Poem: On Time

As in, ‘on the subject of time’, rather than ‘I got this in before the deadline for my next blog post by the skin of my teeth-on time’.

Unlike my other recent poems this one doesn’t rhyme until the last two lines; and though I honestly prefer rhyming poetry, I feel this one expresses my half-asser self better.

Yeah… so. It’s a poem. Enjoy.

On Time

(And for those of you who prefer your poetry legible…)




Endlessly slumbering Time. Your dreams accelerate;

Day by day I struggle to find a moment to complain about it,

Amidst my own dreams;

Let alone to make the attempt to realise them.

Years pass; whole forests of imagination are swallowed,

To the very last leaf, by Your sands.

One tells oneself the silver sparkling dunes are prettier anyway,

But by the time only the ashen shells of the sturdier trees remain–

What else can you say?

Well. Things live in the desert too; buried in dark hollows.

Some can brave the moonlit wasteland to dig them up;

Others try to outrun the onslaught–for as long as possible.

Me, I shed my leaves at work: one eye on the clock;

Each letter writ in the blood I squeezed from a steel block.




Rainbow Snail Initials and Another Poem

Initials in Snails

Because who doesn’t end up writing their initials in snails after a while, am I right!?

[It’s R.N.S.I., for those of you who were going to point out what a bad artist I am]

As for the poem I threw together while trying to think of something to write while I was at work and should have been working (complete with pretentious font-changes accentuating the words… and just overall pretentiousness) …

Writer's Block

In case the image is difficult to read:


Writer’s Block


The opposite page is still blank.

Loop your florid lines of ink all you like;

It’s been blank the whole time.

You scour your Tabula Rasa,

And struggle to make it rhyme.


*slow claps self* …damn, I hate poetry! One of these days I’m going to write a poem about it…