Wreckage Report (Sextant Deconstructed)
Who charts this
wr
eck?
(My inner compass spins, a frantic needle, lost to any guiding star.)
This vessel, I, where sorrow overbrims,
a foundering
vertigo,
both intimate
and
far.
The world? Unbalanced—
(skewed, storm-scarred, its charts unjust)
Yet, I endure—I breathe—though hope is dust adrift.
Indifferent eyes. The chill.
A
sea
of
disbelief
where documented pleas
(decades unreckoned, Millie’s warmth now still, a solace memory lost among the shoals and trees
of a forgotten year, no landfall found)
find no safe harbour. No shore. No ease.
All cherished things—
(mere flotsam).
I walk on paths
so
shattered,
so unplumbed,
none can chart my pain,
each step a trial by f i r e, a burning, constant flame.
The powerful? They
wat
ch.
(Their hands are folded, calm from their high deck).
Their coffers
swell.
(I bear the crushing blame, the water's claim).
Long days I fight this ceaseless, grinding weight—
these shackles forged of institutional sh a m e.
I seek out havens.
(Compassion’s gentle, guiding light,
a beacon hoped for in this endless night)
For corners where the truth
might dare to speak its name.
Instead: these hollow forms, these systems b u i l t
on breaking spirits, fanning despair’s
fl
a
me.
My evidence ignored, unread, unseen—
a logbook lost, while hunger gnaws.
(A fading, desperate claim).
If those who rule—
(and turn their gaze aside from this
capsizing
fate)—
Why not complete this ruin suffering laid bare?
A cleaner end.
(Than silence where they hide, abandoning the sl ate).
The noose of their neglect, it tightens... If you look away,
at least let honesty
attend my last des p a i r.
So let me lie.
(Where truth, at last, prevails, beyond the ocean's swell).
Earth below; above, the watching skies.
No more false comfort, no more whispered tales—
Just peace.
When this exhausted essence flies,
no longer tossed by wave or cruellest play.
When one sharp, silent
mer
cy
would light a clearer, final way.
(no star)
Soliloquy at the Breaking Point
In chambers echoing—my fractured soul—
where shadows dance, unseen scars take their toll...
I etch these words. A final, fragile—
(Can they hear?)
(Will they understand this cry?)
To those who held my heart... before... this long goodbye.
Each letter, see it bleeds; a piece laid bare,
this testament to all I couldn't quite... bear.
students:
seekers, flame.
For you, my students—seekers of truth, bright flame—
I leave these shards of wisdom—
(hard-won . . . whispered . . . shame?)
Remember... every lesson, every shared, soft sigh,
the quiet strength we forged—through tears that never fully dry.
Let courage be your compass—knowledge... shield it well—
Against the world's harsh stage, where cruelties often dwell,
and shadows gather deep.
And for my creatures... faithful, constant hearts, dear friends,
whose artless love sustained... through all my darkest parts, my bitter ends,
Creatures . . .
faithful hearts,
I pen instructions—woven with my love—so true—
To keep you safe... protected...
(Oh, what more . . . what more can one broken soul do?)
It breaks me—utterly—to imagine your soft cries... your questing gaze,
bereft of tender touch... those gentle, purring lullabies through lonely days.
I must pray... I must hope... that other hands will appear, benign and kind,
To give you all the love... the constant warmth... you were always meant to find.
For I am ghost... already... of who I was...
doors shut—
each road exhausted... what is there left...
nothing more.
This homelessness—a spectre, fate too grim to face for you, my gentle ones,
No life, no peace... no sunlit window... no chance...
beneath indifferent suns.
And so, with aching soul—my will... it shatters, trembles, still—
The only end... I'm left with... the bitter cup I choose to fill.
A cruel kindness, then—cloaked in darkest, deepest despair...
To free myself... from burdens I no longer... can bear...
(A mercy . . . or surrender . . . to the air?)
Yet, even as I teeter... on the brink... a thread of hope... a fragile link...
I see you... in my fading dreams...
homes of endless, gentle spring...
where love... will be your shelter... and your steady, joyful wing...
