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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poems, Tom Orrow

Tom Orrow “I want your dreams”

Tom Orrow “I want your dreams”

25/04/2018

I want to take your dreams and treat them as rewards.

I’ll give you little trickles dependant on your scores.

You’ll have to work hard though, do as I say.

Are you sure you’re prepared for what might come your way?

The bruises and the uses, the sores and the straps, they vanish in time the more you relax.

The parting, the harming the degrading – Love’s charming.

They stay forever, it can be quite alarming.

The shock and the horror birth the demons Tom Orrow.

Watching the path where the submissive wallows.

There’s a crying shame to an empty bed frame.

When all the remains are the memories of our games.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems, Tom Orrow

Gin and Whisky

Gin and Whisky

09/04/2018

She cleaned her teeth with gin and whisky.

Her hair a fresh bleach cream.

She rode him in the darkness in the middle of a dream.

Tom Orrow captured every nuance with a silver plated lense.

The memory like a photograph that never seems to end.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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Short poems, Tom Orrow

Tom Orrow – Killed it.

Tom Orrow – Killed it.

06/04/18

Tom Orrow wasn’t believed by the great deceivers.

He didn’t care.

Content with angst and misery he had bigger fish to fry.

It was Wednesday and wednesday he worked at the fish and chip shop as cover for his real identity as an assassin.

When it came to dead pan humour,

Tom killed it.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems, Tom Orrow

Tom Orrow – Let’s split!

Tom Orrow – Let’s split!

06/04/18

Tom Orrow come quick!

This people shaming is sh*t!

They’re swallowing doves whole in the name of loves goal,

Whilst eyes pop like cherries all over the road.

There’s a fool in his coat, strutting, barking ideas from his throat.

A scarf around his neck and shorts on his legs.

Tom Orrow come quick!

They’re all falling for it!

Submissive ideas subsided by fears, ignoring injustice still grinding their gears.

There’s a fool in his coat, he’s tied up in the ropes.

Unreliable anguish his anger’s a joke.

Tom Orrow come quick!

The first aiders are sick.

I’m through with their tricks,

Pick me up and we’ll split.

© G.P Williamson 2018

 

 

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Short poems, Tom Orrow

Tom Orrow – Alter ego.

Tom Orrow – Alter ego.

Tom Orrow could be the ultimate alter ego if he wasn’t so damn factual living here inside my head, with whips and chains and a King size bed.

Smoking fags and eating Greggs, the opposite of this life I’ve led.

Tom Orrow rubbed it in he made it cruel. Told me all the mean things in the world.

If childlike view torn apart like making illegal all forms of art.

No self expression, no reason to be needed.

No colours, no motion, just blood in the ocean.

Tom Orrow rubbed it in on a riverbank not too far from the shore.

He rubbed it in until it hurt and then he rubbed some more.

Tom Orrow turned to face the sea and sighed that of the end.

Then he turned to look through me, and I used to be a friend.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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