Day Fifteen- The Man Who Was Poetry 

Day Fifteen- and big news! My first book is finally close to completion. Stay tuned for updates on The Man Who Was Poetry.🙂 
And I need lots of advice from those of you who have published already. Tips and suggestions are most welcome! 


Your Yusra Cookie ❤️

The Rapture


The Rapture

Percussion, annihilation,
Follow your feet into the room
Wailing cacophonies of agonies
Borne of languorous rapture
And doom
Recollections, reconcile with
Crawling pleasures and madness
Wicked gleams of those nights
All those nights lost
In worshipping your alabaster form
Memories, and impossible fantasies,
Keep every imagination engrossed

And trapped
In that infinite, lethal gaze,
I am nothing more than a love struck, mooning child
You smell like sex, and cigarettes,
And my heart’s a bass drum gone wild
There is a riff inside my skull,
Pounding loud, our folie à deux
Manic-ecstatic, maybe,
But ohh..
The things I would do to you…

© CM

~for my muse,
forever, my muse~

The Accidental Muse


The Accidental Muse

How do you warp the sun’s rays
To form a nimbus
In broad daylight?
And stay, so completely unaware,
Of how you make everything
Come to life?

How do you gleam, crystalline,
Bring diamonds cascading down
Send bolts of lightning arcing
Through the ground
And stay
So completely unaware
Of the fact that it’s all
Because you are there?

Alter existences, define
The boundaries of the universe,
Parallel realities, realization
Epiphany after epiphany
In seamless continuation

How do you transcend
Mere mortal flesh
And blood
And bone
Not even see how you reconcile
To me
The known, and unknown
And drop by drop,
Irrigate my mind
With a barely stemmed flood
Of reason, madness
Sheer, pure joy

And yet so untarnished, you are
Still you show me wisdom
Older than the stars
You guile and bewitch
Beckon, and confuse

How do you do it,
My accidental muse?

© CM

Day 19 of NaPoWriMo!! 😀

The Lost Muse


The Lost Muse

I sit down and pick up the pen
To serenade my lost muse again,
There are vague images I seek
And while consistencies are bleak,
I still enjoy searching the cause
The words in which the moments pause
And in that sudden clarity,
I look for my epiphany…

My muse is gone, been called away
And while the world will keep at bay
The emptiness in rush of noise,
Drown out that vacant seat disguised
Marked in reservation and stamped,
I wait out on the porch, encamped,
For when my muse is back again,
The world of words will let me in.

For on my own I have no key,
Wherever could my lost muse be?


Hello everyone! 🙂

‘Tis the Return of the Kooky Cookie! I’m baaaaack! And I have muffins! Who missed me? 😀

I’ve been having an odd week of sorts, uphill, downhill, in and out the roundabout, up the Faraway Tree and there and back again. Buuut, I’m back. blessedly in one solid (if rather overlarge) piece, and that’s good enough for a sunday morning, isn’t it? Although I might add, being in one piece isn’t good enough physically. You need all the pieces of your mind to come together too, and I’ve scattered some of them here and there and everywhere in the past few days. (Both oars not in the water? Right you are!)

So! One of my most introspective and contemplative parts is somewhat deficient, what with one of my muses being on vacation. I’ve still been writing, but not writing what I want to write, so that satisfaction at the end of the page is missing still. It’s a slippery slope without his guiding light, my lil Jack o’ lantern that he is, crooked grin and all. So if you find me writing about sparkly vampires or teeny bopper werewolves (*shudder*), feel free to wrap me in a straitjacket and toss me off the nearest cliff. You’ll be doing us both a favor, mate.

Here muse, muse, muse. I’ve got a muffin for you!


Hugs and nomnoms,

Cookie ❤

The Edge




The Edge

I walk between darkness and light
With a capricious muse,
And wherever her thoughts take flight
I settle down and peruse
That vision of a world reborn
Mull over the lay of the land
And where I strike gold in my mind
Ink lines stream forth from my hand.


There is an ocean for perception
And a dip is all I’ve sensed,
A world of understanding’s left
To grow unbound, untamed, unfenced,
And while I want to be immersed
lose myself deep, disintegrate,
There’s something else I need to search,
Learn and discern- and contemplate


And that, that bubbles deep within,
The sparkle lit, spring overflowed
A harvest from sound, sight and smell
Verses reaped from feelings sowed,
The quill walks of its own accord
Writing of sight beyond my sight,
And medium to inspired, conspired
With rhyme I set the page alight.





I always thought that this was one of my more conceited pieces. So I would like to sub, hmm, maybe not the page, but my mind’s certainly alight when I’m done with a poem. I can’t say I suffer from undue modesty, but neither do I like tooting my own kazoo (trumpets are heaaavyyy!)

But when I saw the topic in Prompts for the Promptless,  Meraki, I felt like this poem just fit. Writing poetry is my light, it’s my personal drive. All academic and professional ambition aside, writing is the most fulfilling thing I do.

There’s a certain peace in writing, not just poetry, but really anything at all. To just sit and put pen to paper, and let all the jumbled thoughts in your mind out line by line, word by word. All the ideas, all the concepts, all the glee, sometimes, all the pain and the anger, are out of your turbulent head, and in a safe place.

In fact, sometimes I’ve noticed, writing about things that make you really happy, makes you happy later too. Months or years later when you happen to find that piece you’d written, reading it will actually put you in the midst of that happy moment again. And it works conversely with writing when you’re upset. You get rid of all that’s troubling you, and you get a sense of clarity that helps you deal with the problem, and get to the root of it. And when you come back to it, after however long, you realize that despite the dark patch and the troubles, you made it safely to the other side. It’s such a total win-win!

The funny thing is, I still don’t know where I write from. Something I see, someone I know, some day things go unusually, they all help me take the plunge onto paper. I will not use the word ‘inspire’, that would imply that I actually had a part in writing. But it never feels like I do. Most times when I’m done and satisfied, or relatively satisfied with the result, it feels like a separate being, a whole different entity that I was just a medium to. That’s not to say I don’t fiercely protect my work. Even if it’s two lines from when I was ten, I’ll still get my claws out if someone dare try to steal them! (meeeoooowrrr!!!)

Probably something to do with how lazy i am. I dodge claiming the praise because on the other side of the coin, I’d have to claim responsibility for it too. =P That’s why it’s so convenient to have a muse. Admittedly, mine is me some days, but it’s still a different part of me, almost a different person, whom I don’t quite understand, but still have fun figuring out.

So what about you? Where do you find your creativity, your soul, your love?

What’s your Meraki?



Love and light,







The Other Side of Me


The Other Side of Me

On the other side of me
A curious creature dwells
A dark resonant melody
In whom the music swells

Unlike everything that I am
The other- she is strange,
Full of sarcasm, wit, the twit
Full of rebellious change

She is the one who’ll take a march
For politics or rights
Or cajole me into partying
But I’ll stay in most nights

She’s all for breaking every rule
Every by law, each law
If anyone dare stoke her ire
She’ll chew them out through, raw

The differences are even more
Starker in broad daylight
You see me working quietly
An unassuming sight

An unremarkable person,
An unembellished face,
Granted, talking incessantly,
When in familiar space.

But the other, the alien,
Keeps her cards held close
You might glance in lidded eyes
What her face never shows

In contrasts and clashing colors
An image of me forms
Oddly blended like oil and water
Dodging, ducking norms

It’s what one mirror never sees
Halo with horns restrained
Reconciled, two sides of me,
The Sinner and the Saint.