Sorry For Being Born

The-Overly-Excited

Arrive at airport, cap in hand.
My bags are packed, my travel planned.
“Oh! The glamour!” you may think
But I’ll be treated like I stink!

As airline staff on cheap staff travel,
All careful plans will now unravel.
So I approach the hallowed desk
Where staff may check-in at their risk.

Like an insect, I am viewed
And told to wait in voices rude.
In holding pen, we congregate
And hopefully await our fate.

In muted tones, we quiz each other
And try obliquely to discover
Just where we fit into the list –
My category must be higher than this!

At last they start to call some names,
And so begin the churlish games.
Those lucky few will get on board,
The rest of us will sit here, bored.

Like music to my weary ears,
I hear my name as chaos clears.
They take my bag, give me a pass,
And tell me, “Move your bloody arse!”

I sprint now to the Customs queue.
Amidst the throng, I wrestle through.
On my watch, I check the time –
My God! How long’s this frappin’ line!

Finally, I get on board,
Wedged between two giants! Lord!
So strong the scent of garlic is,
There’ll be no vampires here for years!

I’ll need no seatbelt come what may:
Restrained by blubber, I will stay.
Come meal-time, there’ll be nothing left.
Cheap travel is a wondrous gift!

JHJ

Stephen Tomkins
7 January 2016
Sydney

Photo credits:

http://www.businessworldtravel.com
theegyptiantraveler.blogspot.com
acollectionofmusings.wordpress.com

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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

 

Cecil

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

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

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

Tell Me Why? – A Tribute to the Fallen

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Molten face and vacant heart,
Slowly, I’ve been ripped apart.
On misty window, torrents stream.
In vain, I pray it’s just a dream.
A crumpled letter, trembling hand,
At last, I think I understand:
The thing I dreaded has come to pass.
The whole damn war’s a bloody farce!
My son, my boy, my little mate
Stepped upon a pressure plate.
A bang, a flash, there was no pain –
Another death, so little gain.
He’s coming home on Wednesday night
Aboard a scheduled Air Force flight.
I’ll miss his hug, his cheeky grin –
Forever changed, the world has been.

Stephen Tomkins
2 May 2015