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Poetry thread

Lotus

I quite like writing poetry and so I thought I'd start a thread - please post your poems here. The first one I want to share is one I posted on another thread recently, about autistic people being typecast.

It's called "I don't wanna be typecast"

I don't wanna be typecast, I'm not a Tinpot

Unimportant, inferior or worthless, I'm not.

I'm not a savant, no genius IQ

But I'm not stupid, I can learn stuff too.

Don't think there is no emotion there

I have empathy, consideration and care

I don't wanna be typecast, no matter what we do

We're all individuals, I'm me and you're you

Parents

  • Reframe

    .

    Tide has retreated, the wreckage on show,
    What was once hidden, now laid out to see,
    Pieces all over, but where do they go,
    What of the order, to make a new me.

    Should I just wait, tide to return,
    Pieces to cover, calmness again,
    But would be false, nothing to learn,
    What lies beneath, playing the game.

    So out on the mud, we go to inspect,
    The pieces around, no order in sight,
    Care is required, our pride to protect,
    Feeling quite fragile, we start at first light.

    Out of the gloom, history looms,
    The good and bad, lie where they lay,
    Scooping them up, given new room,
    Order to find, with them to play.

    Though sharp they may be, we still must handle,
    Their true place to lie, in a new fable,
    There's pain all around, lit by a candle,
    Too brightly to shine, we don't want them able.

    Joined all together, admiring the view,
    Life reconstructed, though gaps still remain,
    While reasons for cheer, they seem all too few,
    Feeling quite different, yet also the same.

Reply

  • Reframe

    .

    Tide has retreated, the wreckage on show,
    What was once hidden, now laid out to see,
    Pieces all over, but where do they go,
    What of the order, to make a new me.

    Should I just wait, tide to return,
    Pieces to cover, calmness again,
    But would be false, nothing to learn,
    What lies beneath, playing the game.

    So out on the mud, we go to inspect,
    The pieces around, no order in sight,
    Care is required, our pride to protect,
    Feeling quite fragile, we start at first light.

    Out of the gloom, history looms,
    The good and bad, lie where they lay,
    Scooping them up, given new room,
    Order to find, with them to play.

    Though sharp they may be, we still must handle,
    Their true place to lie, in a new fable,
    There's pain all around, lit by a candle,
    Too brightly to shine, we don't want them able.

    Joined all together, admiring the view,
    Life reconstructed, though gaps still remain,
    While reasons for cheer, they seem all too few,
    Feeling quite different, yet also the same.

Children
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