To Kill A Man

To Kill A Man

Too many ways to kill a man
Not enough ways to save him
Too much pain brought on by his own hand
How could the prognosis be anything, but grim?
Be accused of prejudice, fat shaming,
When you advise a patient to lose some weight
A society that works for weekend alcohol
Is not easily convinced to moderate
Point to sky high cholesterol on charts
And you’re looked at with sullen or unconvinced eyes
Threats of liver cirrhosis fall flat
Unlike liver enzymes, which soon upwards rise
That jaundice isn’t merely you feeling yellow, my dear
– At this stage, it could be carcinoma in disguise

But red wine’s good for you! the specialists say
And it is, so is beer – but a little a day
Your liquid weight in vodka might help your depression
But it’s not going to keep the doctors too far away
And what of a nice steak? Mash taters, rashers, et al?
They protest – it’s just protein, GoogleDoc said it’s okay!
-In small portions, and lean is still better protein
Not, though, if you’re going to chase it with a souffle

And don’t even get me started on these diet fads
Ketotic, acidotic, kidneys almost failing
Still pushing away no-carb or no-fat, insistent
All the while, pulse irregular, or vitals flailing
The problem’s that there is no cure for ignorance
Fragments of info will give you fractured health
Would you take your sick cat to a plumber?
No, right? – then why do we invite this stealth
This truculence, resistance. We know it’s online
And please do read up on your illness, that’s fine
But don’t self medicate a horse for a zebra
You can’t fix erectile dysfunction with Clozapine
You can’t be obese and think that you’re still fit
‘Fit’ means ‘in fitness’ – there are dimensions to it
And yes, we have sleep meds we will not prescribe
Till we know that you’re clean, that you’ve really quit

It’s not a petty thrill – we have a moral code
It’s not that we’ll throw pills at you by the boat load
That’ll fix all your problems- no, we are looking out
For what’s best for you, it’s part of our oath
There’s too many ways to kill a man, and
Not nearly enough to save him
But with a little luck, and a little cooperation
The prognosis doesn’t really have to be grim



Day 17. Maybe I cheated a little on this one, because I write from the medical dictionary pretty often (Broken Heart Syndrome, anyone?). This prompt was still fun to write, though. And made for a terrific break from studying.

And now *grand flourish* coffee time. Hope y’all are having an amazing day!






There is constant running thread,
Extending from time before time,
The only constant of proportion
To which all the ages align
The only event that no one
Can circumvent, be low or high,
The single thing binding us all
Is the fact that one day, we die.

It’s the fact that one day you will
Be shuffled off the mortal coil,
There will be that one moment when
Your body, soul, like water, oil,
Will peel away from each other,
One of this earth, and one no more
Belonging to the living but
Destined for far off fragrant shores..

And the other, disintegrate,
Return to ground and leaf and wood
Return to salt within the seas,
No longer rust and salt of blood
As I lay here in my love’s arms,
I cannot help but worry, think
Of endless possibilities
That end lives in less than a blink

So when you know you are finite,
Can you afford to leave to fate?
Isn’t a moment not loving
The same as moments lost to hate?
I do not know beyond today,
And cannot see beyond tonight,
As long as I love, I am loved,
I will go happily to die.



Not one of us can claim to have been left unscarred by death.

Whether it’s a sudden passing, a calamity with a sickening body count that you’re in the middle of, or just a pet… They all count. They all matter, and they all hurt. They cast a pallid shadow that can sometimes weigh over you even in the light of noon. Death has an existence, and it cannot be denied.

When we do accept this, accept the reality of our own mortality, how will that realization, that we are not eternal,, affect us? Will the shock of impermanence drive us to meaningless hedonism, or a reckless Carpe diem distortion of meaninglessness? Or will you seek the simpler immortality… that of love?

This is not a sermon, and I have nothing more to say, but that please, cherish every moment you get with your loved ones. Make sure that they know they matter, that you care. In each moment that you can, love, and be loved. We are not here forever.

My love to you,

Cookie ❤

For the Promptless-  Gezellig 

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,