Short poems

lethality, a vicious fatality.

Lethality, a vicious fatality.

14th February 2018

Like a frightening form of greased lightning.

You stole my soul and birthed a pocket troll that made my whole world a completed goal.

Then another daughter to a father of a treasured feather lover.

Rekindled faith in human kind where a black mind resides behind the curtains of open lands in places I can’t find.

Unity the symbol of a snake eating its tail, ting yang balance and the relationship absails.

Pales in comparison to a million hues of colorful rainbows and there out the window like a stray balloon it goes…

I’ve tried every resource I’ve ever known.

You’re not lifting me up and that’s not home.

I’d turn two faced to a half mirror for a priceless artifact I can’t replace.

Drag that damn car from outer space with Primarks own make shoelaces but my children?

Touch once in the venomous tongue of evil and face the wrath of one movement, no pain just fast and lethal.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

7th September

7th September.

13th February 2018

Perhaps you’d do better to remember the legend of he born on the 7th of September.

He overcame, overshot, over achieved and over played his hand.

Where the universes fall like a million grains of sand.

Bespoke royalties on half a story.

The lies of a poor man.

Scold my security.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Grab it and whisper.

Grab it and whisper.

18/02/18

The foolish bard drinks merrily the poison of desire.

No recollection of a future.

No marriage to impress.

No children who’d enquire.

My walked paths held holed shoes in my souls truth.

The whole truth walked in the souls earth.

What is this coat worth?

To grab it and whisper. “I’m sorry I kissed her”

Now you’ll claim die on the twitch of an eye on what else would I lie?

You’ll not trust as much as I said as such and now it’s just dust.

Goodbye to your touch.

For all that I had and all that I loved I wish I’d held on for the greater good.

Here take it – take my blood.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Home – Where the heart is.

Home – Where the heart is.

10/02/18

I’m home – Where the heart is.

Where the start begins and the buried rests.

Where time stops and stress is caressed.

Where the unplanned becomes extraordinary.

Where if you’re back late we extra worry.

Where the colours paint their own story in scarred knees and fallen leaves, autumn days and broken dreams.

Tear filled chalice. Captured presence. No such malice.

Treasure our difference.

© 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

The Darkest wood (504 words)

The Darkest wood.

9th February 2018

 

The arch of the pen.

The beating of life.

The rattle of death.

The essence of night.

You dance like Ivy creeps through the forests veins, entwining, circling, blood fuelled lanes.

Pumping, jumping, my eyes they strain. Beating bosoms, crimson rain.

Fireside wonder, echo’s of memories frozen friends and long gone babies.

Crackling timber, ginger embers.

Golden logs and why we remember.

The weight of your legs where you once lay across me.

The weightlessness, emptiness of wherever it is you may be.

Night air circles metaphors like spirals dance through closed doors and watch me sleep.

Gatekeepers, guides and perception dwellers.

Florence Nightingale, Elvis and dirty old fella’s.

I sigh glass and razors as you ignore my dreams.

My messages were muted and unheard were my screams.

I tried to forget, to distract, not to feel nor over react. I tried, I’m good like that but alas….

The cover’s came back and there you stood all big smiles and blood boiling.

Hard wired, lung fuelled desire with my skin crawling.

Red fingertips to dark lips. All warm humour and coy hips.

Until those slender fingers slip and held tight. Falls my grip and I’m ready with eyes locked.

You smile with your lips half cocked and the show stops.

Your skin falls like apple peelings, thick wedges dropping like meals and I scream a poor warning from a living dream at the edge of my story.

Tasting like heaven as the darkness and glory vanishes both the lady and me.

I’m blinded by the light you left in that empty space, the silence is deaf.

I’ve started naming my fingers as they tap out your name.

There’s marks in the keyboard that are one and the same.

They say I’m obsessed because I kept your shirt.

I sprayed it and saved it and bagged up the dirt.

I framed it, tamed it and displayed it.

I scratched out the Voodoo eyes. Remade the coffin and restitched the eyes.

The potato grew with cursed hex stew a common plus a new boys clue.

No one knew. No one knew.

Not even you. Not even you.

I knew. I knew.

The pebbles stirred, the matches blew. The spirits wailed the mountains knew.

Echo’s passed in solid murmurs. Loving magic against the world.

Unnaturally supernatural, perfectly imperfect.

Summoned like an astral wonder, you’d be the treasure I love to plunder.

They mistakenly believe hair colour matters, eyes or height and all the patter.

There’s only one thing that kick starts the fun. “Do I want her, is she my next one?”

The character I take from head to toe. I dress her, bless her and mess her up slow.

Tangle her hair, speak softly and whisper. Take hold of her throat and forcibly kiss her.

Make her late for work with a mark on her bum.

She’ll still rise to the top she’s a powerful one.

I digress I simply got carried away.

I create the girls.

It’s the only way they stay.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Chirpy Chirpy Bark Bark.

Chirpy Chirpy Bark Bark.

23rd February 2018

Canary faces.

Dog chased.

Be gone crazy ex face making distressed illness on my mirror’s case.

You’ve lost, you’re second place.

I’ve turtle power, I win this race.

Plodding along, righting wrongs.

Love sung the hymns to a different song.

Encased Shrugment.

A holy allotment.

Nothing grows like her talks are old.

They drag the same wheelbarrow down the same old road.

You’ve told me before, I know. I heard it.

You regurgitate facts that are just absurd shit.

Canary faces, dog chased.

Tell me why you I’ve not replaced?

Stupid moral compass and your non magnetic dial.

Don’t do me any favours.

Keep your God damn smile.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

 

 

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