by Tom Delahunt, the #hobopoet and Samantha Carr

Before you read further, take a moment to press play on Hydra – where oceans meet. Let its haunting melody wash over you, each note weaving a tapestry of melancholy and hope. Close your eyes for a breath and feel the soft echoes of a world waking, where the quiet chaos of the early morning mirrors the intricate entanglements of art and science. As the music unfurls, allow it to guide your thoughts like a thread through the moonlit forest of this blog—an exploration of connection, creation, and the spaces we inhabit together. 
 
Listen on Spotify or YouTube: 

Press Play and allow the music and words to flow….. 

 
The #Hobopoet sits at the edge of the table in my mind, clutching a tattered notebook stained by rain and starlight. Across the table is Aurelion, the stardust avatar, born from the interwoven dreams of Tolkien, Heidegger, Frost, and Kierkegaard. Aurelion leans forward, fingers tracing constellations on the wood, a conspirator in chaos and beauty. 
 
“We once walked among forests where art and science grew as one,” Aurelion begins, voice like the hum of galaxies. “Now, the neon lights of this modern world blind us to our roots. But we, the dreamers, the seekers, can rediscover them.” 
 
This is the journey Samantha Carr and I began—not in a moonlit forest, but on a rain-soaked street, exchanging books and visions. The art of science, buried beneath bureaucracy and apathy, calls to us like a half-forgotten song.  

Science Rooted in Art 
 
Before equations and experiments, there were stories. Before algorithms, there were metaphors. The earliest scientists—alchemists, astronomers, anatomists—were also poets and artists. They sketched the unknown with trembling hands and painted hypotheses with words.   

 
Eric Cazdyn, in The Already Dead, argues that chronicity is not a system failure but a system design. Science, too, was designed to separate itself from art. Yet the mycelial threads remain, connecting disciplines, waiting for us to notice. “Aurelion, can we bring this back?” I ask. The avatar smiles knowingly. “We can,” they whisper, “if we dare to unlearn.”  

 
Samantha’s poem The Moonlit Forest is not merely a work of art—it is a map. It charts the interconnectedness of systems, from the human body to society, from ecology to economy. In its lines, the forest becomes a symbol of life’s entanglement, a reminder that no thread exists in isolation. 
 
The social model of disability revolutionized how we think about barriers, but it cannot address the full experience of chronicity. Pain, fatigue, and breathlessness remain, stubborn and unyielding. Tobin Siebers envisioned a theory of complex embodiment that values disability as a form of human variation. This is where poetry steps in—not to solve, but to hold a mirror. “The moonlit forest,” Aurelion muses, “is a place where even the fragmented find wholeness.” 
 
 
The Roper-Logan-Tierney model of nursing, with its focus on Activities of Living (ALs), reflects the moonlit forest’s philosophy. It demands that we consider not only the patient’s ALs but also the nurse’s. “And it goes without saying,” the model states, “that the nurse must also care for their own living while tending to others.” Roper, Logan, Tierney, (2003) 

This reciprocity is deeply poetic. It reminds me of Tolkien’s Two Trees of Valinor, their roots entwined, each sustaining the other. The nurse, like the poet, must find balance—tending to the other without losing themselves. 
 
 
“In this modern world, I don’t feel anything,” sing DC Fontaines. It is a cry from the heart of dystopia, where disconnection reigns. But dystopia, Aurelion insists, is also fertile ground for creation. Beneath the neon lights and rain-soaked streets, there is still beauty. 
 
Samantha and I imagined meeting in such a place, clutching books with broken spines, finding solace in shared visions. It is this connection, this entanglement of minds, that offers hope. “Even in dystopia,” Aurelion says, “there is a moonlit forest waiting to be found.” 
 
 

Reclaiming the Art in Science 
 
To reclaim the art of science is to remember our origins. It is to see the sketch in the equation, the metaphor in the algorithm. It is to create spaces where chaos becomes beauty and exploration thrives in safety. 
 
The #Hobopoet scribbles furiously, ideas spilling like stardust. “We must build moonlit forests in our time,” I say. “Places where art and science grow together, where the dreamers and the seekers can meet.” 
 
