Once there was an If

That wanted to meet a Then

But didn’t know when

And after many nots, no’s, and simply cant’s

If struggled to have anymore

Wait for Then

Because If and only If

Knew that Then

Would be how

If became within Life

But the more If

Encountered Else

If realised there’s still Life

Waiting for Then or not.


Strung Along

one thread
strains to be cut. 
or tied
happily seeking no other knot.
the tangles have been no loops,
the curlicues have built tight mazes,
yet something still pulls it towards the stitch.
Who has landed it a line among
all the others wound upon paths,
intertwined and round?
After all, do they not all await
to enter the eye of light?
Becoming binded,
upon another worn destiny.


the listening ear
does sometimes wish
that its lips did not advise so well.

Dullish vessels
live to keep
much hidden well.

stones lay in strewn in one’s path
so that through trips
one will know how to fall
a little more well.

hope and nectared dreams
stay and seem to
keep all going quite well.

a selfish heart always
will wish its tears
were not such an endless well.

The line

i cut into a line
and pin it in grime
until it wriggles
into a squirmy wormy squiggle
i swirl it
i whirl it
and ream it
into coiled little
i call it unfit
i drag it through grit
and meticulously
sink it in puddles of spit
i bleed it
i pleat it
i read it
i bead it…quite taut
and when it is nearly down to a speck of a dot
i take out my inky filled pot
and gently begin to feed it
because beyond all doubt
i simply
just simply
need it.