Is this poetry or medicine...the border blurs
A whispered line can calm what fear obscures
A verse becomes a tincture for the mind
Restoring quiet places stress unbinds
Each metaphor a balm for hidden ache
Each rhythm steadying what strain might break
Ink turns to breath where heavy thoughts reside
A gentle pulse that lifts the weighted tide
So call it art or healing…both are true
The poem repairs what life has torn in you
Oh, Prolia,
look what you’ve done to me!
you fortress-builder,
you quiet architect
shoring up the fragile rafters
of my bones.
You whisper promises
of strength,
of scaffolding restored,
of a spine that stands
a little straighter
against the years.
But mercy,
you also leave me
aching like an old hymn~
muscles humming their complaints,
bones murmuring
as if they’re remembering
every fall,
every fracture,
every winter
I’ve ever lived through.
Still, I lift my hands
in a half-laugh, half-prayer,
because healing
is rarely tidy,
and grace sometimes arrives
with a wince.
So here I am~
grateful for the fortress,
grumbling at the ache,
and learning to live
in the strange middle ground
where medicine
and mortality
meet.
Oh, Prolia,
look what you’ve done to me!
you’ve made me stronger,
yes,
but you’ve also taught me
how tender strength can be.
It is what is coded on my DNA
It is the rhythm of my heartbeat
It is what is engraved on my soul
It is what is written in my anthology
It is my medicine
"MEDICINE "
Yeah, I think that is the perfect word to describe what art means to me
For all the times I felt the urge to down my anti-depressants with alcohol
But chose to bleed on pages instead
For all the times I wanted to curse God for all my pain
But decided to turn my prayers into a poem instead
For the time art kept me company in the midst of my dark hours
For that one time when music bandaged my wounds
And when Phora's album made me feel like I had a companion
Like I an not the only one experiencing this hell
Art saved me
Consent equals dissent,
Into another's intent,
A message sent inside,
Directing the ride,
Having to coincide,
With who chooses rules,
Fools to a false Idea,
Deciding to follow their guide,
Getting you to pick a side,
Dividing you from God,
Trotting on others beliefs,
For some personal relief,
Easing their own grief,
A thief wouldn't be able,
To have a seat at the table,
A fable when tested,
Arrested development,
Eloquent dialogue specialists,
Listing all the guidelines,
Refining your inner mind,
Into their Confined ideas,
Designed to keep you coming back,
It will put you back on track,
Then smack you with the past,
Alas you'll never pass,
They have a class you can take,
Partake in their wine,
It's blood from the Divine,
Find value in their bread,
It's the body of the dead,
Said to heal you from a sin,
If you take it again and again,
All are welcome in,
If they take their medicine.
Not on your nelly is telly better than laughs from your belly
That roar rocks you to the core before long you’ve a sore jaw
Stand up tour or panto to the fore has always worked before
Not just one more but an encore in store of many a guffaw
Pure & raw soul does soar but appreciate I’m no Shelley
Feeling down through thick and thin then best way to begin
Wriggle from a frown your mouth wiggles become a giggle
Head in a spin again after too much time with your ken & kin
Things get under your skin it’s not a sin to well crack a grin
Tipple & tucker don’t buckle me ol mucker succour to suckle
No sandwich of the knuckle nothing as pukka as a chuckle
While we all know the best denial to rile vile bile in style
A sage’s way to turn the page engage with road rage
To bewitch & beguile for a wee while is well just to smile
After a rafter of everything dafter whether grafter or drafter
Din of chagrin within a guffaw, smile, giggle, chuckle, grin
Will always win as it is shoe in the best medicine’s laughter
I met him in India.
Silence wrapped his bones.
Fasting was his prayer.
No praise.
No spectacle.
Only discipline.
He invited me inward.
Not to hunger—
but to listen.
By the third day
the noise fell away.
Pain forgot my name.
The body grew quiet.
The soul found a voice.
I learned then—
excess can poison.
Weight is not only flesh.
It is habit.
It is fear.
When the body softened,
the spirit stood upright.
Awareness sharpened.
The unseen leaned closer.
Not power.
Not miracles.
But clarity.
I understood restraint
as medicine of the will.
Less became enough.
Enough became freedom.
They ask why I fast.
I answer carefully.
Not as instruction.
Not as conquest.
Because sometimes,
when the world is denied,
the soul is finally fed.
Though their highest potential destiny
May or may never become a part of reality,
Their transcendent love helped them see
All of their paths in which they can be free.
Though there were chances they never met,
They overcame days once filled with regret.
