Short poems

Suicide reality.

Suicide reality.

08/06/2018

It’s been six years this year.
You never said goodbye.
No adios, no see you later.
Just vanished after everything like you so often had before, days turned to weeks then a message at my door.
You were no more.
You were no more.
I still find it weird.
Still expect you to just turn up demanding pizza and helping yourself.
I went to your funeral, it didn’t help.
You weren’t the type to kil yourself.
It’s been six years this year.
You never said goodbye.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

When I die.

When I die.

23rd June 2018

When I die a deathly death of dark all hallowedness and that veil falls all clear and proud, I want you to scream.

Scream until the crows of hell themselves all run and hide.

Scream until the graves turn on their sides.

Scream loud like every Harley that’s ever kicked up dust.

Scream like a second husbands lack of trust.

Like the Eiffel tower doesn’t rust and through the rain and sleet and snow, through every tale that death can show, through every diseased town you have to go.

Stand tall.

Stand tall and scream until the fire in the gates of hell perspires, that’s where my eyes are.

When I die a deathly death of dark all Hallowedness and that veil falls all clear and proud, scream me up a motherfucking shroud!

Balm me in your fury.

Warm me with your aggression.

Shower me in might before I leave a great impression.

I’m coming back on Monday in the reflection that you’ll miss.

I’ll reach right out and claim you in a possessed silent kiss.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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Short poems

You’re the rose in me.

You’re the rose in me.

19/05/18

If only I could pronounce evil as love turn chaos to doves, demons to God.

If only I could shut that door like they keep saying I should.

If I could handle a rose with delicate prose that didn’t draw blood.

If only I could.

There’s a world of unanimous decisions they all seem to be happy living.

There’s a world of “if only’s” they’re constantly grieving.

If only I could bring them healing.

Perhaps then I’d not be forever feeling.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Rolling with the changes.

Rolling with the changes.

17/02/18

I’ve learnt to roll with changes although I like things crystal clear.

I understand it’s circumstance but not why you’re not here.

I understand that people think you don’t really matter.

You didn’t exist in breath or beat and so we just get better.

I’ve listened to the arguments both pro life and pro gun.

Yet they had choices of their own and us….well we had none.

I’ve given up on giving up, when I couldn’t fit you into faith.

Each day I live for here and now the smile grateful on my face.

I’m irritated much more often, angry quite a lot.

Yet I live for I’ve got instead of what we’ve not.

People around me lost plenty.

I hear them cry in the night.

Echo’s of eternity remind me I’m alright.

Then there’s you with everything.

Two jobs, two cars, two kids.

I marvel at the perfectness then shake my head at it.

I like to live my happiness like happiness loves life.

I mirror all the beauties in my daughter and my wife.

I saviour every moment from the mundane to the dear,

Because I’ll not be blind to love that finds itself right here.

I’ve learnt to roll with changes, although I like things crystal clear.

I understand it’s circumstance but not why you’re not here.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

 

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Short poems

Living a lullaby.

Living a lullaby.

26/04/2018

Profound sound of a lullaby he’d found in the rain amongst the noise of traffic.

In his head he sung to himself.

Gleefully dressed, surprisingly unstressed.

He’d failed every other test.

Yet this lullaby needed to be written.

His bike was broken but the journey was living.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Tokens to dreams – everywhere!

Tokens to dreams – everywhere!

21/04/18

There’s tokens to dreams everywhere.

Stars in the day sky invisible that pass me by and although I ask I don’t know why.

Tokens cascading, obliterating the scene through views I had and places I’ve been.

There’s tokens in clothing, tokens with holding, tokens of tokens where shattered dreams are broken.

With us both in.

There’s been tobacco tins of plenty from years I smoked myself empty, during times I resent me.

That token’s empty.

They flutter like butterflies in featherless skies with beauty spots and shiny eyes.

They whisper and they tell lies.

I’m past that care, the rich get richer and they can’t spell share.

Morality’s unjust and my own dreams are laid bare.

I’d suckle the flowing teet of humanity without dignity if I could raise the family.

Life doesn’t run on empathy or fair, look!

There’s tokens to dreams – everywhere!

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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poems

It’s something to believe in.

It’s something to believe in.

21/04/18

I used to believe in a reason.

A reason for all of the years.

A white picket fence, a yard with a swing.

A log cabin garden and a gold band ring.

I used to believe in a reason.

A reason for everything.

I was an angel of sorts.

Fixing the warts, healing the sick,teaching drunk cohorts.

One step in front of the other, baby steps, watching them walk.

They’d progress through positive stress, alleviate duress and beat all the tests and I confess.

I used to believe in a reason.

A reason for everything.

It’ll all be alright in the end they pined. Hit rewind and turn that frown upside down for the thousandth time.

Take me back to simple crimes.

When the future was golden and clouds had silver linings.

Take me back to something to believe in.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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