a forced laugh.

Age old clouds in my head surely I’d be better off – wait a minute, time to sin?

Welcome old friend fate, let it win. Who’s to say it’ll have the last laugh?

You might feel stupid but you’re certainly not daft.

The glint in your eyes from power not cries you know that’s where the confidence lies.

It’s not in the lines nor all in a book it’s deep in the soul you’ll find in my look.

© G.P Williamson 2017




Height Asphyxiation

Height Asphyxiation


Like a reminder of my youth the noise doesn’t stop.

Magnified like a beam in the ant’s rays.

I’d turn the other cheek but the memory stays.

Boiling, kids screaming, running riot, unlistening demons rising like allergic reactions to crushed crustaceans.

Can’t breath, terrified of the asphyxiation.

I breath in a fake exhalation. All bad air and no reprieve.

Broken, frozen and deceived.

The screaming couldn’t get any higher and I wince as it reaches the top.

Like a reminder of my youth the noise doesn’t stop.


© G.P Williamson 2017


Universe throat.

Universe throat

She couldn’t speak.

The universe lodged itself in her throat like a place she didn’t belong.

Like the southern border to a northern song.

Every hurt she held was a riddle to his wrong.

A candle rode her shadow in a place as dark as home.

Clutching to his memory so she’d never feel alone.

The planet turned a moment in a place it didn’t belong to listen to the innocence of another lovers song.

© G.P Williamson 2017



Food War.

Food War.


It’s not what you think.

Well, more to the point it is actually.

Specifically it’s exactly what you think.

It becomes who you are.

You are what you eat, right?

Too fat, too thin, too round, too masculine.

Two thousand five hundred and calorie counting.

Burns four eighty an hour trampoline bouncing.

Food saver, underscore, highlight what are we here for?

Will it hurt me? Will it not.

asphyxiate, choice and rot.

Allergic reaction with no known cure.

Constant battle, my food war.

How much is too much my image no crutch,

Unless I’m perceived as too thin then I’m remarkably crushed.

Positive, efficient, every way magnificent.

Don’t believe the hype the greys are ever-present.

I just smile the seven seas through the tunnel to the present.

Eat to full capacity, eat with all your heart.

fulfillment is a constant quest why should you be set apart?

punishment for things you never did to begin with?

Fighting battles with demons who can’t possibly win?

The answer doesn’t matter.

It comes from within.

Give light to the shining and right war will begin.


© G.P Williamson 2017





Memories made manifest of fake situations that are real.

How much I cannot stress.

It’s different for you?

That’s okay, blue.

You’re not wrong and I’m right too.

I shake when I wake and I don’t eat when I ache.

I find it’s too late to fulfill what on my plate.

I want to partake but I push it away on the chance it is filling.

Should I be full I’d be important, be winning.

Maybe tomorrow eh?

The Fool questions his abilities as though they answer for him.

Today we act tomorrow you talk.

Yesterday you worried right now you walk.

The movement’s an agile reminder that things, they come to pass.

Stationary is toxic.

You’re just looking through the glass.


© G.P Williamson 2017





Cruelty grabs at me how it reaches from the darkness.

I say darkness but I mean ether, like the air is both there and not. Subliminal changes that change fear to tear drop.

The dot matrix to spot changes into blotch pages where the vision changes to fear rages as angels become demons and familiar faces, scream in rages at the same plagues name on your birth certificate, until you look and it metamorphoses into a name you’d long forgot.

Cruelty grabs at me somehow.

From a field of immediate vision like a spider dangling from a web, face caressing, heart racing, finger twitching, eye stretching, more manifesting place of indecision.

Run and panic, panic and run. The climbing changing ascension of spiders has just begun. Ankle to hip maintaining their grip. Toe to knee, layer upon layer three times three.

Suffocating in a rolling mass of eyes and legs as they consume and consume until there’s no more room.

Cruelty grabs at me somehow.

Two arms from the sides where I’m too slow to hide. They grab and I slide whilst my legs drag astride, the floor to the right where I tend to slide I can’t hide my freight as the day turns to night. It all becomes clear the ending is near as he laughs in my ear through the thick stench of fear.

My hand is forced down. I had to move around to the face of a clown.

Cruelty grabs at me somehow, from the darkness, from the ground up my ankles stuck.

Two thick hands covered in muck. I can’t move it’s just my luck.

Doing around fifty here comes that truck!

Cruelty grabs at me somehow.


© G.P Williamson 2017