PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Navigating the Wreckage: Three Experiments in Fractured Form|

The poems that follow represent a deliberate descent into the architecture of breakdown, not merely as subject matter, but as methodology. Where "Static & Starfire" traced the contours of crisis through recognisable poetic forms, these three pieces venture into territories where language itself begins to buckle under the weight of what it attempts to carry.

In "Echoes in Ice," I've allowed repetition and ellipsis to mirror the crystallisation and shattering of thought under extreme duress. Words become brittle, breaking off mid-sentence like conversations interrupted by the sound of cracking. The poem's structure mimics the way consciousness fractures when pushed beyond its limits—each fragment both separate and part of a larger, increasingly unstable whole.

"Soliloquy at the Breaking Point" experiments with the parenthetical voice—that secondary consciousness that comments, questions, and doubts whilst the primary voice attempts to articulate its final testimonies. These aren't merely asides; they're the competing frequencies of a mind at war with itself, the static that interferes with transmission even as it reveals the sender's deepest uncertainties.

Finally, "Wreckage Report" pushes typography itself to the breaking point. Words split and scatter across the page like debris from a foundering vessel. The very act of reading becomes a salvage operation, requiring the reader to piece together meaning from the fragments. When traditional language fails to map such territories of despair, perhaps only broken language can chart the coordinates of the wreck.

These are not comfortable poems. They demand patience, a willingness to sit with incompleteness, and an acceptance that some truths can only be approached through their own undoing. They exist in the liminal space between communication and silence, where meaning emerges not despite the fractures, but through them.

I offer them as cartographic experiments—attempts to map regions of human experience that resist conventional charting. Like all experimental work, they may fail more often than they succeed. But in their failure, perhaps, lies their truest accuracy.

In this final piece, typography becomes meaning. As the speaker's navigation tools fail, so too does the structure of language itself, scattering across the page like debris from a wreck.

Navigating the Wreckage: Three Experiments in Fractured Form

The poems that follow represent a deliberate descent into the architecture of breakdown, not merely as subject matter, but as methodology. Where "Static & Starfire" traced the contours of crisis through recognisable poetic forms, these three pieces venture into territories where language itself begins to buckle under the weight of what it attempts to carry.

In "Echoes in Ice," I've allowed repetition and ellipsis to mirror the crystallisation and shattering of thought under extreme duress. Words become brittle, breaking off mid-sentence like conversations interrupted by the sound of cracking. The poem's structure mimics the way consciousness fractures when pushed beyond its limits—each fragment both separate and part of a larger, increasingly unstable whole.

"Soliloquy at the Breaking Point" experiments with the parenthetical voice—that secondary consciousness that comments, questions, and doubts whilst the primary voice attempts to articulate its final testimonies. These aren't merely asides; they're the competing frequencies of a mind at war with itself, the static that interferes with transmission even as it reveals the sender's deepest uncertainties.

Finally, "Wreckage Report" pushes typography itself to the breaking point. Words split and scatter across the page like debris from a foundering vessel. The very act of reading becomes a salvage operation, requiring the reader to piece together meaning from the fragments. When traditional language fails to map such territories of despair, perhaps only broken language can chart the coordinates of the wreck.

These are not comfortable poems. They demand patience, a willingness to sit with incompleteness, and an acceptance that some truths can only be approached through their own undoing. They exist in the liminal space between communication and silence, where meaning emerges not despite the fractures, but through them.

I offer them as cartographic experiments—attempts to map regions of human experience that resist conventional charting. Like all experimental work, they may fail more often than they succeed. But in their failure, perhaps, lies their truest accuracy.

Here, the parenthetical voice becomes as important as the primary text. These competing frequencies—what we say and what we think whilst saying it—create a contrapuntal dialogue with the self.

Navigating the Wreckage: Three Experiments in Fractured Form

The poems that follow represent a deliberate descent into the architecture of breakdown, not merely as subject matter, but as methodology. Where "Static & Starfire" traced the contours of crisis through recognisable poetic forms, these three pieces venture into territories where language itself begins to buckle under the weight of what it attempts to carry.

In "Echoes in Ice," I've allowed repetition and ellipsis to mirror the crystallisation and shattering of thought under extreme duress. Words become brittle, breaking off mid-sentence like conversations interrupted by the sound of cracking. The poem's structure mimics the way consciousness fractures when pushed beyond its limits—each fragment both separate and part of a larger, increasingly unstable whole.

