In silken threads of silver hue,
The clouds drift by as if to view
The chaos raging here below
As to and fro we madly go,
Changing lanes with gritted teeth
And miss by inches sudden grief
To save a second, maybe two
And meet again just down the queue.
Perhaps we should just take a breath?
It’s better than an on-time death.
Stephen Tomkins
21 June 2016
Sydney
Squeeze an orange, leave behind
A fragrant shell of pulp and rind.
Life’s pulping plant achieves the same
As juice pours swiftly down the drain.
It seems there is no fragrance left,
This cheerless world is life bereft.
And, sucked inside our vacuum phones,
Together, we’re all here alone.
Stephen Tomkins
20 May 2016
Sydney
So, how do I feel?
Well, where do I start?
For many long years
I’ve kept chains on my heart.
Those feelings kept captive
Would flow just like blood,
If freed, I’m afraid
I’d just drown in the flood.
The chains and their locks
Are maintained with great care.
It’s really much safer
If feelings stay there.
And though I may yearn
Now to share them with you,
I’ve been burned before
Though they said they’d be true.
Words may be knives –
They’re heard once and are gone,
But feelings remain
And the wounds linger long.
So am I a coward
Or merely pragmatic?
I’m fragile right now –
Could you be diplomatic?
Stephen Tomkins
1 May 2016
Hong Kong
Photo credit:
giphy.com
I’ve spent some time inside myself,
Preparing my defences:
Laying coils of barbed wire down
And shoring up my trenches.
Just when I thought I’m safely done,
O’er No Man’s Land you soar
And, on my helpless heart again,
Your mighty bombs you pour.
My trenches are all worthless now,
My barbed wire all gone.
Into my heart, you’re free to storm,
Your victory is won.
Is your triumph worth its price?
And does it still taste sweet?
How can love ever again entice,
No matter who I meet?
Stephen Tomkins
20 January 2016
Sydney
Scuttling sideways, it’s progress I guess,
Bright, shiny shell on, it’s my mode of dress.
My pincers, I click then to let them all see
There can be no doubt: all is OK with me.
But once in my burrow, then off comes my shell,
Revealing my true self, though they’d never tell.
You see, I’m a person and not what I seem,
I’m really quite fragile – no it’s not a dream.
I long to find one who I can be myself with
But all I can see are a billion more shellfish.
Stephen Tomkins
6 May 2016
Sydney
Photo credit:
http://www.fanpop.com
My bus is late! My bus is late! It’s time to hyperventilate!
Consult my watch and scan the phone,
At least I’m not left here alone!
I see the trees! I see the stars!
I see the lights of passing cars!
My face is tingling! Vision blurred!
The ground is tilting – how absurd!
A face appears ‘midst flashing light,
And now I’m floating in the night!
I float right into private bus
And off we go! Oh, what a fuss!
Now there’s bright lights here and a crowd,
Pushing, pulling, shouting loud!
It seems I’m passing every test,
Then they declare I just need rest!
So, this will teach that nasty bus!
I mean – who can you really trust?
Buses, trains, they’re all the same!
At least I’ve got someone to blame!
Stephen Tomkins
23 March 2016
Sydney
This humble little Bean, untouched by human hands,
Growing unmolested in the soil of distant lands.
Valued more than dollars, pounds and even life itself,
It doesn’t linger long upon the tree or café shelf.
Its devotees may contemplate the meaning of the Bean
In sample-selling salons here and there and in between.
A life spent in such contemplation, surely, is well spent.
Ten dollars for a cup of Joe? Yep! It’s worth every cent!
Pulling, pressing, percolating – don’t care how it’s done!
I need a double shot right now – I’ll take it on the run!
Who cares about the price of oil or gold or other things?
What matters is the warming buzz and joy that coffee brings!
Stephen Tomkins
22 March 2016
Sydney
First we’re happy, then we’re not,
And then we’re somewhere in between.
Start out well and then we turn,
And soon we are the colour green.
We think we’ll reach a blissful state
And there we will remain
But fail to realise, all the while,
It’s just a silly game.
The only thing that’s certain
Is that everything will change.
So relish where you are right now
Before it all turns strange.
Stephen Tomkins
15 January 2016
Sydney
There’s many things I know I know,
And many things I know I don’t,
Many things one day I may know,
Then there’s those I probably won’t.
How can I know that what I know
Is something more than mere opinion?
Just ‘cause Google told me so,
Or am I culture’s servile minion?
Seems there are objective facts
And some things are just black and white.
Proven facts or artefacts?
Which is wrong and which is right?
Maybe it comes down to faith:
I have to trust that someone knows.
Prove all things myself? No way!
It’s easier to trust and doze!
Stephen Tomkins
17 January 2016
Sydney
A raindrop dives into the pond,
Merging there ‘neath leafy fronds.
The only trace he leaves behind
Is perfect circles so designed
To spread his impact ever wider,
Fruit of this one moist collider.
Losing self amidst his brothers,
A kind of freedom he discovers.
Ceasing focus on himself,
Contributes to the commonwealth.
Dying, then, he’s most alive,
It’s only then that he can thrive.
Stephen Tomkins
16 January 2016
Singapore
Pondering Poet Pilot 