Short poems

I’m still here.

I’m still there.

I love how I can simply reach through the screen and run my finger down your chest to let you know I’m still here.
In your mind.
Beside your side.
When you need to hide or the kind when you have to look behind.
That’s what was.
Not what’s here, reach out, don’t stop.
You’ll see me softly behind if you look long enough through a mirror.
The hazy apparition still holding your hand.
That chance encounter you’d not planned.
A memory of potential you’d dare not which believe.
Crazy in our faith.
Then we don’t have Christmas eve?
Call it ESP, telepathy, call it astral travel.
It’s all the same to me.
How I can simply be.
How I can simply be.
© G.P Williamson 2018

Tom Orrow

Buttercups and Daisys – A tale of Tom Orrow.

Buttercups and Daisys. – A tale of Tom Orrow.

Buttercups and daisys.
Why do I let it faze me?
Margarine and gravy.
A messy kind of crazy.

Bluebells on a short top dress.
Whitebells around her neck.
A wish upon a star.
A place I’ve not discovered yet.

“Don’t forget to remember”
Someone once said.
Tom Orrow leaves me wanting more.
Your memory leaves me dead.
© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Daisy chain my name.

Daisy chain my name.

I don’t want a pocket full of poseys.
I want a heartbeat in a jar.
I don’t want you wearing my skin,
But I want you not too far.
I don’t want your love creamed like a lotion,
But I’ll have you swallow ocean after ocean.
I don’t want to lay claim to fame.
I want your daisy chain to write my name.
I don’t just want those intricate lips to lay me tender.
I want to have you surrender, surrender, surrender.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Love don’t last.

Love don’t last.
29th July 2018

Yesterday when people made the music of our past.
Yesterday we loved for them as we knew love don’t last.
Yesterday when people played no such silly games when walk with me meant you come home to stay.
Yesterday, oh yesterday.

Kirby streets and bulldog wars,
Give that girl your coat.
Yesterday’s when curtains twitch
“She’s got another bloke”
There’s always one and ours was her
three doors down all knocked up furs.
Yesterdays were queer as folk and yes,
“She’s got another bloke”

Yesterdays when fear was fake and death weren’t all the news.
Yesterdays I loved your eyes and it’s still a brand new world.
Yesterdays when people made the music of our past.
Yesterday we loved for then as we knew love don’t last.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Straight razor. (Short writings)

Straight Razor.


That guy’s smoother than a straight razor and twice as sharp.
He takes her by the jaw and he grabs her by the heart.
All pulled too near in quick riddles, nervous half giggles and at his touch she quivers.

© G.P Williamson 2018

When things go wrong, turn upside down.
They almost always, sometimes get better.
They only way is up I’ve found whilst I’m falling down.
I’ve cried myself a river and I’ve made myself a crown,
Both of thorns and paper on a smile and a frown.
I’ve ran naked through the city and danced barefoot in the town.
I’ve found myself the expert and discovered I’m a clown.

© G.P Williamson 2018

I’ve fought for my choices.
I’ve relinquished my veins.
I’ve steamrolled through people I loved all the same.
I’ve hidden from gangs, I’ve picked off one by one.
I’ve beat them with knife, I’ve never once run.
I’ve fought for my choices.
I’ve fought for my rights.
Doubt all my actions.
Just look in my eyes.

© G.P Williamson 2018



Short poems

Throwing logs.

Throwing logs.
26th July 2018.

Yes it was falling apart.
The world was dark.
It left terrible cuts and marks.
Out went the sparks.
I revved the carts, watched them motor on,
Saunter over a hill and nearly gone.
I became the father talking to the son asking “Dad where’s the rainbow gone?”
In wonder I pleaded deceitfully release me.
Smile to a categorically stitched up heart all full and complete with spare parts.
The soul yearns.
Bible tattered ribbon.
Adding logs to a fire when I can’t stand the burn.
Will I ever learn?

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

Not fun Jim.

Not fun Jim.
26th June 2018

Not fun Jim.
Look at him!
A parable of lunacy.
Never wears a grin.
All black hearts,
Frozen darts.
Rose buds with black sharps.
The negative reaction.
The cataclysmic pattern of dim eyes and sour expression.
Unloved in his own reflection.
Look at Jim!
Watch him fall! He’ll risk everything,
He’ll lose it all.
Look! Watch Jim go, fallen over his own shadow.
Leave him be, he’s miserable him.
What do you expect?
He’s not fun Jim.

© G.P Williamson 2018