Many facets


Many facets


There’s many facets to a man’s personality.

Those we see at dusk and dawn chopping trees as the sweat trails down his palm.

Brushing hair away with the back of his hand where a bottle found his grasp.

The seconds tick by like hours on a doomed expression in the waiting room.

Eyes roll as wife moans at old chores she’d bespoke.

He laughs over beer with other blokes.

The pride in his eyes when his daughter passed her test.

The ability to keep going when he needs to rest.

Creating a family home from an empty nest.

An empty grave where he rests.

There’s many facets to a mans personality.


© G.P Williamson 2017


It’s Bob’s fault

It’s Bob’s fault


If she knew about Bob Lazar would she be intrigued?

Would space lead to a collaboration of stories weaved?

Rising like Apollo I’d lift for every occaion.

Each sweeping manifestation, a biblical revelation.

As sublime and divine as the fictional crime.

The universe may admire her beauty and that’s unquestionable.

However her brains flirted with me briefly through the darkness and the smoke.

I’m glad the visions changed and more so that I hadn’t spoke.

Somewhere beyond subconscious within reach yet untouchable.

Like Faith without the habit, A magician without a rabbit.

I am complete.


© G.P Williamson 2017


Tears for growth

Tears for growth


Forgive my stupid mouth.

The atrocities are worse than war.

Your tears could sooth a thousand armies,

Should they experiance what you’ve shed them for.

I’m sorry, words I never say and seldom feel.

Experiance as I don’t know what to say nor why at all I’m real.

Forgive my stupid mouth and with forgiveness may you heal.

My opinion is a sour crust beside the pizza top of life.

Any facts I may have spoken come with a spread of lies.


© G.P Williamson 2017



Rose black.

Rose black.


I’ll sleep now with roses.

Red roses on a layer of black, solidarity on a foundation of midnight matt.

Silken sheen, dark petals between the mystifying hues of red and green.

You left my mind and a thorn kissed the pad of my finger.

I don’t need to explain the pain.

It was exquisite, devine, beautiful and romantic all at once,

Painful, sorrowful and sad.

You left me longing for more before we’d begun.

We’d not danced.

We’d not spoke.

We’d not had fun.

The thorn hurt too for a moment.

I stretched and the vibrations cascaded in a hieroglyphical hierachy of petals, top of petals.

Pyramids of comfort and wonder.

I was allergic and you were my cure.


© G.P Williamson 2017




Everything she’d written

Everything she’d written


Everything she’d written, she’d written with her tongue.

The business man’s affections,

The words to her favourite song.

Her diary of mistakes.

Her heart was full of scars.

The notes she penned in teardrops, wedged within a jar of hearts.

Christmas came and went, the good man never glanced her way.

She always had the answers.

Her tongue unleashed could play:

The violin.

The Mandolin,

The secret saddle sushi.

If she wanted anything she got the best of Gucci.

Everything she’d written, she’d written with her tongue.

Her heart and mind combined could not correct that wrong.


© G.P Williamson 2017


The bad mirror

The bad mirror


They believe you’re perfectly charming.

There’s a lie beneath the cloak of ego.

A reflection which bites the legs under the cover of darkness during sleep time.

Night time.

Alone time.

Not daytime.

Not at any point where you direct your shield to prevent them knowing the real you, oh no, that wouldn’t do.

Your cowardice is the ink which gives birth to the oath of a lie.

Your mouth the birthing mother giving growth to humanity.

The type of growth most people pay to have removed for the fear of appearing hideous, yet you, wow.

You’ve made a living from parenting them, coaching lies to ladies eyes whilst turning cheeks as though surprised.

I had to watch mesmerised.

The only question left is why?


© G.P Williamson 2017


Pain (Migraine)


Pain (Migraine)

(last week sometime…)

216am with fire in my skin.

Facially distorted, electric from within.

Unnatural jitters, constant and eager.

Clench a need to scream. Seek a place to run but there’s nowhere to leave.

My body’s a prison without any keys.

Kneeling by the bed I just pray for release.

Head exploding, pounding, rolling.

Ever decreasing circles whilst at the point of boiling.

A piranha quipped bow.

Talking in tongues where will the arrow go?

I’ve got a feeling it’s leaving and it’s off I regret.

To forget I’m the target and tap out before impact.

Oh give me rain, give me clear cold rain pouring in buckets, not even cascading just drenching in mountains, removing the pain.

Euphoric endeavours, realities collide.

Whatever the liquid tear pain to goodbye.

Show me the ocean with it’s tides and it’s fro’s.

It’s gangly motion with it’s high’s and it’s lows.

Smell the salty air, hear the seagulls sing.

Handle crispy seaweed, recall anything.

Sleeping bad when camping. The fur inside the neck.

The warmest of survival bags I haven’t forgotten yet.

Dew from on the bivouac,

Ice cold right down my back.

Cannot more the the home will break.

No time to react.

Build a sanctum in my mind.

A hit a castle, a home a place refined.

No coffee that strong and I’ve no energy to drive.

There’s drivel behind my mass of meaning or perhaps the other way is true.

I can’t tell for seeing double, and all I see is you.


© G.P Williamson 2017