Midnight Calm

By Timothy P. Bishop

As I tread softly,
Turning the latch,
An icy shaft blows in.
Outside, a crunch underfoot,
Peering into the silent blizzard
Effortlessly cascading
Beneath amber streetlamps,
A story scene of make-believe.
I pull my coat tighter,
Blinking into the snowflake tips
That prick my face,
And edge down the street.

A static coat of arms,
Frosted windows,
Tudor beams,
Parked cars entombed in snow –
Calm rings out,

Black clouds shift above.
If I listen hard enough I can hear the calm elsewhere –
The fluorescent entrance lights of the hospital
Behind me
Hiding the sleepy wards of old and young,
Lost in their dreams of tomorrow,
Silently walking with me
Feeling the life in their fingertips.
The nourishment of movement!

In the eerie quiet of this moment others
Lie ready
To ease out of life.
The brush of pillow on cheek,
A final sensation,
Diminishing ebb –
Minutes become seconds become darkness.


I feel for my keys,
Their serrated edges
Free me back to the confines of
My familiar.
I click the kettle switch and
Read each word of the last holiday postcard,
Holding onto the fridge corner to steady myself.





Tim Bishop is a British writer based in Ho Chi Minh City. His poems and essays reflect on travel, endurance, and the peculiar details that shape everyday life. Outside of writing, he works as an international development consultant and can usually be found running somewhere far longer than necessary. Tim's writing can also be found on Substack.