Love Makes The World Go Round

love-makes-the-world-go-round-T-w1xz24

Prologue

It’s said, “Love makes the world go round”,
A lovely notion, to be sure,
But not at all what I have found –
The proof to clear to be ignored.

I

If, indeed, that were the truth,
You early lovers, take a bow!
Perhaps, at one time, in its youth,
The earth was cuboid, unlike now,

Or maybe flat. So after all,
The ancients knew more than they seemed,
When, off the edge, they feared they’d fall.
Their reputations now redeemed.

But that would mean they didn’t love
Enough to make the world a grape.
It hits me like an iron glove!
Start lovin’ lest the world reshape!

II

Love, it’s true, is well and good
But that’s not what propels the earth.
Incompetence misunderstood,
Second-rate, we should rebirth.

Imagine if, when jobs are done,
The work was perfect every time.
Standards checking, we could shun,
The world’s a whole new paradigm!

Yes, we’d save some time and cash,
But would we pay a diff’rent price?
Let’s think this through and not be rash,
It sounds, to me, like paradise!

If jobs were done right every time,
The work would get done twice as fast.
Costs would drop! It sounds just fine!
I think it’s all to good to last!

Need fewer workers – unemployed!
Consumer watchdogs – needed not!
And no more checkers – undeployed!
Lawyers, courts? No! Not a jot!

The unemployed ranks soon would swell,
And, perfectly, they’d do their work.
A consequence none could foretell:
All other work they’d surely shirk!

The health wealth tap would soon be plugged,
With Doctors curing every ill.
No more Doctors, Nurses, drugs,
And that would be a bitter pill.

World economies implode
As more and more are unemployed.
Lifestyles would then soon erode –
The Few delight in schadenfreude!

Incompetents would then rise up,
Restoring balance to the void.
Every time a job’s stuffed up:
More incompetents deployed!

A happy cycle then ensues:
With more work, more mouths we feed.
No more unemployment queues –
Incompetence is what we need!

So you see, my friends, in fact
It’s not love makes the world go round.
Shapeliness it does enact,
But shoddy work we should propound!

Stephen Tomkins
4 December 2015
Sydney

Picture credits:

indulgy.com
en.paperblog.com

Depression is a Word (But not a Sentence)

You look into my haunted eyes

Which represent my failed disguise,

And, though you try to see inside,

I can’t let go my childish pride.

 

You sit and hold me for a while

As, desperately, I feign a smile.

But I’m a man! I don’t need you!

Even though I know that’s so untrue.

 

And so, each day I will resist

The help I need as I persist

To fabricate my mask anew –

The one I know that you see through.

 

At last I can’t hold back the tide,

As down my face the torrents slide.

And now I have to make a choice:

Succumb or give my fears a voice.

 

In seeking help, I gained relief

And learned there’s life beyond my grief.

But though the rain will sometimes fall,

It’s ceased to be a prison wall.

 

Stephen Tomkins

Perth

29 October 2015

 

Don’t Take Me For Granted

table

An old wooden table surrounded by chairs,
Fruit of the forest though now no one cares,
Hewn by a craftsman, unknown and unseen,
A tribute to skills now replaced by machine.

Left by the roadside, alone and forlorn,
The table is stained and the chairs are all torn.
A once-prized possession, it took pride of place
Near new, shiny kitchen with refurbished grace.

Convenor of gath’rings and meals to be shared,
Bearer of countless teacups and éclairs,
Witness to laughter and shedding of tears,
Minder of birthday cakes, nibblies and beers.

Silent observer of aging and games,
Patient companion of tapestry frames,
Insatiable voyeur of gossip and jokes,
Of lunch with the ladies and beer with the blokes.

A family member and once well-regarded,
Is no longer needed and so is discarded.
We’re just like that table, I’m sorry to say:
Once no longer useful, we’re left to decay.

But life doesn’t have to end on such a note,
I’m sure you’ll agree this is no time to gloat:
Old age is a lucrative business for some,
So please take the time to go visit your Mum!

Stephen Tomkins
27 September 2015

I Don’t Understand

angel-of-grief-fathers-day-can-be-tough-for-some

Ten years ago my Mum did pass –
Like days not years, they’ve flown so fast.
Begrudge her leaving I could not,
She’d suffered and been through a lot.
But when she died, I was cast adrift,
Awash with turmoil, a paradigm shift.

And though, for me, the world had changed,
I felt I was now quite deranged;
Yet, flooded with unmanly grief,
I quickly stowed my handkerchief
And, ploughing on in stoic style,
I kept in place my phoney smile

While all around me, unabated,
Life kept on, accelerated.
But outrage is just what I felt
As my resolve began to melt.
How could things ever be the same?
Life proved itself a cruel game.

Stephen Tomkins
23 June 2015

It’s All About You.

Peoples-unity

Just what is a life from among so many?
A drop in the sea? Or a billionaire’s penny?
Would the sea really notice that one drop less?
Or the billionaire suddenly face distress?

Deluding ourselves is a popular sport;
‘Stead of facing the truth, it’s a pleasant resort.
Humanity’s edifice, complex and strong,
Is an image that couldn’t be any more wrong.

Though connected in ways unimagined before,
We live isolated, behind our locked door.
Fearful and lonely and longing for love,
Ignoring our neighbour, beseeching above.

Feigning indifference (perhaps it’s not fake?)
As some of us starve while the rest much on cake,
Demonstrates neatly my heart-breaking point:
Our fates are not separate, they’re clearly conjoint.

Stephen Tomkins
18 June 2015
Singapore

Heartless

shattered-heart

There’s a road somewhere that’s paved with hearts.
It won’t be found on any charts.
The hearts are all smashed into parts:
That’s why the ride’s so rough.

Some like to drive on very fast,
Not even caring what they’ve passed,
Plagued by what lies in their past,
And that, for them, is tough.

Some like to revel in the pain,
Reversing back and forth again.
They treat the world with pure disdain
And fail to see their need.

Then there are those that drive in tanks,
Detached from all the other cranks.
They neither want nor offer thanks
And focus on their greed.

From time to time, though, someone stops,
While rushing homeward from the shops.
From their faces streaming drops:
Another paver laid!

And very rarely someone cares
Enough to pause and make repairs.
Somehow they carry bags of spares,
Not wanting to be paid.

But most of us just rush on through,
We’ve all so very much to do.
Our shattered hearts just can’t be tracked,
So better fix them while they’re cracked.

Stephen Tomkins
13 June 2014

Solemate

16639323-smiling-young-woman-sitting-among-her-shoes

There was a girl I used to know,
She, past my desk, would to and fro,
Delivering mail and other things,
A whiff of perfume, I’d have wings!

Infatuation ruled my life
And soon I found myself in strife.
Distracted from my work was I
As back and forth she’d catch my eye.

One day I took my chances, and
With racing heart and trembling hand,
Caught her attention as she passed
And asked her out: she smiled and laughed.

That night I picked her up at eight
On what, I hoped, was our first date.
She said she couldn’t stay too long:
There was a sale on heels.com!

I should have seen the warning signs:
Her interests lay in shoe designs!
She loved her pumps, I now can see,
And leather boots much more than me.

Aghast, I finally understood:
I’d lost her heart to clogs of wood!
So happy did she seem that I
Could only smile and say goodbye.

Stephen Tomkins
2 April 2015

PS. Before I left unnoticed, I left her a note that said:

“I wish you and your shoes many happy years together”.