Short poems

As a child (@BymePoetry)

As a child (@BymePoetry)

I originally posted this as a reply to a post on Instagram @ByMePoetry

14/04/18

As a child I lied, cried and died a thousand times.

I rhymed lines for fictional crimes to keep my head designed to stay fine.

I’m thirty six.

I lied over eighteen thousand times.

The world still isn’t mine.

But I found a place, a methodology, a kind of gold heart pump, a reflexology.

As a child I lied, cried and died a thousand times.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems, Short poems

Colour me in

Colour me in.

13/04/18

Colour me in with meaning, stencil me screaming.

The dirt I believe in not this half hearted church departed last faith born again resuscitated jargon.

Tell the House Martin who quivers and lifts.

They all come from the same place, the same land. They all bit the same grit. Chewed the same sand.

I make excuses that I’ve not been discovered yet. I forget how much the kin’s been met. Like a wet feta cheese, unpleasing and cheap.

Forgive me my sins.

I’m in deep.

Colour me in with meaning.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Jam Jar memoir.

Jam Jar Memoir.

31/03/18

Oh there’s now a stone cold rage that plagues the actions of yesterday.

I pray the crowd in the clouds comes forth holds hands, chants, heals the remorse.

I’ve missed the full force.

I’ve not connected in so long.

Losing you – was wrong.

I embrace, saving grace, the calmed, whiter, purer place.

Humming with clarity, unity, without society’s futility.

A place for me, belonging.

A new ship in a place we can’t swim. I dived right in.

A thousand notes in a Jam jar in a dusty corner of an old attic.

Reminiscent, all that’s left of me in a bespoke dynamic, an idea from the web that keeps me alive right here in your head.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems, Short poems

Full and complete

Full and complete.

23/03/18

Full and complete beneath the sheets as emotion hits wonderlust like snow meets sleet.

Bare feet and crisp white sheets hand in hand.

Coffee with no plans.

Warm stone towards a never never kind of home where a parrot squawks and curtains blow gently.

A manly hand clasps a pillow as a wind up car makes its way along the bedroom floor ruining any plans he had of driving – but he’s still smiling.

Give me your kingdom and you could keep it.

Reap what you sow.

I’ll take mine neat.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

One day baby, one day.

One day baby, one day.

23/03/2018

One day you’ll read me when questioning your own sanity.

Your own reasons for doing things and think that I’m quite mad.

I’m not, you’re perfect. It does happen to other people.

You’re not alone.

You will be okay and I do love you.

Besides, of course you’re crazy.

I’m your dad.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Seven story building

Seven story building.

23/03/2018

A top a seven story building stands a seven story man. With seven story windows and a bible in his hand.

A seven story crisp packet blows way down below the street.

Where a seven story drop awaits beneath his feet.

A seven story inpact awaits with a patient curse.

Amidst a seven story ambulance the police and a nurse.

A top a seven story building stands a seven story man.

From a seven story building a bible hits the ground.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

A thousand shades of dust.

A thousand shades of dust.

23/03/18

I never knew I’d make it.

I guess that you didn’t either.

I rushed a thousand lovers, none of which were mine.

I never knew I’d make it.

My lonely was unjust.

Drinking til all hours in the clenched fist of mistrust.

I never knew I’d make it before I turned to dust.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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