They had to learn through pain and lessons,
They had to accept they had confessions.
They had to find their true selves firsthand,
Then find each other in an ancient land.
The aspiring Hindu sage found a woman:
Always followed her intuition, did all she can.
Whenever this medicine woman spoke,
Something ancient deep within him reawoke.
She fully realized her powers in his presence,
Then he realized what is true love's essence.
A younger friend
an older soul
Both prescient
and most wise
Her light that burns
a gift to all
Hippocrates’
— to shine
(To Pending Doctor Anais Vionet: November, 2025)
While walking to school
I was thinking about last weekend
- it was great. we did nothing -
and I stumbled on uneven pavement
it was a trip down memory lane
I was wearing a dress and I skinned my left knee badly
Charles, walking with me, grimaced at the blood
- which almost made me laugh
he wanted to call a car but I doughtily soldiered on,
scraped, bleeding and cursing my own clumsiness
If people noticed they didn’t point, stare
or barf at the grizzly sight
at school, I went straight to the ladies,
and washed it with soap and water
sticking pieces of toilet paper to the worst of it
to stop the bleeding and then limping to class
in emergency medicine, that toilet paper
would be called an ‘immediately sterile’ cover.
.
.
Songs for this:
Walk Like an Egyptian - The Bangles
.
.
Each year I made a Christmas playlist.
If you like Christmas tunes, please enjoy the Christmas feels!
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_35.mp3
Happy Holidays Everyone!
The clinic is closed,
The doctors have left the state,
The patients still wait.
For a cold take
hot tea and buttery cinnamon toast
Flu? baked custard, very cold,
maybe milk toast with
with butter oozing from hot milk.
Sad, depressed? chocolate,
macaroni and cheese,
or favorite ice cream.
Tired from a busy day,
take-out – maybe egg rolls
and shrimp lo mein, delivered.
Broken leg? Get friends to
bring in a loaded pizza,
have a beer party
Headache? cold gingerale
(cold water on towel for head)
no food!
Homesick? Mom’s goulash
with extra melted cheese
washed down with
glass of wine or vodka and tonic.
Insomnia? At three am
anything in fridge
or pantry, preferably sweet,
like doughnuts, but even
crackers and cheese will do.
For anything else, large
cut-up juicy orange,
chocolate malt milkshake,
or strawberry shortcake.
Love and hate is like two trains heading in opposite directions.
It's a choice that you make with the miracle of freewill.
So I choose the train of thought of love.
And begin to question, how does one make love?
If one starts with kisses as the first base.
Would the process of applying lipstick be considered a kiss?
In that case my mouth would have missed the chance to be first.
What about eating a fruit of life with its sweet nectar?
In that case I would be last since mothers milk comes first.
If kisses produce love in my veins.
I would go for that over sour wine.
But what happens to love if it is over fermented?
Would I be overdosing on the bitter taste of medicines ?
Inspired by the countryside. We are blessed here in the United Kingdom as we have many gorgeous landscapes around us.
Nature is the best medicine
By Michelle Morris
23/09/2025
The verdant hills beckon me
Come closer and experience peace
Let our natural beauty comfort you
Ignite the very best of feeling
Feeling a sense of belonging
Feeling a sense of calm
Feeling a sense of wonder
Feeling nature's balm
Your Soul will never regret it
Your body will feel renewed
For nature is the best medicine
For me and for you
© Michelle Morris, 2025
Consent.
Break it and your punished
Usually,
That's how the story goes
That's the way it's supposed to go
The hippocratic oath.
Ethics. Principles. Confidentiality.
A promise. A vow. A pledge
Beyond race
Beyond gender
Beyond sexuality
An oath against inequality
That's how it is to be taken
That how its supposed to be took
But what if?
What if those blinded by power decide to change the rules?
To abuse their privilege with different tools
An excuse used - for the greater good?
Or naybe it's just a clinical way to own black people
Henrietta Lacks.
A woman. A human. A black person.
Hidden by a history of white erasure
The story of her life hidden in invisible ink
They didn't see her as anything other than a toy to play with
As a body to experiment with
It wasn't that she was silenced
It was more that she went unheard
Her voice was a ghost they ignored
At her most vulnerable they stole Something that was hers
Something she had the right to preserve
Her cells
Stolen from the place they called home
Observed
By doctors
Who only saw her as a catalyst for research
On a hunting trip Yosemite Sam
shot up a loose can of spam
didn't taste like his usual venison
so took for precaution a spoonful of medicine
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
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