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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poems, Short poems

Tested

Tested

09/04/2018

I watched her purity read my spirit.

I watched her thirst drink my mind.

I refueled my forgiveness when she placed her hand in mine.

She read my every thought with a finger down the line.

A sentence to the solitude “I’m not yours but you are mine”

I watched her purity read my spirit.

I succumbed unto her breast.

Was this a new reality?

Another of his tests?

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

I knew!

I knew!

20/11/17

I couldn’t pen you.

Couldn’t commit you to paper, couldn’t write before.

Make you more real – forever.

I knew from that first time you’d try to read the things I hide.

Try to see beside the bedside lamps and mirrored signs.

Candlelight, the girl’s I’ve wined, perforated, broken, along the line. I wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You wanted mine.

My painful cries you’d read line by line. I couldn’t find the quick rewind, unintroduced go back in time.

I’d hide, I’d hide a thousand rainbows from the ethos to the cosmos.

Paint a million portraits, contact a thousand floor shows to run.

To run from the things your eyes know.

Run.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

Phantom Writer

Phantom Writer.

14/10/17

Thankyou guys who helped me most.

phantoms, spirits, long dead ghosts.

Write through me I am the host.

Visible scars, invisible delusions.

I see through it all with disastrous conclusions.

That envelope will come,

all pristine and clear.

A rejection of detection year after year.

If I’m ninety-six when the cheque comes through the post.

My job will be complete and that I will then toast.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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