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