This fleeting vision... it soothes this weary... fading heart...
A fragile balm... to ease the endless sting of my depart...
Though I must fade—dissolve—into the coming, silent night...
My love endures...
(a flickering . . . distant . . . burning light?)
So let these whispered words... this haunted, broken, faltering cry...
Stand as a promise... that will never... never truly die...
In every trembling line... a piece of me... you'll find, somehow,
will watch... will guide... the souls you're meant to be... starting now.
And as I slip... into the vast... unknown...
I pray you'll find the peace... a peace I've never, ever known...
For in the tapestry of love we've spun... with threads so fine,
Our souls will hold... entwined...
(Even when . . . this life . . . no longer . . . mine?)
Echoes in Ice
I am the spectre . . . unwritten ends, now brittle,
A vessel . . . cruel winds . . . ice-shattered . . .
Each breath a battle . . . a final trial . . .
I pen these words, one last . . . fractured denial.
cruel winds . . .
shattered . . .
denial.
To those I’ve guided . . . nurtured . . . may you heal,
Whose minds I’ve . . . sparked, dreams I hoped to reveal,
I leave these shards . . . wisdom . . . hard-won, glacial proof,
. . . strength forged in fires . . . an unspoken, chilling truth.
For creatures . . .
shared my heart,
love . . .
tear-stained part,
And for the creatures . . . who shared my heart’s brief thaw,
Whose love sustained . . . each tear-stained, fragile part,
I craft a plan . . . with trembling hand . . . numb soul,
To keep you safe . . . protected . . . healed and whole.
plan . . .
safe . . .
whole.
It rends my spirit . . . the thought of your soft cries,
Bereft of touch . . . my whispered lullabies.
But I must hope . . . that fate might intervene,
To bless you with love . . . always felt, always seen.
For I am lost . . . a wanderer in this biting night,
Each path erased by rime . . . each door barred tight.
The spectre of the streets . . . a fate too cruel, too stark,
No home for you . . . no chance . . . no warming spark, life renewed.
Spectre . . .
night,
paths erased . . .
no home . . .
no chance . . .
And so, with aching . . . tear-frosted face,
I choose the only end . . . to embrace.
A twisted mercy . . . sorrow's icy shawl,
To free myself . . . these burdens, once and for all.
twisted mercy . . .
sorrow's shawl.
Yet even as I drift . . . towards the brink,
A fragile hope persists . . . a shimmering, frosted link.
In dreams, I see you thrive . . . in homes of gentle light,
Where love will be . . . a guardian . . . to your sight.
Drift . . .
dreams . . .
light.
This fleeting vision . . . for my shattered core,
A salve to ease . . . the ache of nevermore.
Though I must fade . . . into oblivion's embrace,
My love will be . . . a shield . . . your saving grace.
Shattered . . .
salve . . .
nevermore.
So let these words . . . this haunted, fractured requiem,
Stand as a promise . . . whispered on a frozen limb.
In every line . . . a piece of me . . . still bright,
To guide you always . . . through each encroaching, darkest night.
And as I slip . . . to the great unknown, so vast,
I pray you'll find . . . a peace I've never known, to last.
For in the fabric . . . of love we've surely sewn,
Our souls . . . entwined, forever . . . though you face the world . . . on your own.
I am . . .
unwritten . . .
gone.
The ink of our stories continues flowing even as we approach life’s most difficult crossroads. Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash
Ink Unspooled at the Threshold
“Non omnis moriar.”
– Horace
Opening: Fractured Self
Who’s left, when the mirror spits back static-
A stutter of faces, a flicker, a fizz-
I am the echo in the stairwell,
A moth in the socket,
Spinning, spinning,
My mind a carousel of keys,
Jangling, clanging,
No lock to fit.
World’s Indifference
Listen-
The world grinds on,
A cold machine,
Its gears gnash,
Its eyes glass-green.
I’ve shouted into inboxes,
Tapping, tapping,
My pleas ricochet,
A hail on tin,
No answer in the static,
Only the hush of “no,”
And the hush is a hammer.
