Stopping short

Stopping short


A really short poem who’s lead up cascades, rises, ranges to chaotic exchanges, paraphrases the angelic faces of teenage lace in the empty spaces of every religious case. Each obsurd harsh word from man to bird, who’s crescendo aches with time complaints of chip shops with no fish and dried up paint, but doesn’t wait for finality and stops without frivality.

© G.P Williamson 2017




The Good Doll

The Good Doll


Dainty was the correct term despite the word being one I’d yet to learn.

I was five and small, my dress below the ankles was dragged along the hall.

The window wept sunlight warming my hair.

I was small but she was dainty.

Scarlet I called her because I knew no other.

We played by ourselves and played with our mother.


© G.P Williamson 2017




Pie (Graphic Short)



I can’t remember if it was before or after I’d taken a bite that my pie began to wriggle, but I do remember the movement in my stomach as it did.

The sudden lunge as worm after worm grasped and wrestled for attention and freedom. I half gasped half choked as the hellucination vanished and I awoke to the smell of freshly baked pie.


©G.P Williamson 2017


Basic Chaos



I’m at my worst when I’m crying, breaking and the earth’s shaking.

I’m at my worst when you hurt girls, with no reason why.

They run and hide and I tear inside as the earth opens wide.

I’m at my worst with no goals, seeing shallow souls as no hope grows, and you’re building totem poles?

You’re creating a hierachy?

A regimented scheme of decievers and daydreamers who bully high school kids and none believers?

Kicking and punching as he gasps for air trying to move, no time lapse there.

Be free, let me be, what did I do to you? Why me?

I can’t subsidize the pain inside but climb higher, no higher, you’ll see why.

Let’s take a ride.

You’re gonna look in the mirror and foretell your own suicide.

I’m through saying prayers,

I’m done making pacts,

Here’s my sword laid bare let’s see how the devil reacts.

Spontanious unity how chaos reaches clarity.

Then it’s clear to see how this mix can be the answer to my new found calamity.

Join me.

let’s father the fathers, parent the partners and squash all those petty worthless dramas.

Work alone or in sync I don’t care what you drink,

but if you use poison then make sure you think who you send to the brink.

Existence itself!

A none lyrical metaphor.

There’s no meaning true but…

….more war.

Fighting for things that are what you reap,

That aren’t yours to keep.

When you’ve been digging real deep but still fight in your sleep.

I awoke to a fall the drop screamed through the hall as I bounced off the walls was I there at all?

A dream in a dream my reality everlasting, fictional people all me, who are we casting?

My army eloped because they couldn’t cope, with the P.T.S.D and the lack of clear hope.

They all think it’s a joke.

I’m sorry, you didn’t come for a basic spread.

To read between the lines of the membrane in my head.

You’re not a sheep not easily led.

So let me raise a golden goblet on a chair of fine oak to celebrate your welcome.

Let’s praise your humanity in humouring me and rejoice in splendor and glory.

I’d try harder but in all honesty, you bore me.

Spontanious applause is the end of the story.

G.P Williamson 2017.