Solomon's Wisdom

Solomon's Wisdom

Dear Solomon,
I didn't come to you for judgement
your swords are useless here

Besides,
the question
of who will break first
is long since moot

I fear it's
something I will
prove time and time again.
It's not the
revelation it was
BC
So let's move on
to the twenty-first century

and make a decision
that doesn't involve grinding
the last
spoon
underfoot

A.J. Ponder 

This is the final poem to the sequence Count your Spoons and The SEP. 

If you do have a diagnosis of  CFS/ME, I'd be looking for alternative treatable conditions. Because for now, it is difficult to say what CFS is other than a dumping ground, that may (or may not) include a condition that can be separated out as CFS. There can be no doubt, the one we've been dealing with is not CFS as such, or postural hypotension, or POTs  because of a failed a test that is almost universally accepted as 100% specific. Unfortunately, despite the diagnostic criteria being available in Up to Date and in other medical papers his condition it has not been recognized by the local endocrinologists.  Which leaves us counting spoons, like everybody else. But if anyone is aware of people who think they may be misdiagnosed, I'm thinking seriously about going to the health and disability commissioner, to ensure that NZ doctors properly rule out endocrine and other issues, before randomly diagnosing people with CFS, as that is theoretically the British/Australian criteria.


References 
Spoon Theory: http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/

Up to Date: Diagnosis of adrenal insufficiency in adults (you will need a log in to get any more than a peek)
http://www.uptodate.com/contents/diagnosis-of-adrenal-insufficiency-in-adults

Isolated corticotrophin deficiency, Andrioli et al (2006)
http://pathology2.jhu.edu/hypophysitis/pdf/425_2006_Andrioli.pdf

Adrenal insufficiency, Charmandari et al 2014 http://www.thelancet.com/journals/lancet/article/PIIS0140-6736%2813%2961684-0/abstract  (p.s. sometimes you can find a version of this online that is not a paid version, but as it is relatively new, I suggest payment is ethical if you have the money)

CFS as a dumping ground of hard to diagnose illnesses
http://www.meresearch.org.uk/information/publications/misdiagnosis-on-a-grand-scale/ 
I'd have to agree with this. For instance, the diagnosis of CFS was made for my son despite the fact that he didn't fit the CDC (The US 1994 Fukuda) definition of CFS, the definition used in Australia and Britain, is so vague as to be nothing more than a dumping ground of "too hard." Theoretically other conditions are supposed to be ruled out. But that certainly was not the case.

One possible misdiagnosis of CFS / ME is POTS: http://www.webmd.boots.com/healthy-ageing/news/20140617/misdiagnosed-condition-confused-with-me-cfs
PoTS is generally and most safely treated with fludrocortisone. Unfortunately this not only didn't work for us, but made the symptoms worse, still it should be seriously looked at as an alternative diagnosis, as it is treatable. The same article also indicated a link with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome (a connective tissue condition with joint hyper-mobility and may have problems with skin, tendons, and bloodvessels etc.

A Thing Of Beauty (Endymion) by John Keats

This week, a poem by Keats himself. The first line of which is so famous as to be almost infamous, but I hope you enjoy it's old worldy-ness. It's quite different from what I've been writing lately, but I still do love the cadence only rhyme can give, even though it can be patchy. The moments are exquisite. I really like the end, from ...O may no wintry season, bare and hoary... And the end of the first verse is pretty amazing as well.
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

Anyway, have a great week, look forward to seeing you all again next week, hopefully with a poem.

A.J.

A Thing Of Beauty (Endymion) by John Keats

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast
That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast,
They always must be with us, or we die.

Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
Will trace the story of Endymion.
The very music of the name has gone
Into my being, and each pleasant scene
Is growing fresh before me as the green
Of our own valleys: so I will begin
Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
Now while the early budders are just new,
And run in mazes of the youngest hue
About old forests; while the willow trails
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
Many and many a verse I hope to write,
Before the daisies, vermeil rimmed and white,
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
I must be near the middle of my story.
O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
With universal tinge of sober gold,
Be all about me when I make an end!
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
John Keats

The SEP

Look!
Can't you see?
We're sitting in the middle of an SEP

We only look like we're breathing
from the outside

In here
the atmosphere's
twenty K's
of
freezing
and group think
has you believing,
hydrogen is water
and air
is simply there

It's a diffusion of responsibility
that cuts at the frozen heart
of a problem
nobody
wanted

A.J.
with thanks to Douglas Adams (An SEP is from Douglas Adam's Life, the Universe and Everything. It's earned a place on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Somebody_else%27s_problem as well as having a wiki page: http://hitchhikers.wikia.com/wiki/Somebody_Else%27s_Problem_field)

This is a fractured piece of something I began a few weeks ago. It began with Count your Spoons, and may or may not finish on a piece called Soloman's Wisdom.

If you're unfamiliar with the terms, Group Think and Diffusion of Responsibility, also have their own Wikipedia pages. (And Frozen Heart is also apparently the name of a song from Frozen, which is probably quite apt, although I'll admit, a complete accident.)