Farewell to Students
To you, my bright ones-
You, with your notebooks and nervous laughter,
You, who grew in the dark,
I leave the marrow of my meaning:
Let knowledge outpace the wolves.
Let your questions crack the shell
Of every easy answer.
Remember:
The world is not just,
But you can be.
Let your hope be a howl,
Let your laughter be a shield.
Farewell to Animals
Soft noses, feathered hush,
Paws in the hallway,
Heartbeat hush-
I’ve left the list, the food, the names,
The number for the vet,
A blanket folded,
A window cracked for sun.
Forgive me,
Forgive me-
Oh please - forgive me-
I have run out of doors.
Desperation and Decision
I have begged, I have borrowed,
I have bartered my sleep,
I have mapped every alley,
I have counted the sheep-
But the night keeps on gnashing,
And the dawn never breaks.
I am spent, I am scattered,
I am the last note the violin makes
Before the string snaps.
The Choice
So-
Snap.
The clock ticks,
The ink drips,
A hush falls,
A hush,
A hush.
Hope for Survivors
But I dream-
You, curled in a shaft of light,
You, laughing, learning,
You, safe in the hush of a home.
Let my leaving be a door,
Not a wall.
Let my words be a bridge,
Not a stone.
In the hush,
May you hear my hope.
Legacy
Ink unspooled,
Voice unspun.
I am the whisper in the rafters,
The pawprint in the dust,
The lesson half-remembered,
The love that lingers,
Even when the door shuts.
Closing: Release
So let these lines be lanterns-
Flicker, flutter,
Guide you through the gutter-murk,
Let them stutter,
Let them sing-
I am gone,
But in the hush,
A bell rings.
The remnants of a life: scattered papers and the last letter written in a dim, cold room where
hope has faded. The final echo in an empty space. Image by Midjourney v6.
3. Tender Echoes in Ink - revised
“Non omnis moriar.”
– Horace
I am-
but who deciphers
the static in my marrow,
the flicker of a filament
spitting sparks
in the socket of my skull?
I am the vessel,
cracked and brimming,
where anguish sloshes,
tide against glass.
This world-
a crooked scale,
its fulcrum rusted,
its verdicts cold as coins
dropped in a well.
I tumble through
the hush of halls,
my pleas ricocheting
off marble, off memory,
off the backs of those
who never turn.
All I cherished-
ghosts in the fog,
fur and feather,
warmth and weight.
I write goodbyes
with knuckles white,
each syllable a shackle,
each phrase a pebble
dropped in the well of my chest.
For those I taught-
let your questions
crack the shell
of every easy answer.
Let hope be a howl,
let your laughter
shield you from the wolves.
For those I fed-
I’ve left the list,
the blanket,
the sunlit window.
Forgive me-
I have run out of doors.
I have begged,
bartered sleep,
mapped alleys,
counted sheep.
But the night keeps gnashing,
the dawn never breaks.
I am the last note
the violin makes
before the string snaps-
snap-
a hush,
a hush.
But I dream-
you, curled in a shaft of light,
you, safe in the hush of a home.
Let my leaving be a door,
not a wall.
Let my words be a bridge,
not a stone.
In the hush,
may you hear my hope.
"I pen farewells with hands that tremble, ache, / Each word a weight, each phrase a shackled sigh." Image by Midjourney v7
I am! Yet who discerns the self I bear?
My essence flickers, dimming like a star.
I am the vessel where my anguish dwells,
A mind in constant spin, both near and far.
This unjust world, its balance torn and lost—
Yet still I am—I live—though tempest-tossed.
Into the storm of cold, dismissive eyes,
Into the swirling sea of disbelief,
Where years of earnest, documented cries
Find no safe harbour, no shore, no relief.
All that I cherished fades into the mist,
My faithful friends, my comfort near-dismissed.
I pen farewells with hands that tremble, ache,
Each word a weight, each phrase a shackled sigh.
For those I've guided, nurtured, strived to wake,
Instructions flow like tears that never dry.
The care, the love, the dreams we've woven here—
Unravelled by the threads of fate, severe.
And for the gentle beasts who've shared my heart,
Whose fur and feathers soothed my weary soul,
I trace provisions for when I depart,
Each line an arrow through my being's whole.