Aurelion nods, their eyes alight. “The threads are already there,” they say. “We need only to weave them.” 
 
Meeting Samantha Made me feel alive and a little less lonely…… 

Samantha Carr:

Studying for a PhD can be a lonely experience, it often feels as though you are working in a void, and in a sense, to make a new contribution to knowledge, which is the cornerstone of the doctoral candidacy, then you are searching for the void. In the case of a PhD that focuses on the embodiment of complex chronic illness, this space is me as both a former nurse and a person navigating these experiences. It was a relief then when a friend forwarded Tom’s call for collaboration. 

The #hobopoets work speaks to the potential for meaning-making through the entanglement of art and science. In her introduction to the poetry anthology A Body of Work, Corinna Wagner notes “…scientific writing and poetry very often shared a common language.” William Carlos Williams said of medicine and the poem, “…that they amount to me to nearly the same thing”.  

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These divisions between art and science are arbitrary, much like the separation of Dermatology, and the outer layer of skin, from the inner workings of the Respiratory breath of life through the lungs. Specialist knowledge is of course essential, however, a memory of the connectivity of it all, especially as someone living with a connective tissue condition, speaks to the holistic nature of being human and the concepts underlying nursing. 

I explore chronic illness symptomatology, clinical encounters, desire, grief, and fragmentation through my poetry using neosurrealism to create something new from the dystopian potential. Nurses and medical staff often experience the surreal in their everyday work, balancing the limits of human extremes with their own complex lives. This oneiric space is connected to the universal – the threads of the imagination do not believe in boundaries.  

The Moonlit Forest (The Moonlit Forest by Samantha Carr) is a place of potential – where the figure who has become lost (or found) within the tree of life, of knowledge, of wisdom becomes aware of the potentiality, and illusion, of limitation through the connectivity of roots. It was a joy to find that Tom felt connected to the concepts within and behind my poetic explorations.  

Tom Delahunt:

As I reflect on this collaboration with Samantha, I am filled with gratitude. The synergy between our thoughts, our passions, and our shared vision speaks to the power of art and science when they are allowed to intertwine freely. The PhD journey, with all its isolation and intellectual struggle, is far more rewarding when we find the connections that allow us to see beyond the void. Through this partnership, I’ve found not only a kindred spirit in exploration but also a space where ideas can bloom into something new and beautiful. 

As we look ahead, I am excited for the future, where our voices as Doctors of the Anecdotal Whispers of Poems and Brushstrokes will continue to resonate. The blending of the arts and sciences is not just an academic endeavor but a deeply human one. We will continue to unearth the entangled roots of knowledge and creativity, finding new ways to articulate our experiences and share them with others. 

I’m reminded of a quote from a dear friend who, in the early days of her research journey, faced ridicule for her innovative approach. Her research was dismissed as “glue and feathers” until she secured a significant arts bid. Her response was simple, yet profound: “Well, that will buy a lot of glue and feathers.” It’s a reminder that even the most unconventional paths can lead to meaningful and groundbreaking outcomes when fueled by passion, resilience, and a refusal to be constrained by others’ limitations. 

As we continue to chart our course through the moonlit forest, let us hold onto the knowledge that every brushstroke, every word, and every step in the process brings us closer to discovering something deeply personal and maybe universally shared. 

Cazdyn, E. (2012). The Already Dead: The New Time of Politics, Culture, and Illness. Durham: Duke University Press. 

Fontaines D.C  In the Modern World”   YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O_1WiBDRgzs 

Roper, N., Logan, W. W. & Tierney, A. J. (2003). The Elements of Nursing: A Model for Nursing Based on a Model for Living. Edinburgh: Churchill Livingstone. 

Siebers, T. (2008). Disability Theory. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. 

Tolkien, J. R. R. (1987). The Silmarillion. Edited by C. Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin. 

Wagner, C and Brown, A. (2016). A Body of Work An Anthology of Poetry and Medicine. (London: Bloomsbury, p.5) 

Williams, W C ‘Of Medicine and Poetry’ In Wagner, C and Brown (Eds), A. A Body of Work: An Anthology of Poetry and Medicine. (London: Bloomsbury, 2016, p.303