winter

Echoes in the ise

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.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

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.

Winter Morn

winter fog haze view

early morn before sunrise

cold birds on branches 

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Silent Night, Shattered Sight (Neurodivergent Nightmare)

 

 

Amidst the onslaught of festive frenzy,
Neurodivergent minds reel a tempest here to sear.
Senses assaulted, relentlessly vexed,
Christmas chaos leaves us perplexed.


Masking's breaking, taking weight, a suffocating shroud,
Authenticity lost in the neurotypical crowd.
ADHD autism's ache, an adult's disgrace,
So, invisible struggles are present in this merry place.


Pain's persistent, pounding refrain, an endless score,
Fibromyalgia's claws, forever tore.
Spine curved like a question mark,
Vertigo's dance, a dizzying arc.


Poverty's clutch cuts deep, leave plans in disarray,
Opportunities vanish, like mist in the day.
Isolation, depression, chronic cursed alone,
In a world where bonds stretch, then are gone.


Trauma mars, leaves scars, rape's brutal seal,
cPTSD's tortures - terrors forever real.
Triggers flashbacks, a minefield within,
Clock tick-tocks, the night's wearing thin.


Passivity creeps in just like a mischievous elf,
A sinister spirit keeps us captive, steals our self.
Painfully forcing out a cry, on deaf ears they fall,
"You knew they wouldn't", it sneers, "more unanswered calls".


In despair's abyss, hope's flicker dies,
As the world rejoices, behind a joyful disguise.
Countless unseen battles and unheard cries,
Anguish, desperation, pain, do naked eyes lie?


To those who feign concern, a warning rings clear,
Your platitudes and neglect, a deafening sneer.
For in the depths of despair, a reckoning brews,
When the desperate depart, with nothing to lose.


In the sombre, silent night, when alienation reigns,
The psyche buckles, under the weight of its chains.
Remember, you who turned a blind eye,
The blood on your hands as the outcast dies.


So let the silence shatter, let the truth be known,
For the neglected and broken, forever alone.
May their memory haunt, may their absence resound,
A damning indictment, of the help never found.


Silently in the night, isolation's doom looms,
For those left to rot, in desolation's tombs.
A scourge on false kindness, on empathy's dearth,
As the forgotten depart, from this merciless Earth.


A warning to those who still pretend to care,
Of the anguish hidden, behind festive despair's lair.
Family friends forsaken in desolation's night,
Cast aside, ignored as time ticks on, year's plight.


In the silent night, a dirge ascends,
For those struggling, lost at the year's end.
Society's apathy, an unpalatable bitter pill,
Washed down with tears, we fade away against our will.


Let the silence break; let the truth be told,
Of the torment endured, the agony untold.
In summer's sweat, a reckoning should rise,
Power imbalances now, no escape our fate's demise.


May our ghosts haunt the whole season bright,
Reminding us of those for whom this time's a blight.
In the season's glare, coalescing shadows reign,
Numerous reasons, curses feeding this pain.


A moment of stillness, amidst the hurricane,
A flicker of self, in the endless pain.
Battered and bruised, yet still we stand,
In defiance of a world, that refuses to understand.


Whilst it is true, many times I have tried,
But for my animals, it is on me that they rely.
As night follows day and day follows night,
Dark forces frantically fighting, stealing my fight.


Hope's a medicine, both a curse and a sure cure,
Healing if repeatedly given - the source pure.
Decidedly dangerous, deadly, dangled as a prize,
Breaking faith's wraith, soon you and society they'll despise.


A pox on ableism, on empathy's lack,
As we vanish slowly, our lives off-track.
In the silent night, our requiem it plays,
The forgotten ones, left on birthdays and holidays.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Like all entries in this anthology - this is raw, unflinching (oddly still with residual masking) and has the potential to offend or upset - this is my truth. So take this as another CW. 

winter’s embrace

Folder: 
2024

 

 

 

 

Snowflakes fall, a silent lullaby,

Blankets of white beneath twilight sky,

Bare branches etched in frost’s sigh,

Cold winds weave through the night,

Stars alight, crisp and bright,

Warm fireside light,

Frozen plight,

Deep night,

Still.




 

 

 

 

 

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maybe it is still (just) sleepy time

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December

-Remember

It's December

It's the happiest time of the year

It's December

But in this frozen heart there's no cheer- (chorus)

 

Let it snow til I'm covered from head to toe

Let the sun go down before I can get home

Just remember it's December 

 

Let the leaves turn brown as they rot on the ground

Let the night black out everything that's around

Just remember it's December 

 

Remember 

It's December 

It's the happiest time of the year

Its December 

But in this frozen heart there's no cheer

 

It's so cold

Why do I feel so alone?

 

That's when I

Remember 

It's December 

It's the happiest time of the year

It's December 

Cause in this frozen heart there's no cheer

In this frozen heart there's no cheer

 

12-20-22

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

I kinda got my inspiration from a Christmas song I had stuck in my head, and the words just flowed out, so now I have a "winter" or "Christmas song" under my belt. 

See if you can guess what song it was...

12-20-22

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in the garden, in the nighttime (with Old English, Dutch, and Germanic influence)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This haiku was primarily composed as a personal note to my most recent subjective study material (micro-phenomenology).  I thought, first & foremost, why or how come it had that particular significance in me (at least for me). As far as that realization was thought to be consisting revelatory moments,  a denouement if you will, these have aided me (in my self-directed learning the importance/relevance of intersubjectivity, interrelatedness, & multiperspectivity as it relate to/in relation to philosophy, phenomenology, —mostly in semiotics/semantics/linguistics—of which are already specified in the past Author's Notes/Comments).

 

In addition, etymological definitions (with relative value to myself) basically were included below.  These are the linguistic influences of another language before being used in these particular ways.  Please note that this is just to help educate myself on these subjects & so, thought to be, help expand my learning objectives, which was why they've been given emphases):

 

 

 

Leaves pl./leaf sing. :

 

 

1.  Old English lēaf, of Germanic origin; related to Dutch loof and German Laub

 

Leave (another sense, as in the verb) :

 

 

2. Old English lēaf 'permission'; related to LIEF and LOVE

 

3.  Old English.. (this last one entry was not included; it had seemed to have a far different sense & meaning, so it had not been thought to be iterated; and apart from this reason, however, I could not find a special character from my mobile device to input "læfan" like how it appears from the built-in definition & its meaning to especially/specially denote that here correctly)

 

 

 

The Sleeping Village

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