Short poems

Apples.

Apples.
11/09/2018

A thousand apples on my tree and still I cannot set you free.
Beyond the sunlight breathing bright.
Through greens, reds, an archaic sight.
A taste of future blinding light.
How are you and how are we?
You worry most concerningly.
Play and heal.
Heal and play.
Die tomorrow, not today.
Celebrate the poor gods test.
Our time is now,
There’s not much left!

© G.P Williamson 2019

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Parenting, Short poems

Rising to fly.

Rising to fly.
26/08/2018

Your chest rises as you breath.
A tiny gust clenches and released.
Eyelids twitch and I,
I start to believe.
My sight traces your eyebrows and the full of your thinned hair and I know love.
I know care.
You cry like stuttering ducks at first flight, like a rainbow seeking light all fidget and fright and I,
I rock tightly.
What I want and need are somewhat the same thing.
Autumn leaves and purity, humour and to succeed.
The water rippling on the lake, the silk against your skin.
The water in your eyes, the drowning in my sin.
What I want and what I need are somewhat the same thing.
What is it you do not bring?
You perfect little thing>

© G.P Williamson 2019

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Short poems

Like a glove.

Like a glove.
20/08/2018

Atrocious indignities.
Beware looming obituary’s.
dogs fallen into sullen corners.
Cold waters, frozen daughters.
Minute b*tch from lone wolf.
Lack of trust you learnt the truth.
Strong pack.
Pack of lies.
No soul.
Fires behind those eyes.
Baptise you and your lack of love.
Stick to yellow.
It fits like a glove.

© G.P Williamson 2019

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Short poems

Just a cover.

Just a cover.
17/09/2018

They see a cover.
Just a book.
Don’t turn the page.
Don’t dare to look.
Assume on.
Take your place.
Amongst the others.
All walled up faces.
Blocked out and blocked up.
No gained perception.
No learnt to stand up treasure trove.
Open stove.
Crispy golden holding love.
All the things you’ll not begrudge.
Assume the mother.
perception other.
Dare not dare look beyond the cover.

© G.P Williamson 2019

https://cursedrider.home.blog/

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poems

Passive aggressive.

Passive aggressive
18/08/2018

They light fantabulous these glorious aspiration hunters.
They light the stage and glow all paths.
A spotlight of future epitaphs.
They hone the night sky.
Bright light in a babys eyes.
They hold tight and record old lies.
Then clutch on like stalagmites.
Growing forth despite me, unwavering diligently.
Until a part of the soul, that’s frightening.
I light fantabulous then glorious apirations I hunt!
Passive aggressive.
A secular front.

© G.P Williamson 2019

Also writing under “Cursed Rider” on
https://cursedrider.home.blog/

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poems, Short poems

Braking and Breaking.

Braking and Breaking.
27/01/2019

There’s something to be said for that split second between braking and breaking.
When at nearly thirty you spot her face through the car window like she’s there.
Both next to you and not.
The last face you’ll have the chance to, wish you, forgot.
It happens all at once.
Instinct to swear, to swerve, to move as the back wheel rides a curb.
You jabberwocky around, fishtail and slant a desire to react more but just can’t.
Then the storm has gone but feels like the eye.
The face vanished but something’s left behind and you’re fine.
For a while.
A while between braking and breaking.

© G.P Williamson 2019

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Short poems

Glass

Glass
09/08/2018
There’s a piece of robust glass in my chest where you used to live all see through clearly and sweetly.
It juts out obviously and none discreetly.
Like how you filled me.
Cut deeply and all briefly.
It’s strange this optical illusion of my reflected expression.
I wish I could taste the whisky to dull the pain which resides in like fragmented lies.
Fermented rope and throated side lines.
Love doesn’t burn.
It hides.
In the memory of your shadow I wait for the night to pass.
Until then, I nurse this robust glass.

© G.P Williamson 2018 <– hit for Instagram!

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