Short poems, Tom Orrow

Gin and Whisky

Gin and Whisky


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

poems, Tom Orrow

It’s always Tom Orrow

It’s always Tom Orrow


It’s always Tom Orrow.

It’s Tom Orrow when you’ll play those adult games.

When dressing up was all the rage.

Tom Orrow for that romantic meal, them healing films and that silken feel.

Tom Orrow when we’ll watch that show.

Friends cramped tight, elbow to elbow.

Tom Orrow for that meet up drink.

Next week I’m free at least, I think.

Tom Orrow for my daughter prom.

Work was mad, I should have gone.

Tom Orrow filled with great regret for times we haven’t encountered yet.

Tom Orrow with his sweet surrender.

Tears of hope without an end.

Tom Orrow has the travelling bug without his spade no grave is dug.

Tom Orrow goes but cannot stay.

He’s scared to death of Jester Day.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Like protestors.

Like protestors.


They rally like protestors trying to help.

Immediate response now they won’t relent.

Keep coming, pushing, tearing down walls.

Pull her apart piece together the brick.

Unstitch the weaving and reclip the fits.

Reconnect the piping, clear all the tubes.

Polish her eyes to rub away the blues.

Cream and wax her fingers.

Give me back her touch.

Calm down her voice.

Give her back that love.

Titanium her spine.

Her strength was divine.

Open up her ears like dinner with wine.

Crimson her lips and darken her eyes.

Hear all my truths and tell me your lies.

Lay here until the sobbing stops and wipe the years away.

More than just a temporary fix to keep the pain at bay.

Who could ever know how much is too much to take?

They rally like protestors trying to help.

© G.P Williamson 2018





It’s time to burn it down.

Choked up dark clouds.

Foundation falling around like quadriplegic jelly.

A place I used to stand.

An oath of unity – Profound.

The next square in a new turn around – circular dependence.

Eternity in a ring.

I’m not sure I’m ready for that level of depression to sing.

Worse case in a bad state is sob stories are out.

So’s swearing.

So that murderous shit I wrote is too late.

Turn around and start again.

Four years – that’s some bad fate.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Short poems

Sugar Plum Candy.

Sugar Plum Candy.


Gonna get me some sugar plum candy.

A little rose petal stingy nettle come nicely.

Wrapped packs of ribbons.

Stacked gift packs that’s where the jewellery’s at.

Perfume spreads like wide legs tied to bed pegs with a red grin.

No commitment.

All the sin.

© G.P Williamson 2018


poems, Short poems

Full and complete

Full and complete.


Full and complete beneath the sheets as emotion hits wonderlust like snow meets sleet.

Bare feet and crisp white sheets hand in hand.

Coffee with no plans.

Warm stone towards a never never kind of home where a parrot squawks and curtains blow gently.

A manly hand clasps a pillow as a wind up car makes its way along the bedroom floor ruining any plans he had of driving – but he’s still smiling.

Give me your kingdom and you could keep it.

Reap what you sow.

I’ll take mine neat.

© G.P Williamson 2018


Nothing more

Nothing more.


I could see the innocence.

I could feel your warmth.

I could sense your touch

But nothing more.

I could hear you stir.

I could see you move.

I could watch you wave

But nothing more.

I could see them light up at your presence.

I could feel our distance manifest.

I could not touch a feeling, claim a belief in or smile unless leaving and……nothing more.

I was a rich man gone poor.

Like the dot had stopped but the illness prevailed.

I was trying to love but the how had set sailed….and nothing more.

I could see your perfection.

Could claim adoration.

I held with intention….but nothing more.

I stand a dramatic pose to a man I despised.

A mirror I faced to a man of lies.

Tears of hate

but nothing more.

I hated and hated despised and negated.

Photoshopped memories to empty church gates.

Grabbed myself by the balls and kicked myself back into shape

but nothing more.

I praised my achievements.

grieved for believements.

Stood up to my demons and screamed “I am not leaving!”

But nothing more.

I love you forever.

I love you, you treasure.

I love you small fry.

I love that you’re mine

And nothing more.

© G.P Williamson 2018