A skull reflected in tangled grass — a fleeting moment bridging endings and beginnings. Photo by Nik on Unsplash
Author’s Reflection
In gathering these eleven poems into “Static & Starfire,” I’ve traced the contours of my own unravelling and the faint frequencies that sometimes pierce through the static. This collection exists as a witness — neither monument nor memorial, but rather a constellation of moments suspended at the precipice.
I write from the threshold, that liminal space where certainty dissolves and possibility flickers. These poems do not chart a linear path from darkness to light — such narratives feel too neat, too certain for the territories I’ve traversed. Instead, they map the jagged geographies of a consciousness fragmented by systems of indifference, by the weight of documentation that somehow never suffices, by the gnawing certainty that some doors have permanently closed.
Yet even in mapping these shadowlands, I found myself drawn to the contrapuntal — the simultaneous existence of surrender and persistence, the quantum state where multiple truths coexist without collapsing into singular certainty. Like Schrödinger’s theoretical cat, these poems exist in superposition, containing both the voice that whispers “let go” and the one that murmurs “hold on,” neither drowning out the other.
The ink I’ve spilled here serves as both chronicle and compass. I cannot say where it leads. Some maps outline territories we need not visit; some bridges span chasms we might choose not to cross. What matters, perhaps, is the act of cartography itself — the naming of landmarks in an unmapped wilderness, the marking of paths both taken and untaken.
I offer these words not as a resolution but as an echo, not as an answer but as a question. They belong now to the reader, to interpret through the lens of their own luminous darkness, their own static and starfire.
In the crucible of these pages, I remain — like the poems themselves — suspended between multiple endings, authoring and reauthoring the self anew with each turning of the page.
— David Wakeham
Four ways to view a soul: each fragment a path, each reflection a different truth. Placeholder image by Midjourney v7.
Schrödinger Soliloquy II (4 ways)
In the crucible of choice, I stand alone,
A shattered mirror, reflecting shards of soul.
To forge ahead or yield to undertow?
Each path a perilous journey, still unknown.
The voices whisper, "Surrender, cease the fight,"
Yet in the depths, a rebel spark ignites.
"The void will soothe, oblivion will save,"
"Persist, resist, let hope rewrite this night."
I am the chessboard, king and pawn in one,
Each move a battle, ending scarce begun.
The game is rigged, the rules a twisted jest,
But still I play, for in the play I’m blessed.
Though scarred and weary, I will rise again,
For I have grown beneath the weight of pain.
A phoenix born of ashes and of tears,
With wings of wisdom, forged by countless years.
In sorrow’s crucible, I’ve been refined,
A tapestry of wounds and grace entwined.
Each thread a story, each scar a sacred sign,
Of battles fought, of losses, victories mine.
I choose to dance amidst the flames once more,
To craft a life from fragments on the floor.
For in this struggle lies a strange sweet art,
Transforming brokenness to healing’s start.
I am the alchemist, the lead, the gold,
The tale unfinished, waiting to be told.
So I’ll rewrite this ending, line by line,
And prove that hope, not death, will be the sign.
Standing at the threshold: two voices, one crossing — which will you hear first? Placeholder image by Midjourney v7.
Thresholds - Two voices one crossing
Voice of Surrender
The night presses in, heavy as regret,
Shadows coil, whispering, “Let go.”
I count the names I cannot save,
Each memory a stone in my pocket.
My beasts curl, sensing the end,
I leave instructions, trembling,
for a world that will not remember.
The streets wait, cold and unyielding,
I have no more shelter to give.
I write my name as a closing,
My ink a river running dry.
I slip into hush, a final release,
A whisper lost in the dark.
Voice of Resolve
The night presses in, but I strike a match,
Shadows coil, whispering, “Hold on.”
I count the names I carry forward,
Each memory a lantern in my hand.
My beasts curl, waiting for dawn,
I leave instructions, trembling,
for a world that may yet remember.
The streets wait, cold but unbroken,
I have more shelter to find.
I write my name as a beginning,
My ink a river rising strong.
I step into hush, a gathering breath,
A whisper forging the dawn.
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 doors of hope swing shut with hollow clang. The safety net unravels, a taunting haunt. Photo by Nastia Petruk on Unsplash
Caesura of the self
"Aut Caesar aut nihil."
– Cesare Borgia
Fractal Identity
I am - and yet - I am not what I was,
Vertigo of Existence
The vertigo of being - vicious, vast,
Echoes of Abandonment
The ears of power are deaf to my desire,
The Weight of Documentation
A mountain built of papers, proofs and pleas,
Economic Asphyxiation
The coffers clang with coin, a mocking choir,
The Narrowing of Options
The avenues of aid grow lean and gaunt,
The Final Calculation
Mercy in the Maelstrom
Release becomes the ray amidst the storm,
Quietus and Quittance
So let this be the denouement, the bow,
Each path forward fades into uncertainty, much like the mariner adrift on identity’s ocean.
Placeholder image by Midjourney v6
Monologue of a Unmoored Mariner
"I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move."
– Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Adrift in Identity's Ocean
I drift on seas of self, a sailor lost,
Tossed on the tides of an identity.
No map, no chart, no sextant, star-embossed,
Can navigate this vast uncertainty.
I am a ship becalmed in my own mind,
A compass needle spinning, unaligned.
The Maelstrom of the World
The world's a whirlpool, hungry and immense,
It drags me down, indifferent to my throes.
I spin and spiral, seething and incensed,
As riptides rip, as ruthless currents close.
Like flotsam, I am flung and flailed and hurled,
In the maelstrom of this maddening world.
Echoes Across the Void
I send my signals to the careless skies,
I send my semaphores, my flags unfurled.
I send my ciphered screams, my muted cries,
I send my pleas into the salty swirl.
But all dissolve, like foam upon the waves,
Absorbed into the ocean's open graves.
The Weight of Proof
A cargo of corroboration rests
Within my hold, a leaden, lading weight.
Stacked file on file, attested truths compressed,
They ballast me against the howling hate.
But barnacles of doubt encrust the hull,
And apathy's an anchor, dragging, dull.
The Sirens of Despair
The sirens sing their songs of swirling black,
Of crushing depths, of comfort in the cold.
They croon of still eternities that slack
The bindings of this world, so worn and old.
To yield, to sink, to slip beneath the foam-
Seems sweet against the harshness of my roam.
The Narrowing of Horizons
The ports of hope recede beyond my ken,
The beacons dwindle, guttering and weak.
No lighthouse sweeps its salvatory pen
Across the darkling deeps I cannot speak.
Each way is waves, each wake a weary froth,
A voyage void, a dead-reckoning lost.
The Plummet and the Plume
And so, I sound the fathoms of my fate,
I plumb the depths, I cast the weighted line.
To sink seems sweet, to cease the cruel wait,
To be the lead and not the burdened twine.
A swift descent, a fall into the free-
Seems kinder than this crawl through apathy.
Surrender to the Sublime
The vastness whispers velvet, voids me on,
Its emptiness an absolution blest.
In yielding to its yawn, its siren song,
I find, at last, the solace of the rest.
To be subsumed, consumed, and so redeemed,
Seems sacred to this sailor lost and seamed.
Peace in the Profundity
So let me sink into this softer sea,
This womb of nothingness, this calm embrace.
In drowning, let me drink eternity,
In losing self, let me at last find grace.
For in the crushing depths, there is a balm,
An absolution in oblivion's psalm.
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.
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.