Tom Orrow

Buttercups and Daisys – A tale of Tom Orrow.

Buttercups and Daisys. – A tale of Tom Orrow.
26/06/18

Buttercups and daisys.
Why do I let it faze me?
Margarine and gravy.
A messy kind of crazy.

Bluebells on a short top dress.
Whitebells around her neck.
A wish upon a star.
A place I’ve not discovered yet.

“Don’t forget to remember”
Someone once said.
Tom Orrow leaves me wanting more.
Your memory leaves me dead.
© G.P Williamson 2018

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Tom Orrow

Tales of Tom Orrow – regret.

Tales of Tom Orrow – regret.
30/06/18

Your entire being is the etiquette of regret.
A riddle, I can’t.
I can’t forget.

Suicide and regret.
Upside down alphabet.
A blue bible that’s wet.
It’s not over yet.
(Tom Orrow dines on faith and pain)

Loss and progress
Tiredness and stress.
Monopoly and chess.
It’s all just a test.
(Tom Orrow basks in the son of trepidation)

Fatherhood as a vet.
Analysis and courgettes.
Confusion and pets.
The manure’s rarely wet.
(Tom Orrow serves your sh*t cold with marigolds)

Upside down alphabet.
Monopoly and chess.
Confusion and pets.
Suicide and regret.
(Tom Orrow: Met with regret)

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems, Tom Orrow

Flirting (Short graphic) – Tom Orrow.

Flirting.
(Short graphic)
15th July.

You hurt me.
You flirt see.
inside my veins curtly.
Like you curtsey with a switch razor.
Chop my calves up to eat later.
Like you live for my flavour.
You hurt me.
Skin deep.
little Bo peep doing bad things to sheep.
Increasing the fleece to smother the beast.
So the caffeine increases whilst we’re on the decrease.
You hurt me.
Tom Orrow bitter taste.
Sour pork.
Dark wonder.
Poisoned heart.
Want to know more?
Let’s take a walk

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems, Tom Orrow

Tom Orrow – Onion.

Tom Orrow – Onion.
15th July.

Tom Orrow  knows you’re like an onion with so many layers of purity and trust.
So many layers of personality,
Overtly shell hard like life’s calamity, unorthodox and chaotic.
A religious parody.
Tom Orrow knows you don’t feel worthwhile.
Lean on me they don’t understand all heart in hand, hold me close.
Friend come lets make plans.
Tom Orrow knows what you need to hide.
To die inside his world a while, to steal your smile.
Come cry for me.
Tom Orrow rules with unity.
None for you.
All for me.
Tom Orrow.
Tom Orrow.
Tom Orrow.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

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Short poems, Tom Orrow

All lies in the eyes 1 & 2. (Tom Orrow)

All lies in the eyes.
12th July 2018

They shouldn’t lie about those indelible tears they cried.
These pages wet where memory’s hide all daily worries, Tom Orrow troubles, wide eyed sorrys, drowned sorrows & eclectic poems.
You just don’t go.
You’re Baileys with porridge.
The criminal hat trick.
The faces that fit can’t despise sh*t they might be a glove but you’re cross stitch.
Parables of unique ambiguity.
I’m used to the lone wolf.
My shadow of clarity.

© G.P Williamson 2018

All lies in the eyes 2.

Lone wolf writes letters home to a girl in his mind.
Mighty fine.
Auburn hair and brown eyes she wears the perfect disguise.
Mesmerised in memory,
Tantalised in touch.
luminescent beauty.
A world he….
One sharp turn of his head and she’s gone again.
Pulled under the covers of daylight and robbery.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Tom Orrow

How I bind thee.

How I bind thee.

09/06/18

A lack of ropes keeps me tied up or rather it doesn’t as the confusion binds me.

Restless and endless I notch and churn.

Dispondant, displacent, uncharacteristically warm.

A lack of ropes and still you fall for my charm.

A short tale of Tom Orrow and that girl from the barn.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems, Tom Orrow

Half drunk – Tom Orrow.

Half drunk – Tom Orrow.

21/05/18

I inhaled her presence as she passed me by.

Relaxation pure, intoxication knowledge of why.

Passively she catches my eye.

Rewind to another time when I’d not have to pen this beauty.

Begone the old days. I’m feeling fruity.

May conjecture pass by and her aura do me good.

May she give up and relinquish her goods.

All fickle fevers and upskirt laughs.

All’s well and good no need for silk hoods.

The ropes and the ties can stay in the trunk.

Her very existence has me half drunk.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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