poems

Confidence capsized.

Confidence capsized.

19/08/13

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

 

 

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poems, Short poems

Toddler Christmas

My little girl is four years old – some observations around the festive season.

Toddler Christmas.

02/12/17

There’s an obviousness to your innocence that’s endearing.

Crispy lights on the tree, that tickley spider feeling.

Hide and seek toys and watery spray.

Those “Come and play dad!” and “Pick me up!” days.

There’s beddy byes and twinkly lights that “One more story” and “Kiss goodnight”

Those “I’ve got your key, you’ve got mine!” name the animals and then eye spy.

That “Can I climb on your back?” and scooter steering.

There’s an obvious in your innocence that’s endearing.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

Your arrangement.

Your arrangement.

02/12/17

Your arrangement would be akin to a bouquet of sin.

Lilly’s, soft yellows, delicate expressions.

A cactus, several venus fly traps and a black bow would almost, almost begin to explain your initial attraction.

Moonbeams through skirt seams incite delightful daydreams as the slender master adjusts her position.

Pushes her hair back and cocks her head in my general direction.

I disappear in a book I’d long to read if she wasn’t here I couldn’t be free.

Press on as I turn red at her expression fuelled the night as the intensity progresses.

Even then when once again I’ve decided you’re every drink and my own Djin and still, still I don’t know where to begin.

You’re the art of being at the start of losing my free will.

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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poems, Short poems

Bang

Bang

02/12/17

Paraplegic thoughts, half cocked, half fried, half useful desires and lines.

Lines and lines of soldierless armies. Just empty guns on the front line facing one giant magnet for all their colorful hope and glory.

Marching to the sound of metallic little boots to a future horror story and as much as they tear down building after building before me, I can’t help but find…. they bore me.

I flick the switch to an all new ending.

Humming solitude as the guns start to twitch in realisation.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

Violation of the fourth law.

Violation of the fourth law.

30/11/17

Direct violation of the fourth law.

Moral indignity.

Praise obligatory.

Apologise theoretically and blag persuasively.

A direct truth wasn’t enough and so now I’m a direct descendent from God with blue blood, related somewhere to the guy from Nickleback and we have one lie to thank.

Direct violation of the third law.

Make more.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

You Foolish Man

You Foolish Man.

25/11/17

The rotten apple you could have eaten.

Would have worked itself through every pore.

Dropping maggots, nibbling, eating, hatching more and more.

It’s not the answer to the kingdom.

Oh it’s what you’ve had before.

Forgetfulness an opened look through a closed aperture.

A rotten seaside sodden book.

From start to finish in one heavy handed filth filled page.

Still in your absence you gnaw at my heart.

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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Graphic, poems, Short poems

My Disturbia.

My Disturbia.

24/11/17

You’re my Disturbia.

I’m still hurting.

Metamorphose into a dragon and kick the world hurling.

Cascaded dizziness I can’t stop.

I’m still swirling.

Head over heels has a new motion.

I’m burning.

Corrosive anticipation from your tearful eyes and blood red lips.

I wait patiently – fingertips to fingertips.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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