The thought of parting rends with searing pain,
Yet homelessness would be a crueller bane.
I've fought, I've pleaded, scraped for any aid,
Exhausted every path, each avenue.
But now the hour comes, the choice is made,
To end this dance, to bid this life adieu.
The shame, the guilt, they claw with vicious talons,
Yet suffering's spectre looms in stark equivalence.
There's solace in imagining their joy,
In homes where love will be their steadfast guide.
Though I'll be gone, my spirit will deploy,
To guard and bless them, ever by their side.
And in that thought, a fragile peace unfurls,
To ease the ache within my shattered world.
So ink becomes my voice, my legacy,
The tether that connects me to their light.
Each caring phrase, a token of what's lost,
Each fond remembrance, armour for their fight.
I'll slip away, a whisper on the breeze,
But in these letters, part of me still breathes.
Echoes of Deception, Threads of Hope
In shadows of fear, a whisper takes hold,
A sinister seed, a conspiracy untold.
Whispers of a virus, man-made and vile,
Profit the motive, trust exiled.
Amidst echoes of doubt and deceit's dark dance,
A personal battle, a silent stance.
Isolation's sting, stigma's crushing weight,
The heaviness of uncertainty's relentless gait.
Michel Simonin's struggle, a fight to be heard,
Against AIDS' cruel stigma, his voice undeterred.
In letters and television, his story unfurled,
Defying the silence, refusing to be deterred.
Through tears of resilience, a choice bravely made,
To shatter the silence, to not be swayed.
Unveiling the humanity behind the disease,
Reclaiming identity, refusing to appease.
Yet in depths of sorrow's unending night,
Science illuminates, a beacon of light.
WGS and NGS unravel the viral code,
Evolution's truth, HIV's primal abode.
In sequencing's intricate art, a tale unfolds,
Of chimpanzee origins, zoonotic thresholds. Palindromes dance in the RNA's sway,
Nature's complex beauty, now on display.
Yet echoes of deception still linger and spread,
Shattering lives, filling hearts with dread.
The vulnerable bear the heaviest toll,
In fabrication's web, their innocence stole.
In this intimate war, we must take a stand,
Embracing our scars, extending a hand.
Empathy our salve, compassion our guide,
In unity and truth, our spirits reside.
From pain's crucible, we'll rise transformed,
Scars into strength, wisdom reborn.
In the symphony of survival, harmony will reign,
As we honour the journey, through sun and rain.
With science as our compass, truth as our light,
We'll navigate the landscapes of the heart's might.
Reclaiming our stories, our voices bold,
In courage and resilience, our lives we'll mould.
In the tapestry of existence, we'll find our place,
Stitching together healing, with tender grace.
Each breath a rebellion, each moment a choice,
To survive and thrive, with authentic voice.
In the echoes of resilience, hope whispers anew,
Threads of connection, strength to see us through.
Through shadows and light, we'll weave our way,
Embracing our truth, come what may.
In the alchemy of survival, transformation blooms,
Vulnerability becomes armour, silence finds its tune.
From shattered fragments, a mosaic we'll raise,
A testament to the unbreakable human spirit's blaze.
Echoes of Deception, Threads of Hope
In shadows of fear, a whisper takes hold,
A sinister seed, a conspiracy untold.
Whispers of a virus, man-made and vile,
Profit the motive, trust exiled.
Amidst echoes of doubt and deceit's dark dance,
A personal battle, a silent stance.
Isolation's sting, stigma's crushing weight,
The heaviness of uncertainty's relentless gait.
Michel Simonin's struggle, a fight to be heard,
Against AIDS' cruel stigma, his voice undeterred.
In letters and television, his story unfurled,
Defying the silence, refusing to be deterred.
Through tears of resilience, a choice bravely made,
To shatter the silence, to not be swayed.
Unveiling the humanity behind the disease,
Reclaiming identity, refusing to appease.
Yet in depths of sorrow's unending night,
Science illuminates, a beacon of light.
WGS and NGS unravel the viral code,
Evolution's truth, HIV's primal abode.
