Nicolas Guy Williams

Nicolas Guy Williams was born in Gloucester in 1970. Has been writing poetry, prose since 1988 and making art since 1984. He generally believes that his work should speak for itself. The 3 volumes of The apocalyptic symphony poetry collection, The Excanto, The Preludes, and The Rhapsodies : Selected Poems 1993 - 2017 are currently being redesigned for a second edition with in depth notes that contains all 3 volumes.

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here's a sample poem from The collection "The Rhapsodies : Selected Poems 1993 - 2017" it is one of the poems in the subsection entitled "Hinterlands".

Poem

“why should I not confess that earth was then

to me what an inheritance new-fallen

Seems, when the first time visited, to one

who thither comes to find in it his home?

He walks about and looks upon the place

With cordial transport, moulds it, and remoulds

And is half pleased with things that are amiss,

‘Twill be such joy to see them disappear.”

William Wordsworth Book X 145 to 152 Residence in France The Prelude

and how is worth thus then construed

that with a bitter plate cause is denied

the taste and touch of truth can heal

but also misunderstood destroy, take heed

that dice do rarely roll for truth

and chance is cursed by drawing lots

that bullets kill and wars are violence unfulfilled

for how can peace be trusted hence

if pent up energy thus spent turns dark desire

to vengeful hurt and all that selfish lust

required to massacre the gentle in approach

the sword is gone and let it not

be ever sworn the measure of a man

to wield its weight the gun unfortunately

is not yet late and beyond the gun the missile hates

it hates with such a torrid pace that peace

fights hard to keep it locked

of course it is not the missile but the man

that wields the missile the sword the hand

this weary earth has reason though

to attempt to speak to shout its truth

for every horrid weapon man conceives

delights in damaging the skin of her

and how she bleeds she bleeds the blood

that flows through us the sap bleeds too

these are the evil flowers poets knew and warned

the century hasn’t changed a thing

we’re back within illusions’ curse and crush

I mildly weep another’s tears to centre mine

and wonder if we’re still intent

on running out of time again

but let then words be the measure of the human soul

each poem a bandage to a bullet hole and scar

hold thus the earth inside your hand

and love it with your heart your mind

and listen to its sentient shout

it is not too late to lay aside

a century full of violent hate

and to coax back in the future into that gentle stream

of harmony where the tree, still singing from the leaf

is history reminding us of past mistakes

so we let Odin off the branch, and remember that a handshake makes us great

and a smile can last entire days

whereas war is the kind of pain

that repeats repeats its bitter ways by birthing other wars like seeds

put the bad seed in the box lock it tight

and let our sorrow be our sight once more

oh noble souls the moisture of a tear

is more than all the fighting’s worth

we are guests of this old earth

listen to her request sung softly

to the death that happens on her skin

(soliloquy 2015)