poems

Spit on the witch.

Spit on the witch.

15/02/18

She rages and boils.

Bubbles broth from clear oils.

Cuts daisys for lotions, plants trees in dead soil.

She’s holier than though, with wisdom she bows.
Compassion unites the stars with their light. Fingerless puppets that dance through the night.

Grows old without aging, feels pain without complaining, holds baby’s whilst their mothers eyes are fading.

They spit on the witch, they curse and they hiss. Who is this miss to act out like this?

Show me the lights, gather the stones!

Bring out the door! We’ll send her straight home.

Make her bob, make her drown, cut her arms, tear her down.

Bring the general, light her up. Tie her down, string her up!

“I forgive you” said a man who turned water into wine. Who gave fishes to dine from immaculate birth to story of all time.

There’s a glitch in your history that glorifies mystery. Praises the gods whilst the witches lose victory.

Midwives and healers, spirit believers, lovers and growers, empaths and seers. Medics and chemists, farmers and alchemists.

Stick with your water to wine if you wish.

Mother earth and father air. Neither dies and neither cares.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

7th September

7th September.

13th February 2018

Perhaps you’d do better to remember the legend of he born on the 7th of September.

He overcame, overshot, over achieved and over played his hand.

Where the universes fall like a million grains of sand.

Bespoke royalties on half a story.

The lies of a poor man.

Scold my security.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Grab it and whisper.

Grab it and whisper.

18/02/18

The foolish bard drinks merrily the poison of desire.

No recollection of a future.

No marriage to impress.

No children who’d enquire.

My walked paths held holed shoes in my souls truth.

The whole truth walked in the souls earth.

What is this coat worth?

To grab it and whisper. “I’m sorry I kissed her”

Now you’ll claim die on the twitch of an eye on what else would I lie?

You’ll not trust as much as I said as such and now it’s just dust.

Goodbye to your touch.

For all that I had and all that I loved I wish I’d held on for the greater good.

Here take it – take my blood.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Home – Where the heart is.

Home – Where the heart is.

10/02/18

I’m home – Where the heart is.

Where the start begins and the buried rests.

Where time stops and stress is caressed.

Where the unplanned becomes extraordinary.

Where if you’re back late we extra worry.

Where the colours paint their own story in scarred knees and fallen leaves, autumn days and broken dreams.

Tear filled chalice. Captured presence. No such malice.

Treasure our difference.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

 

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poems

Ice skating, dancing doves.

Ice skating, dancing doves.

10th February 2018

 

Like a sea-saw with give and take, equal weights where the roundabout turns at the hands of fate and we trust adults because, you know, it’s not too late.

We “Heads, shoulders, knees and toes” kiss trees and hug rainbows, watch fairy’s dance and…where did the time go?

Ice skating, dancing doves. Christmas eve, hot chocolate mugs.

Spicy aroma, not alone.

Family noises, a warm log fire home.

Like a sea-saw with give and take,  a bouncy trust continues late. When you can’t stand your hand I’ll clasp. We’ll “ring a ring a rosy” until our last.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

My Fusion (Short)

My Fusion (Short)

24/02/18

Your clothes came off with cataclysmic audacity as you were born a new to my favourite fantasy.

Doorway shadows, no fear all care. Blankets of light through wavy hair.

Forgone conclusion.
Waking illusion.

Wish I could die inside this delusion.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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