Short poems

Never could be.

Never could be.

15/05/18

She was his never could be, in a world she never could see.

Wrapped in a shroud of clouds she housed a future beyond his vision, yet fully in sight.

Like viewing the sun in the middle of the night.

She was all there and half not, a full never could be.

There he was in a world she never could see.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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poems, Uncategorized

You can’t achieve, under achiever.

You can’t achieve, under achiever.

11/05/208

Here she is again in this mind of mine all snowing with blizzard hail and rainy and pale.

Like a crustacean when I needed a whale all fickle and frail.

Intangible with insurmountable proof.

No matter the choices it’s all no use.

How aloof this deceiver this ridiculous make believe you can’t achieve, under achiever.

Here she is again wearing thin the voices of reason with her ghostly skin all pale and thin.

You can’t touch me, you’re not real! Run horror run.

I’m the king of my queenery and you answer to me.

Just because you sound convincing occasionally doesn’t mean I’ll let you win.

You’re all illusion and might.

Meet logic – hold tight.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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Short poems

Tickle and laugh.

Tickle and laugh.

15/05/18

They tickle and laugh giggle and bath in a hundred hues of greens and blues.

Each a tired memory of parenting truth.

I watch as you scrimp and scrape until you teeter on the edge and think it’s too late and then,

I nudge you awake to see those mountains, those challenges, they aren’t all night and I’m here.

Just here.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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Short poems

Train wreck.

Train Wreck.

15/0518

Hmm how interesting, the fear train associated with the hazard gap you’ve explained time and again.

The safety net the great pretext to beat what they haven’t conquered yet.

Him I’ll never forget.

I need to bring forwards what I’ve not achieved to date.

Goodbye Lee.

No regrets mate.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Emerging clean

Emerging clean.

14/05/18

Empty faculties all dead ringer facilities.

Eclipsing pictures of youthful scriptures.

How this place cascades in a multitude of elixirs.

How a fountain of truth could have washed the good clean to make better, the sad truth is I forget every regret in this moment.

This moment isn’t over yet.

I’ll miss the unique personality of each individual group, the mind of a team.

Faithless I am to the stringent inadequacy, you know what I mean.

I’ll reminisce about the caring control, the importance of working alone, a way to ensure peace and personality.

Goodbye to the quiet times and this guys inadequacy.

A tell tale sign floats by like a damaged butterfly stuttering in space.

Reminds me there’s some things I can’t replace, others I should.

You may be a fraction of life in time – she’s blood.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

They asked.. Lets be honest.

They asked..

24/04/18

Impromptu short blog post, they asked why I write and never stopped. How I came to buy more than I needed from the shop and wasn’t concerned if people there saw or cared what I purchased. I wasn’t worried if they worshipped liked or burnt it. I bought it for me, my writing, my freedom, my excitement, my right to space, to infinity.

There’s a world of imagination in here, in your head along with the demons, guilt trips, pixies, sexual harmonies and saving graces. There’s some angels beyond the crowd of faces and it’s there in the spaces where oblivion sails and heaven keeps pace.

It’s nice you pat me on the shoulder when I’m purchasing my own goods and tell me how good I look, how what I’m doing is right, how you agree or debate late into the night but believe me as much as I’m happy to conceive of your imaginary birth and throw hope to the growth of your toddlers worth. It doesn’t matter – it’s my church.

I gain hope and praise from my own personal rays the inner world but inside it doesn’t stay. I changed the delay and allow everything from fantastical egyptian mummified dignitaries to vulgar wishful thinking atrocities. There’s family fortunes and days watching the world go by as we spin on pedestals in the clouds sky. A perfect family and perfect lies there’s other times the anger is loose and it’s no use the fibres generate their own noose no matter what the cause too many people or too much recluse. The Fool’s poetry and an Empress’s truth.

Then you’re a platform against the norm, my own revolution to scorn the world and burn a new hole. It doesn’t matter the gleam from my own onion ring whether you use it to inspire and sing or cry your own perpetual sting. What matters is that it promotes “something” and please if it’s not don’t stop, walk on by and purchase your own rhyme or onion bhaji.

Whatever your taste here’s the condensed version. I hope you join in but if not persevere. I’m here for the ride and the ride’s an illusion. Look yourself in the face and smile at the delusion.

– You can always find my Instagram simply by clicking my name – © G.P Williamson 2018

Lets be honest.

24/04/18

Lets be honest.

It’s for me.

My personal time capsule.

Bobbing along on the deep blue, see?

Close your eyes.

What can you see?

A whale as big as the ocean floor, two crabs scuttle trying to stay on board.

They’re hauled.

Overheard a whale cry, disturbed my dream.

I’m running downstairs following the screaming and there you are still bleeding.

A memory I forgot I had, an open head cut and a broken spine.

A memory of a man they’d say is called dad.

I’m no boy of his.

I watch the memory bleed endlessly as reality slowly trickles back to me.

Lets be honest – it’s for me.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

The Body

The Body

26/04/18

Even the bubbles are bobbling on this split screen hardly seen knee’s chaffing wobbling dream.

I need sun cream and flip flops but can’t walk because my hips drop.

I dream of running without pit stops but the engine’s weak and tires are worn thin.

I find it hard to smile so how can I win?

Then with go faster stripes a little lustre from the crow and a lot of hype, adrenaline fuelled through the self righteous hate talk ridicule and I pooled the odds.

Threw cards into my job and walked out with a look that trail blazed raw aces and dared destroy dangerous places.

A smile that cut a face in four places and quarted a seconds race in first place.

Not bad for what was once seen a knees chaffing wobbling dream.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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