Short poems

Never could be.

Never could be.

15/05/18

She was his never could be, in a world she never could see.

Wrapped in a shroud of clouds she housed a future beyond his vision, yet fully in sight.

Like viewing the sun in the middle of the night.

She was all there and half not, a full never could be.

There he was in a world she never could see.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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poems

My soppy woman.

My soppy woman.

12/05/2018

There’s this woman I love.

Three times three.

Well, two girls and her you see.

Through petals of life’s absurdity.

They’re not rose tinted.

We’ve had our share of brambles and weeds.

It’s just clear now they’re not all they seem.

They’re important, often difficult, sometimes gut wrenchingly hard.

Yet the good outweighs the bad by far.

For every one who is not here in this moment now with us in it.

There’s you three girls every, single, passing, minute.

Through petals of life’s absurdity.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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poems

And she was gone.

And she was gone.

5/5/18

He just stood there in the pouring rain amidst a field of dreams all normal with insane eyes.

All plain but behind the mind a loss of control he kept trying to find.

He looked on and she was gone.

To a place she never was.

His neverending neverlass. A gone that never the less had begun and so he found her in the emptiness within every location.

It drove him perplexed with purple pupils  pirouetting persuasive patterns from placid places to personal pleasure.

He just stood there in the pouring rain amidst a field of dreams.

All normal with insane eyes.

He came alive.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Rocked the jewels.

Rocked the jewels.

30/04/18

Rocked the jewels of carpet bled fake trickery.

Sold chipboard painted illusions as pure hickory.

Grafted spines to church designs before the lord predetermined this earth of mine.

I still can’t find the time.

I’ve met pure duchesses with full chests and no stress.

Windmill girls who keep it under their vest.

I’ve met fully grown men who unashamedly dress the same. Albeit it’s not my game but they played it, made it. Did a double take on stage and back paid it.

Full houses all whore holla’s big dollars, wide ass bouncers with white shirt collars and here’s me trickling along with the same song I’ve played continuous for far too damn long.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Speedy retreat.

Speedy retreat.

27/04/18

Gingerbread man meets red lips with a crisp dress and tight hips. “We’re late” he whispers part fun and part warning.

Doing her bun in a clip, falls to a rain filled puddle.

Her head on his chest.

The chauffeur smiles as they cuddle.

Nylon lips curled to warm arms.

Tonight’s a storm before the calm.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

Live like you’re surprised.

Live like you’re surprised.

24/04/18

Oh please like you’re surprised at the mans lies when he walks around with death in his eyes.

He never cared about you, you knew it too. All those things he backstabbed you through.

Well, I know your frame the psychobabble bullsh*t game intrigues me and as a man I want to chase the carrot to decree the infusion.

I want to tame the confusion of this unique illusion.

As a family man you’re already a forgone conclusion.

The man said one time he’d already have pressed the button, he’s right.

That’s why he’s still lying his way through life.

No morality in sight.

Let me guess, he actually believes the positives you tell him, right?

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Blood red

Blood red.

26/04/18

Epic fail all hail the blood red rain of regret and raise a glass to another disaster, another broken promise.

A regret filled plaster. A suture for a septic would I can’t help but to pick.

It won’t happen again he says scratching away at the scab.

Lets get drunk and fight the night away.

In the morning we can think of reasons to stay.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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