They travel on bended knees through broken trees and weave through dreams when Christmas looms.

All for you so one day you can see them too.

They help them, guide them. Redirect them to the light behind them and you ridicule and blind them? Make memories subside to cover and hide them?

Shame their beliefs.

Bequeath the will to guide them.

You can’t find them.

The light shows both placidity and care.

Accept the world you’ve come to know because it…….it isn’t there.


© G.P Williamson 2017


Music neck.

Music Neck


He had a music note on his neck.

He spoke with such respect.

I couldn’t help but wonder had he suffered much neglect.

His temperament raised questions from answers that he sought.

He had the kind of wisdom which wouldn’t age or be taught.

He asked of all my reasons and yet never spoke of his.

He’d learnt to listen softly but not yet learnt to live.

I was reminded softly of a very special bird.

I know it’s rather strange and somewhat quite absurd.

Yet a phoenix I saw rising from the ashes where I’d been.

I watched him scramble upwards on the power of his dreams.

He rose with subtle dignity.

I watched the thunder clap.

They shook my hand and promised me that one day they’d come back.


© G.P Williamson 2017



How to be poetic.

How to be poetic.


How to be poetic said the literate to the fool.

Have you felt no meanings? He asked not ridiculed.

Have you not tasted sophistication?

Lay on a bale of hay?

Sang along in unison or wondered night and day?

How to be poetic said the literate to the fool.

Have you not a memory?

Been around the world?

Have you never pondered why the boys they chase the girls?

How to be poetic said the literate to the fool.

Weren’t you educated at your colleges and schools?

Did university have not both a bar and pool?

Don’t you see the tears of another handsome fool?

How to be poetic said the literate to the fool.


© G.P Williamson 2017

poems, Short poems

She forgets his name.

She forgets his name.


She simply forgets his name.

The smell of him.

His clothes, the fragrance he wore.

How he walked, danced.

How he spoke, how he swore.

They all just ceased to be – like before.

Before he existed, before he was real,

before she enlisted, before she could feel.

Before she was herself.

She knew her own worth.

before she had full love.

before she was cursed.

He simply ceased to be as she walked away.


© G.P Williamson 2017


Coast to Coast.

Coast to Coast.


Coast to coast.

Wasted drench coat in the heat I love the most.

Can’t feel beyond the dull breeze of tomorrow.

Where will all the rainbows hide?

Water down a children’s slide with no child in view.

All the things you fail to see are because they once were you.

I cannot give up forgetting to remember.

All of my dreams were born in September.

Coast to Coast

wasted drench coat in the heat I love the most.

Frost bite’s nightly.

We sleep alone in quietness the deafening bustle is unsightly.

I’d ignite a flame but the passion passed right by me.

Come to me, find recourse. Elaborate on the misgiving’s move on – clear remorse.

Too easy for the statue of liberty.

Cold stone hearted no emotion all cold and fool hardy.

Broken swords on open books from lyrical stories with souls on hooks, dangling gangly, wriggling in the open air all painful and full view.

One of which is me.

The other’s we’re through.

I can’t see your soul, what happened to you?

Masquerade the sad parade. Happy sad and start to fade.

Nightmarish dreams children’s screams.

Were you ever what you seemed?


© G.P Williamson 2017