"Soliloquy at the Breaking Point" experiments with the parenthetical voice—that secondary consciousness that comments, questions, and doubts whilst the primary voice attempts to articulate its final testimonies. These aren't merely asides; they're the competing frequencies of a mind at war with itself, the static that interferes with transmission even as it reveals the sender's deepest uncertainties.

Finally, "Wreckage Report" pushes typography itself to the breaking point. Words split and scatter across the page like debris from a foundering vessel. The very act of reading becomes a salvage operation, requiring the reader to piece together meaning from the fragments. When traditional language fails to map such territories of despair, perhaps only broken language can chart the coordinates of the wreck.

These are not comfortable poems. They demand patience, a willingness to sit with incompleteness, and an acceptance that some truths can only be approached through their own undoing. They exist in the liminal space between communication and silence, where meaning emerges not despite the fractures, but through them.

I offer them as cartographic experiments—attempts to map regions of human experience that resist conventional charting. Like all experimental work, they may fail more often than they succeed. But in their failure, perhaps, lies their truest accuracy.

This opening piece uses repetition and fragmentation to mirror the crystallisation of thought under pressure. The ellipses aren't omissions—they're the spaces where language itself begins to freeze.

TOO MANY THINGS LIKE CHEMTRAILS,BIOWEAPONS, GAIN OF FUNCTION,5G RADIATION, GMOS, PESTICIDES,AI, SO MANY TOXIC THINGS JUST GET RUSHED INTO FOR SOME CRAZY RACE THAT NOBODY WILL WIN. THINGS LIKE THAT SHOULD NOT BE DECIDED BY THE FEW WHEN THE MANY SUFFER FOR THEIR CRAZY CHOICES AND MISTAKES. GOD GAVE US ALL FREE WILL NOT JUST THE CRAZY GREEDY POWER HUNGRY TYRANTS. THE MAJORITY WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE AND LIVE IN PEACE. MAJORITY SHOULD RULE. TOO MANY SEEM TO LACK MORALS,CONSCIENCE, INTEGRITY AND COMPASSION JUST TO NAME A FEW OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD. LIVE AND LET LIVE IN PEACE. STOP DESTROYNG OUR WORLD AND OUR VERY EXISTENCE. MAY DIVINE ORDER AND INTERVENTION, TRUTH AND JUSTICE STOP EVIL IN ITS TRACKS. GOD BLESS US ALL AND PROTECT US ALL.

THINKING ABOUT THAT POEM THE RAVEN THE ONLY THING I REMEMBER FROM IT IS NEVERMORE....INTERESTING....

"The Persistence of Memory," a famous painting by Salvador Dalí, is a surrealist masterpiece that explores the concepts of time, dreams, and the subconscious mind. The painting's iconic image of melting clocks, often referred to as the "Camembert of time," has become a symbol of the fluidity and subjective nature of time. 

I SAW THAT PAINTING AT THE MOMA  YEARS AGO AND LOVE IT. IT'S FUNNY I USUALLY HAVE A HARD TIME REMEMBERING THE NAME OF THAT PAINTING WHICH MAKES NO SENSE TO ME DUE TO ITS VERY TITLE AS MY MEMORY IS GENERALLY PRETTY GOOD.

I WAS THINKING ABOUT STUFF I WAS HEARING ABOUT AI CHANGING HISTORY WITH LIES AND ALL KINDS OF CHAOS AND NONSENSE KNOWING THAT AI IS ONLY AS GOOD AS ITS PROGRAMMER AND IF THE PROGRAMMER IS DERANGED THEN SO IS THE OUTCOME. I THINK AI IS A MISTAKE AND SHOULD NOT BE SUDDENLY PUSHED TO THE FOREFRONT OF EVERYTHING. IT SEEMS LIKE A STUPID MOVE TO ME. IDIOTS IN CHARGE OF THINGS THEY DO NOT COMPREHEND. IT MAKES NO SENSE AT ALL THAT THEY USE SO MUCH ENERGY. I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT I DON'T  WANT ROLLING BLACKOUTS AND OTHER INCONVENIENCES FOR PEOPLE INTENT ON LIVINIG IN A CRAZY SCI FI DYSTOPIA WORLD. I HOPE THIS STORY CHANGES WITH DIVINE INTERVENTION. WE SHALL SEE.WHAT WILL BE WILL BE.

I THINK IT'S NICE TO BE CONCISE.