Short poems

Sweets at church

Sweets at church

30/05/2018

They sang in sweets and arms of welcome.

Holding laughs, a place that’s seldom.

They roped in gently, walking talks.

Tongues of murmur and none with forks.

They walk in rows, two by two.

All are welcome.

Me and you.

© G.P Williamson 2018 <—- Hit for Instagram!

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Short poems

The shoulder of the girl next door.

The shoulder of the girl next door.

27/05/18

What we like to plant doesn’t fruit for the seed is never watered.

I’ll say no more just wilt and wonder until they’re older.

Then who knows the nature of another’s shoulder?

Until I’m older.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

The big little bee.

The big little bee.

24/05/18

They dance like ants with on fire pants on chimney stacks and red brick packs.

They mumble jumble bumble bees cascading over one another like a mountain of knobbly knees.

An open door and they’re as free as the vision caught up in nature.

Admire the packs and don’t let the sting get ya!

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

The ants.

The ants.

23/05/18

Dear aliens,

My breast milk substitute contains nicotinamide and soy.

Half the world are scared of letting their child play as a girl or a boy.

We’re not allowed to overtly say black or white.

God forbid you take religion in the wrong light.

Dear aliens, come save us.

They took princess Diana.

Elvis Presley and Robin Williams.

We didn’t care much about the other guys but still they took those too.

Dear aliens, we fund public policy, policing, government upkeep and a corrupt health system but there’s something missing.

A realistic system.

There’s homeless and poor who can’t knock down a door, they don’t own one.

It’s not fun.

Dear aliens, black out the sun.

Show them we are one and must unite as such.

Give them a warning.

Make them appreciate us.

Yours,

The Ants.

© G.P Williamson 2018 < — Hit for Instagram.

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Short poems

That story you wrote.

That story you wrote.

23/05/18

Those forgive me cries.

Those apologies you give off like fire crackers in dreams, all ripped seams and screams, I feel them.

You don’t know it seems.

How would you?

We’ve never met.

That story you wrote – I read it. It was great!

That course you said you would do – do it, it will suit you.

That song you want to sing, lets be honest you’re tone deaf but love yourself.

That’s what’s left.

© G.P Williamson 2018 <— Hit for my Instagram.

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Short poems

Synchronicity, Karma’s little b*tch.

Synchronicity, Karma’s little b*tch.

20/05/18

There was a synchronicity in the first place 28th March, two meanings on the one date.

I’d chalked it all up to fate.

Then country fiction, a dream I’d never seen coming. Had I got to awaken I’d of took off running.

All deers, foxes, rabbits and shrews.

All gorgeous greens and clear blues.

All for two days and a thankyou too.

One day I’m returning to buy you.

Then there’s you, where the bluebird sings.

I don’t know your song but your vibration lingers.

Quality is often found in the tips of your fingers.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

You’re the rose in me.

You’re the rose in me.

19/05/18

If only I could pronounce evil as love turn chaos to doves, demons to God.

If only I could shut that door like they keep saying I should.

If I could handle a rose with delicate prose that didn’t draw blood.

If only I could.

There’s a world of unanimous decisions they all seem to be happy living.

There’s a world of “if only’s” they’re constantly grieving.

If only I could bring them healing.

Perhaps then I’d not be forever feeling.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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