In sequencing's intricate art, a tale unfolds,
Of chimpanzee origins, zoonotic thresholds.
Palindromes dance in the RNA's sway,
Nature's complex beauty, now on display.
Yet echoes of deception still linger and spread,
Shattering lives, filling hearts with dread.
The vulnerable bear the heaviest toll,
In fabrication's web, their innocence stole.
In this intimate war, we must take a stand,
Embracing our scars, extending a hand.
Empathy our salve, compassion our guide,
In unity and truth, our spirits reside.
From pain's crucible, we'll rise transformed,
Scars into strength, wisdom reborn.
In the symphony of survival, harmony will reign,
As we honour the journey, through sun and rain.
With science as our compass, truth as our light,
We'll navigate the landscapes of the heart's might.
Reclaiming our stories, our voices bold,
In courage and resilience, our lives we'll mould.
In the tapestry of existence, we'll find our place,
Stitching together healing, with tender grace.
Each breath a rebellion, each moment a choice,
To survive and thrive, with authentic voice.
In the echoes of resilience, hope whispers anew,
Threads of connection, strength to see us through.
Through shadows and light, we'll weave our way,
Embracing our truth, come what may.
In the alchemy of survival, transformation blooms,
Vulnerability becomes armour, silence finds its tune.
From shattered fragments, a mosaic we'll raise,
A testament to the unbreakable human spirit's blaze.
Discordant Note
Scratching, floating
Hanging in the air
Pressure ebbs and flows
Headpiece filled with straw
A twisted melody lingers
Confusion and rage entwined
Resentment's bitter sting
Wrestles with sorrow's whine
Innocence stolen, trust shattered
By hands meant to protect
The child within still bleeds
Silently searching, begging for respect
Justice denied, our secrets buried
Master manipulator
A monster cloaked in lies
Crimes still hidden
Despite Death's hand
Too late for tortured cries
Feet of clay now returned to dust
From whence they darkly came
Leaving behind a tangled mess
Of trauma, grief and shame
The urge to desecrate, destroy
Wage war upon their grave
Wrestling with guilt, pity and relief
Yes, he is no more
But I am not yet saved
This victory feels hollow
An unearned, empty gift
When wounds still pulse and throb
No closure, the burdens unshift
I imagine looking for the tombstone,
Fists and soul clenched tight,
Anger, disgust, and rage.
Shadows cast doubt over my morals,
Compass dysfunctional, truth estranged.
Like Basque tongues tangled with Ainu clicks,
A labyrinth of questions ethics inflicts.
No tears of mourning shed
No idea the monster was laid to rest
Three years later, a happy accident
Release a demon locked deep in my chest
How to reconcile the little child
Who needed love and care
With the person now made to carry
This discordant note hanging in the air
In the depths of this discordance
Frustration and confusion still rise
Dare I confront the shadows
Curse their peaceful demise?
Every anguished scream swallowed
Each day, coerced, suffocated in silence
Transmuting years of buried aches
Why not release in rightful fierce violence?
Through serpentine paths of healing
Piece by shattered piece remade,
Scars shimmering with untold stories
Of battles braved and traumas mourned
In owning all that was endured
By innocent hands and shattered trust
Languidly learning to cradle, soothe
My inner child waiting, weeping in the dust
Each breath is an act of bravery
Every step is defiant, resolute
Reclaiming fractured narratives
No longer voiceless or mute
Through my poetry, I find release
May its rhythm grant me peace.
This journey from victim to victor
Is paved with shards of broken self
Reassembled by courageous hands
Into mosaics of pain and health
A symphony of survival
Echoes in the spaces in between
I cannot rewrite my cruel history
I yearn like others to live and dream
Beyond the reach of phantom hands
That sought to break and steal and mar
I rise in revolutionary softness
Tempered by battles, reminded by scars
The discordant note, a stubborn seed,
Resists the soil, its tyranny decreed,
Yet woven slow, within the larger frame,
An ostinato may conquer its shame,
Finds solace in the weave, a timeless plea,
Echoing Eliot, Stravinsky rewrites history.