Have a great week, I'm planning to have a bit of down time myself, and check out some great Tuesday Poem blogs, I know there are a few sites I need to catch up on, including Helen Lowe's and Helen McKinlay's, because they are always so inspirational, not to mention fantastically supportive of NZ poetry and fiction :)

A.J. 

Find my stories and support my writing on ko-fi 

And tell me which poems you'd like to see in my upcoming poetry book—2024? https://ko-fi.com/ajponder

  

 

 

Missed it by "that" much

Life is what happens when other things get in the way. Other things get in the way when life happens? At least that's what happened this week - so I missed my self-imposed deadline

There's a poem that's been "nearly finished" for two weeks now, that I'm keen to post. But it's in no mood to appear this week, so instead of a poem, maybe I can send you to all the things I've been busy doing instead of poetry...

I'm an occasional contributor to www.saharsblog.com/ask-an-author/

Have been very busy writing material for http://www.ronagallery.co.nz/home

Advertising the Rona Gallery Sale and Under A Thousand Art Exhibition

I even put a couple of posts on my facebook Author page (most unusual)

So that's basically it - apart from writing horror and fairy tales - it's becoming my thing :)

Have a fantastic week and why not check out some wonderful NZ poems at the Tuesday Poem hub? Let's hope they're having a more productive poetical week than I am...

A.J.

Fairy Song by John Keats

I.

Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! oh, weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
Dry your eyes! oh, dry your eyes!
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies,--
Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead!
'Mong the blossoms white and red--
Look up, look up! I flutter now
On this fresh pomegranate bough.
See me! 'tis this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man's ill.
Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu, adieu -- I fly -- adieu!
I vanish in the heaven’s blue,--
Adieu, adieu!

II.
Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing!
That I must chant thy lady's dirge,
And death to this fair haunt of spring,
Of melody, and streams of flowery verge,--
Poor silver-wing! ah! woe is me!
That I must see
These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall!
Go, pretty page! and in her ear
Whisper that the hour is near!
Softly tell her not to fear
Such calm favonian burial!
Go, pretty page! and soothly tell,--
The blossoms hang by a melting spell,
And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice
Upon her closed eyes,
That now in vain are weeping their last tears,
At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green,--
Rich dowry from the Spirit of the Spheres,
Alas! poor Queen!

And if this isn't enough Fairy Poetry For you, why not go here to my Portal to Fairy Tale Poetry here, and find some of the best Fairy poetry there is.

A.J.

Find my stories and support my writing on ko-fi 

And tell me which poems you'd like to see in my upcoming poetry book—2024? https://ko-fi.com/ajponder

Count Your Spoons

Count Your Spoons

We needed spoons
Old Mother Hubbard
and I
so we ransacked
that cupboard

The poor old dog
didn't stand
a chance- 
no gallivanting
up and down
and all around town
when you're counting spoons

Sport goes first
at a dozen spoons for a wig,
that jig
is too darned expensive

Housework,
at two spoons and a cake fork -
maybe not today
or tomorrow

Still, no worries
let's leave the tripe, and the pipe
it's hard to eat
when the cupboard is bare

Forget the wine
white or red
or standing on your head-
We're counting spoons

School,
work,
play
standing up,
taking a walk,
every luxury is
bartered away

Once you've
dragooned every spoon,
determination will get you to the day,
when there are only
three spoons left-

Begged,
Borrowed,
and Stolen.

A.J. Ponder 



Today's poem is brought to you in honour of the  Spoon Theory (http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/) Hope you enjoy.

A.J.

The Dinosaurs are Running Wild

Having just seen the film Jurassic World, I'm wondering if it's alright to even like such a colossal waste of...special effects.I guess it's a bit like having bubbles blown in your brain - sure it's fun, but you wonder how many brain cells had to die to bring you a steaming pile of - "Ooo look! It's a dinosaur with big teeth!"

So I thought I'd write a dinosaur poem. But every time I try, you wouldn't believe it but lyrics from Weird Al's Jurassic Park derail everything.

So poem...

Jurassic Park is frightening in the dark
 
Nope. Weird Al lyrics again...


A huge tyrannosaurus ate our lawyer
Well, I suppose that proves... they're really not all bad.

So, it's the dinosaurs that aren't all bad...or the lawyers - because at least they're edible? Okay really this isn't helping, Weird Al. I still need a poem, and your lyrics are brainworm candy.

I recall the time they found those fossilized mosquitoes...

Seriously, there has to be points for any poem (or song in this case) that manages to start with a line like that. But it's destroyed my whole dinosaur vibe...so unless something changes, next week's poem wont feature anything dinosaur related at all. It'll probably be something catchy like Ode to My Earworm.

I know I can't wait, can you?

A.J.

In the meantime why not check out tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com  or for animal poems...I've just realised how short I am of animal poems...I will eventually put up a hub...but in the meantime why not visit my cat posts here. After all, cats are pretty scary to anything smaller than they are. Also if you follow me, I will be turning up from time to time on Saharsblog.com, in her Ask an Author feature:http://www.saharsblog.com/category/ask-an-author/