Category Archives: nature

Time is a State of Mind

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Though it may seem Spring’s taken hold,
Late Autumn’s in disguise,
Betrayed by flakes of falling gold,
All borne on gentle sighs.

Indifferent, now, the trees may seem,
Still wrapped in gold and red.
Stoic, untold winters seen,
Their wisdom left unsaid.

And though the darkness soon may reign
As faithless Sun retreats,
Stone-like sentinels remain,
Another year completes.

Seasons fly like autumn leaves,
And as my autumn calls,
Summer memories fill my heart,
As Spring peeps round the walls.

Stephen Tomkins
4 January 2023
Tokyo

I Saw The Sea

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Another wave
Dies on the shore
But still they’ll come,
Forevermore.
Distant breezes
Grant them birth,
Far-flung shores
Then test their worth.

They live each moment,
Come what may,
Foaming, leaping,
Drenched in spray.
By tomorrow,
Undeterred,
Yesterday,
A foreign word.

At first glance,
They’re all the same,
No mother there
To grant them name.
Yet each unique
As each can be,
Still in communion
With the sea.

Stephen Tomkins
22 February 2020
Los Angeles

I Wonder

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A quorum of quarrelsome clouds has convened,

Disrupting a day that had dawned quite serene.

Sparking an argument, rumbling away,

It’s clear that they all will have plenty to say.

 

For those of us earthlings stuck here on the ground,

It’s time to seek shelter, if some can be found.

For while the big boys are all roaring their rage,

One never can find a free Faraday cage.

 

Lit up with rage and all venting their spleens,

Like indulged children, they conquer the scene.

And, in the end, when they go on their way,

I’ll still be here wondering what they tried to say.

 

Stephen Tomkins

26 November 2018

Sydney

Here Comes The Sun

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This morning, the Sun is a little bit shy –

I know he’s not normally that kind of guy.

A thin veil of cloud is disguising his face,

Though it’s clear that he’s there in his usual place.

 

Regaining his mojo as morning moves on,

He’s now as defiant as a Mafia Don –

Glaring unblinkingly right in my face,

The sensible choice is retire with grace.

 

He knows his usurper will rise and, that soon,

His place will be taken by silvery Moon.

So, in what remains of this glorious day,

The Sun will ensure that his face will hold sway.

 

Stephen Tomkins
29 October 18
Singapore

The Purple Hour

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In the brief Purple Hour,
The Sun’s still down there,
Brushing his teeth
And now combing his hair.
The Moon, all the while,
Is yet in quite a tizzy,
Sipping away
At her nightcap, still fizzy.

And while this one night,
Bravely, faces its death,
It seems all creation
Is holding its breath.
Bathed in the softest
Of Royal purple hues,
Sound, too, is hushed
As the Sun seeks his cue.

The air of expectancy
Finally breaks
As a bright, red-faced Sun
The whole landscape remakes.
Embarrassed, he seems,
As if turning up late
At the door of the house
Of his heart’s longed-for date.

Bashfulness fades
And reveals Sun’s full glory,
Closing the book
On the Moon’s bedtime story.
Day after day,
The same story is read,
While most of us
Lie, fast asleep, in our bed.

Stephen Tomkins
16 June 2017
Perth

Time Traveller

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IMG_0749

TV scenes flash on the screen of my mind
As I slowly start to relax and unwind.
Sweet frangipani has scented the air
And palm trees wave spindly hands in the air.
Sky’s perfect canvas of crimson and blue
Is brushed by cotton ball clouds drifting through.
Waters of turquoise and deep blue most royal
Inspire the timid and lovers most loyal.
A constant parade of those seeking the sun,
They come in their mobs and their twos and their ones.

And though I may seem altogether right here,
I’m split largely in between time zones, I fear.
Lost in a fog of my sacrificed sleep,
My body clock chimes with a resonance deep.
Tomorrow, I’ll once more be up in the air,
Leaving behind the poor Earthlings their cares.
Soon enough, though, I’ll be back on the ground
And by the real world I will once more be found –
The visions of places and people I’ve seen
Will seem little more than a half-faded dream.

Stephen Tomkins
29 September 2016
Honolulu

Resistance Is Futile

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sleep-deprived-workers

Slumber wakes inside her room,
Her soothing Siren song seducing,
Drawing me into the gloom,
The sweetest nothingness inducing.

Down into the void I fall,
Weightless in the inky dark.
It doesn’t frighten me at all –
Waiting for a dream to spark.

Once aflame, it rages on,
Sweeping me just where it will.
Abruptly, the inferno’s gone,
And, once again, the world is still.

Just how can sleep be so seductive,
Even when I do resist?
Succumb, I must, lest she’s destructive,
Ruling me with silken fist.

Stephen Tomkins
16 January 2016
Sydney

Photo credit:
lucien.uchicago.edu
sharperiron.org

With a View To Breakfast

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sunday-brunch1

Motionless ships set on sparkling jewels,
Brilliant-cut diamonds in deep azure pools.
Closer to shore, the worshippers bathe
As the Sun-God ascends over white sand and wave.
And framing it all, as if by design,
A towering pair of lush Norfolk Pines,
Their branches and finger-like leaves reach above,
Beseeching the Sun-God for life-giving love.
Removed from it all, by a clear glassy wall,
Sit I, like a scientist, cold yet in thrall
Of a view unexpected and perfect, serene,
Hypnotic reliever of stress, evergreen.

Stephen Tomkins
21 January 2016
Wollongong

Photo credits:
retaillawadvisor.com.au
secrets magazine.com.au

 

The World (and Other Trivialities)

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Earth-CC-Dreaming-in-the-Deep-South

I reach into my ancient bag,
My old umbrella, for to seek.
From disuse, it’s now a rag
And, when it rains, it’s sure to leak.

Of what use is the outside world?
Not air-conditioned like at home,
The elements against me hurled
If I decide outdoors to roam.

Why can’t the world be more serene?
It’s certainly a pleasant blue.
Vindictive, vengeful, it can seem,
Its violence is never through.

Torrential rain some people cop,
While others meet a baking drought.
Snow and ice – it doesn’t stop –
And howling winds our efforts flout.

Our greatest minds can surely do
Much better than they have ‘til now.
With climate change, perhaps it’s true?
We’ve made a start, so take a bow!

Stephen Tomkins
4 December 2015
Sydney

Picture credits:
moonshotpr.com
pics-about-space.com

Cecil

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Zimbabwe Lion Killed

Cecil was a friendly lion,
Never harmed a living soul.
Didn’t stop a Dentist flyin’
In to seek his huntin’ goal.

He traveled up the Root Canal,
Noting his extraction point,
Cleaned and polished rifle pal,
Drilled with leaden needlepoint.

The tragic death of Cecil was
The catalyst for much debate.
Hunted down the Dentist ‘cause
His clients sought to litigate.

The death of thousands, strange to say,
Fails to register at all.
Unpeople, on our conscience, weigh
Hardly anything at all.

Stephen Tomkins
14 August 2015
Jakarta