Short poems

Can’t not.

Can’t not.

I tried to hide.
Keep it inside.
I know what you’re thinking.
You’re half right.
There’s no bad equations.
No misogynistic liaisons.
No hidden meets or fingers touching souls incomplete.
No sparks flying, left dying be all that ends all love you’re buying.
No love lost, trust cost remainder of us lost, there is a crimson oath bust.
A seam of a heart crushed. Still beats.
Blood from the crease is released.
Pumps half hazardly.
Like I beat but inadequately.
Half the man I should be and glad.
Father and dad.
Something for which I fight.
I can’t not write.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

that heavy sigh laugh.

That heavy sigh laugh.


It’s been a while since I sighed that heavy after laughing so hard your stomach aches.
Laugh we used to have sigh, aye.
It’s been a while because I filed it inside a cry.
It gets too close to laugh, I don’t know why.
I pretend as I look at the sky trying to glimpse a memory.
It’s been a while.
I relive the end daily.
Remind me of that laughter, This teams banter gives me a time I’ve draft.
Maybe I’ll resign up at last and yet it couldn’t replace our old chats.
There’s a fear in that.
I’m not awkward I’m malnourished.
The unpublished memory of the you I cherished.
I know what I have and what I’m scared to have.
It’s been a while since I sighed that heavy sigh laugh.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Dirty poetry and the lack of humans

Dirty poetry and the lack of humans.


I didn’t understand the humans but I tried.
I battled in letters, a multicoloured alphabet of spaghetti o’s and alphabites, dark D’s and light Knights. (Yes I spelt that right.)
I drank Q’s and swallowed whole jars of Oreo’s and chocolate bugs.
Humans I’d understand their language was a drug.
I fell, tripped spanish and bastardised french.
I quilled latin and chinese melted on my tongue like a bad radish.
I hip hopped to happy rap whilst metal clipped and clapped to the encore of a badly spun track (these humans, they didn’t like that)
I found peace in a barn in a girl next door listening to Toby Keith whilst her head banged repeatedly against Leonard Cohen’s Book of Longing.
My mouth full of fickle lusts and moist belonging. (I still managed to fit a song in)
I don’t understand humans but I tried.
I dried tears from her eyes where the words of mourning rode chariots of death to hopes of cloning.
I ripped out her heart and put a megaphone in.
She screamed for eternity and nobody heard her heart beat.
Muted ears by Gary Jules Mad world.
Closer to the edge I trod and vanished into the chasm of her mind.
I didn’t understand humans,
But I tried.

© G.P Williamson 2018

Short poems

It’s a good morning.

It’s a good morning.


Sweeps in as a million butterfly fixtures.
Smiles like a totalitarian love elixir.
The potion of trust, calm and soothing.
A palm of antiquity, suave, alluring.
Devil may care, it’s you I’m charming.
Heartbeats and warm blood.
Heat spots, seeing red dots, the butterflies won’t stop and it’s a good morning.

36 degrees outside and you’re all running rampant and agile at a million miles inside my mind.
Don’t do this, I’m falling, the nothing is calling.
A corrupt void with no warning.
HoHoHo because Christmas is coming on a bad summer morning.

© G.P Williamson 2018 < hit for Instagram.



My soppy woman.

My soppy woman.


There’s this woman I love.

Three times three.

Well, two girls and her you see.

Through petals of life’s absurdity.

They’re not rose tinted.

We’ve had our share of brambles and weeds.

It’s just clear now they’re not all they seem.

They’re important, often difficult, sometimes gut wrenchingly hard.

Yet the good outweighs the bad by far.

For every one who is not here in this moment now with us in it.

There’s you three girls every, single, passing, minute.

Through petals of life’s absurdity.

© G.P Williamson 2018



Travelling the road to acceptance.

Travelling the road to acceptance.


Oh the best of friends comes closer than any wives title.

Knowing that pressure point the inane vulnerable weakness that doubles as a pleasure point’s beyond me.

How I abscond at control see.

Edipus complex and euphemism free.

You’re more than a wife and friend to me.

A pleasure dome of hope and forgive the intrusion.

A make of it what we will illusion.

How nothing is ours in ever changing motion.

How we experience it amidst a frightening commotion.

The sea saws in all directions like the new comer to a general election and without trepidation we take the next step.

Together we’ll travel this road we accept.

© G.P Williamson 2018


So, so beautiful.

So, so beautiful.


It’s like she doesn’t understand how much I’m taken.

Those powerful lines of integration.

The smell of the ocean inside her thighs.

The shine of the moon beyond her eyes.

A metaphysical redundancy where the logic gave up.

She’s Opal Fruits and Starburst filled with a rough love.

Dancing glaciers.

A broken radius.

Bespoke unity in a world not made for us.

Cold clarity.

Harsh reality.

Dance anyway, else the show stops for me.

It’s a pity too,

What’s so cold can be so beautiful.

© G.P Williamson 2018