Life in a Minor Key

We speak of life just like the weather,
Act as if we’ll live forever,
Judge by looks and bold pretence,
Consider wealth our best defence.

We hold our life within our hands,
While it slips through like silken sands,
And focussed through a camera’s portal,
Part of us becomes immortal.

Life’s finest crystal, softly wrought,
Only once it’s gone is sought.
Passing through just like a thought,
Life can be sold but can’t be bought.

And as life turns another page,
We tango with advancing age,
And pay again our yearly wage,
Until it’s time to leave the stage.

Stephen Tomkins
21 September 2020
Sydney

Killing Time

Killing Time drawing

Time, you may know, is not a bad guy;

Sometimes he will tarry, sometimes he will fly.

He never forgets you not lets you slip by,

Remembers your birthday, though I’m not sure why.

 

When I spoke of wasting, I now must lament,

I simply assumed that you knew what I meant.

For sometimes, I’m sorry, but time must be killed

But not by machine gun – I don’t want him drilled!

 

For time is the one thing that everyone spends,

At work or at home or maybe with friends.

Like it or not, time will never sit still –

So, spend it or waste it, we’ve all time to kill.

 

Stephen Tomkins

21 January 2020

Melbourne