Tag Archives: life

Killing Time

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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

Up There

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Today sat outside,

Tried to shutter my mind

From worries that whir

And from bothers that bind.

Looked to the heavens

And noticed the clouds,

Floating serenely,

An angelic crowd.

 

But as I observed them,

All borne by the breeze,

And wished I could join them,

Forget my unease,

‘Twas then that I spied it,

First glances proved false,

They each took their own path,

Their own unique course.

 

Spinning and stretching

Then fading away,

Combining, collapsing,

An endless display.

No different to us,

Or so it would seem –

Serene on the outside,

Their troubles unseen.

 

It may seem facetious

But I understood

A life worth the living

Can’t always be good.

Though whirling and wheeling

Like clouds in the air,

We all can come through

If we’ve someone to care.

 

Stephen Tomkins
3 January 2020
Singapore

Viral

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4AD3B75D-CD1E-4325-A8FF-55E70A07C307

Not that long ago,

Going viral was good;

If something was clever

Or funny, you could.

 

Now going viral

Means you have the bug –

A milestone that will not

Be met with a hug.

 

So please keep your distance,

A mile will do fine,

I’d just rather not

Make your malady mine.

 

Stephen Tomkins
20 March 20
Socially distant in Sydney

Craving

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Like verdant bumble bees hugging the trees,

A hive’s worth of leaves are abuzz on the breeze.

Saluting, inviting and bidding farewell,

They whisper a gentle, restorative spell.

 

Never intruding nor forcing their will,

They beckon us linger, they bid us be still,

For only in silence, will we hear them speak –

The trees know the leaves hold the solace we seek.

 

They live for a time and, when that time is done,

The breeze calls them home again, each one by one.

No need to be sorrowful, no need to mourn;

As fresh leaves appear, our souls too are reborn.

 

Stephen Tomkins
26 December 2019
Melbourne

Tom Bradley

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A throaty airport van

Gives expectant birth to

A flight crew of black and gold and white

As they weave their way into

Tom Bradley

In the bustling dead of night.

 

Moaning steely birds

Circle high above,

Seeking respite and yet,

Constrained by forces unseen and unheard,

Flash their lights

In bold disdain –

A petulant display,

Both impressive and absurd.

 

All the while, surly uniforms,

Wearing their silent threats,

Corral the hapless voyagers

Through grim functionality into lines neverending,

Until they emerge

Into a bright carnival sideshow

Of excess and endless spending.

 

As lures for the prey,

The birds in their various plumages

Are reluctantly tolerated

But banished to distant piers,

Lest they deter the captives

From parting with their currency –

A farewell eliciting no tears.

 

Stephen Tomkins
3 November 2019
Los Angeles

Beneath The Mask

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I used to dream

Of lots of things,

The world and I,

It seemed, had wings.

But time has passed

In fits and starts

And I’ve been left

In broken parts.

For though I’ve tried

To do my best –

In many ways

I have been blessed –

I always feel

I should do more,

Should be more,

With myself, at war.

 

How can I know

I’ve done enough?

And so, I smile,

Maintain my bluff.

In private moments,

While in bed,

My private eyes

Hot tears will shed.

And in the dark,

I find I’m shaking

As my heart

Is softly breaking.

I reach across

To find she’s there

And know I’m loved

More than my share.

 

So I try

To move ahead

And face the things

I once would dread.

Worthy, I have

Never felt

And so, to others

I have knelt.

At long last,

I’ve come to know

That all of us

Put on a show.

Beneath the mask

We’re all the same:

We all feel just

A little lame.

 

Stephen Tomkins
9 June 2019
Wellington, NZ

 

Hurry

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I passed you on the street today –

You hurried on your worried way.

And though our eyes did never meet,

Hastened on by frantic feet,

I felt a kinship just the same –

It seems we play a common game.

 

We hurry here, we hasten there,

And speed ourselves toward despair.

The flowers here that bloom today

Will tomorrow fade away.

And today, with all its cares,

With all its likes and all its shares,

 

Will be repeated evermore,

As all our efforts bleed us poor.

So, take a breath, extend a smile,

Inhale the sunshine for a while.

Upon this earth, we linger not:

Pray, make the most of what you’ve got.

 

Stephen Tomkins
31 October 2019
Sydney

Just a Moment

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A moment of grace

Descend on you now

And, lifting your burden,

I pray you unbow.

 

A moment of joy

Brings mist to the eyes.

May it bring you solace,

No need for disguise.

 

A moment of peace,

True peace may you feel.

May it never cease

And may your heart heal.

 

A moment of sorrow

For things that have passed.

Now let them all go

For little does last.

 

A moment of grief

For those we have lost.

Accept their departure

In spite of the cost.

 

 

This is the moment,

Now is the time.

A day for atonement

A moment sublime.

 

Stephen Tomkins
22 April 2019
Perth

 

 

In Paper We Trust

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A book has a cover

And pages between,

Though now for a cover,

The pages, a screen.

The words will not change

Nor the screen fade away.

The words rearrange

But the meaning won’t stray.

How does this transpire?

Some magic perhaps.

To me paper’s higher –

For books and for maps.

 

Stephen Tomkins
18 April 2019
Singapore

Hong Kong Style

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Skyscrapers eagerly reach for the cloud,

Each new one trying to puncture the shroud –

Precariously perched on the side of a hill,

A balancing act of spectacular skill.

 

Inside the glittering towers of glass,

They labour in hope that their dreams come to pass.

Lower on down in the shimmering shops,

Luxury brands flaunt their exclusive chops.

 

Ubiquitous red and gold, gaudy to some,

Signals to all that the new year has come.

Clearly a festival bigger than big –

This year announcing the Year of the Pig.

 

Everyone seeking their own pot of gold

They hope comes their way before they’re too old.

Unique to Hong Kong? I see you now smile.

The answer is “no”, but they have their own style!

 

Stephen Tomkins
1 February 2019
Hong Kong