poems, Short poems

She forgets his name.

She forgets his name.

29/09/17

She simply forgets his name.

The smell of him.

His clothes, the fragrance he wore.

How he walked, danced.

How he spoke, how he swore.

They all just ceased to be – like before.

Before he existed, before he was real,

before she enlisted, before she could feel.

Before she was herself.

She knew her own worth.

before she had full love.

before she was cursed.

He simply ceased to be as she walked away.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Coast to Coast.

Coast to Coast.

28/09/17

Coast to coast.

Wasted drench coat in the heat I love the most.

Can’t feel beyond the dull breeze of tomorrow.

Where will all the rainbows hide?

Water down a children’s slide with no child in view.

All the things you fail to see are because they once were you.

I cannot give up forgetting to remember.

All of my dreams were born in September.

Coast to Coast

wasted drench coat in the heat I love the most.

Frost bite’s nightly.

We sleep alone in quietness the deafening bustle is unsightly.

I’d ignite a flame but the passion passed right by me.

Come to me, find recourse. Elaborate on the misgiving’s move on – clear remorse.

Too easy for the statue of liberty.

Cold stone hearted no emotion all cold and fool hardy.

Broken swords on open books from lyrical stories with souls on hooks, dangling gangly, wriggling in the open air all painful and full view.

One of which is me.

The other’s we’re through.

I can’t see your soul, what happened to you?

Masquerade the sad parade. Happy sad and start to fade.

Nightmarish dreams children’s screams.

Were you ever what you seemed?

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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poems

October

October

09/10/17

October and the month held the same letters as her name.

We’d swam in fallen leaves which held more prickles than you’d actually believe.

The smell was divine and the leaves were fresh.

Her touch a tender reminder of a harsher happiness.

October and the month held the same letters as her name.

I was used to change, the seasons, the natural flow for many reasons.

Somehow I knew these memories would be stationary.

A new world of eternity forever encased.

Forever swept over.

My autumn love – October.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

Just a quickie.

Just a quickie.

17/06/2017

That creche behind your eyes where future children lie.

That cozy fire reading stories flickering night sparks whilst you play with her hair.

That memory of yearning for tomorrow whilst surviving the todays.

Let’s bring that forwards.

Forwards in all ways.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

The Undateables.

The Undateables.

(This poem has nothing to do with the programme of the same name)

11/09/2017

Stop insinuating dating and refrain from contemplating when you’re understating all which keeps us hibernating, to kep warm at a time which could do harm.

I don’t blame the illustrator.

Pictures of a great dictator.

A powerful leader brought to their knees on the fringes of ambiguity.

Do some people interchange lives by the means of unseen course?

Travelled is still a road.

It exists in terms of functional quality.

Equality doesn’t murmur.

Doesn’t become unheard.

It’s real and magnified but silently obsurd.

I have a choice not to make a choice and in that my security is found.

No choice is no change and in what’s lost can never be found.

You don’t lose what you never had.

What isn’t yours doesn’t pay to be sad.

Sad’s not the right word, more a trickle of wonder.

….Like the day moves the night and the clouds meet the thunder.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

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poems

Quiet before the storm.

Quiet before the storm.

11/09/2017

The polite sentence requests a responce both calm and sensitive.

No adequate reply is given.

Safety is forbidden.

The night turns darker when accidents occur.

Bed ridden.

Unwalking, painful seizures.

Untalking, non speaking.

Victims of regular unthinking.

Sinking.

The polite sentence turns tense a new context part ruffled.

No adequate reply is given.

Safety is forbidden.

A tantrum thrown the hidden threat of repercussion shown.

The body language of potential violent undertone and….

….an adequate answer showing.

What once held no desire – now glowing.

An optimistic inspiration, a reason to start chasing.

Running to rescue the things we were misplacing.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

I’ll call you.

I’ll call you.

“I’ll call you”

They both knew it was beter this way.

He’d not asked her to stay.

She was dressed before he awoke.

Another notch.

Another Bloke.

She could blame the alcohol and he come name some beers.

Both knew what the deal was.

The answer – crystal clear.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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