Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Screaming at the Wind

I did warn you...

Screaming at the Wind

They found a cure
For what ails you
For cancer and depression too
And put their fingers in their ears
And shouted
as hard as they bloody well could...

What's the fucking point
Of telling people what's killing them
When they don't bloody want to hear
Preferring Fairy Tales
Over reality
Preferring to die
Than read labels

They found a cure
And they knew it
And somebody even tried to tell you
Somebody said
That chronic illness of yours
It might be
It just might be...

And though it was your cure -
You put your fingers in your ears
And shouted
As hard as you bloody well could
Because your drug that wasn't a drug
Has you hooked
Line and sinker
Because that drug that isn't a drug
Is your social drug of choice.

A..J. Ponder 
 (BSc Hons- genetics/biochem...)
I don't normally do this with my quals but they are relevant

I could say get tested for Coeliac today, and I suppose 80% is an ok indication - but it's not good enough.  100% specificity is not the same as 100% accuracy not when researchers say traditional "coeliac" is the tip of the iceberg and may be irrelevant anyway. In fact despite the high mortality and associated diseases I got the strong impression after reading the Christchurch study and several others, that many specialists don't like diagnosing without actual stomach problems-- not because of health issues, but because of social ones. 

That's my rant.  Rant over.  Your health.  Your life.  Your choice.

Summary of the Christchurch study.  http://www.nzma.org.nz/journal/117-1189/767/ 
the study itself - http://www.nzma.org.nz/journal/117-1189/772/
and afew other odds and sods
http://www.bmj.com/cgi/content/full/328/7437/438 (schizophrenia)
http://www.bmj.com/cgi/content/full/339/sep17_1/b3674 (the why we don't screen argument)
http://psy.psychiatryonline.org/cgi/content/full/45/4/325 (psych stuff)
http://www.biomedcentral.com/1471-230X/7/8/ (cancer)

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Tuesday Poem - Hijacked

I have a song in my head
insistent as waves on the shore
I have a song in my head
no room for a brain any more

I have a song in my head
musak for the merry go round
I have a song in my head
every beat as my feet hit the ground

I have a song in my head
and it's wearing my patience away...

There's a song in my head
And the sea wont shut up
There's a song in my head
And I can't shut the door
There's a song in my head
Every thought now long dead
There's a song in my head
but I don't care anymore

A..J. Ponder - author page

ok warning. Next week there will almost certainly be swearing. I was thinking I could simply take out the stronger language, and I did manage to remove one. Oh, and last week I forgot to thank Tim, I don't think I could have created Ecila without our little conversation about rhyme :)

P.S. if you find your brain has been hijacked by this poem, I do not promise to give it back. Certainly mine has failed yet to return.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010


I would just like to take a moment to thank all the readers and writers for coming to the Rona Gallery readers and writers evening it was great to catch up with people I haven't seen for a while.  A special thanks for the people who took the stand, Mary for being such a delightful hostess and Fiona Kidman herself for her exquisite poetry and her grace.

Alright - Poem 


She fell
Between the cracks

Not one thing,
Nor another

Down the rabbit hole
Past Lala lane

Yes we've all been there
To visit

To take in the view
And refuse to

But this girl stayed
Past dinner time

More curious
Than annoyed

Less curious
Than lost

More and Less
Than you or I

She ignored the very late rabbit
With his watch habit

Not hearing much -
Except the Cheshire cat

Grinning back

A..J. Ponder 
Okay explanations.  This is very recent. 12 June. Ecila has a soft c.  That'll do.  Have a wonderful week everybody.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

A Grey Day in Summer

(or -- Sometimes, the hottest Summer's Day is Just as Grey as Any Other)

It is a grey day
My heart is stuffed with pillows
The breeze blows through my head as if it wasn't there
And through the unrelenting sunlight
Under the eaves
There are shadows
With the names of loved ones

It is a grey day
My world is stuffed with pillows
My stomach filled with bright and burning lead
Skin deep sunlight burns my skin
And all around
There lie shadows
Plots of grass
Marked by picket fences

It is a grey day
My soul is stuffed with pillows
There is hot sun, there is blue sky, but I have fallen
Past the sweet scent of roses
Where the lies lie
Beneath the bright words
That mark
The places we dare not cross

Alicia Ponder
 I rather hate doing this - but this poem should really be softly illustrated, each stanza has a little church, a churchyard and a picket fence.   (Also the font and the format make a big difference, and I'm not entirely sure I have them quite right here. )