poems

My soppy woman.

My soppy woman.

12/05/2018

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

 

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poems

Travelling the road to acceptance.

Travelling the road to acceptance.

09/05/18

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

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poems

So, so beautiful.

So, so beautiful.

15/04/18

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

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poems

How fragile life is.

How fragile life is.

31/04/2018

More nervous because everything’s fine again.

I can shine and then go against his plan with tiny army men.

Waged war with a pen, threw myself at that wall and it hurt again.

The only blazing equation for this sanitary station as the O.C.D’s raging is to hand all my pages in!

I’d love to make believe I’m safe every night as I sleep.

Love to speculate the hands of fate, turn and everyone makes it before they get out.

That each has a turn at fame and riches, quality of life and fun filled bitches.

I’d love to believe any lie that keeps me high on the deceitful cloud nine, insisting my world is fine.

Instead I cry and cling tight to a ghostly image, I rage fight as truth and science pack my nightmares tight.

So hard to trust it when you know how fragile life is.

It can start and stop with a kiss.

A broken heart or a heartbeat missed.

It can live or die on a thistle or nettle.

It can traverse the universe like something special.

It can die in an eye blink of “why’s”, denial and tell me lies.

Make the world safe again stop the cries.

It’s so hard to trust when you don’t know where the knife is.

It’s so hard to trust when you know how fragile life is.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Someone I didn’t like.

Someone I didn’t like.

22/03/2018

I became someone I didn’t like overnight like having a horror story every dark light. Such a freight where spikes grow through daylight and turn mole hills to mountains and friendships to dust.

Loss does this as does lack of trust.

Relationships torn under pulled dark asunder no reason to worry of fortune or falling.

That sound you can hear in the distance but can’t place?

That’s the end calling.

It’s calling for your face.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems

Just Stay (Short)

 Just stay (Short)

14th February 2018

Just stay.

Stay out of the way.

Arguments come, they go.

Relationships fray.

Just stay.

Uneven carpets in uneven halls.

Cracks in broken, damaged walls.

Foundations strong, the cobbles sore.

Just stay.

Stay out of the way.

From eternity, just stay.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems

One Book

One Book

11/12/17

What if everything you’d ever known was in one book?

You could be reflected, understood like a bad mirror in one look.

Assumption and conclusion void. No reason to speculate the toys.

A man is both criminal and just.

Would perception change how they trust?

Fabricate a reason, a landslide of meaning, a ball pool of believing or a faith that’s teaming with spirit believing whilst the other half is leaving.

Admiring the critic who’s heart’s not in it, supporting the truths in lies and lying truths of Old Land Syne and miserable youth for wealth and dollar.

Should you pass me a sin then just holla.

What if everything you’d known was in one book?

© G.P Williamson 2017

 

  • Shout out to all the Autobiography writers out there – feel free to slam your link in the comments section so we can see what you’ve written.

 

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