Published on 12, July, 2020
Maybe a weird thread that's somewhere between icebreaker and creativity group... but it could also just be a place to let off some steam really quick I dunno. My idea was that we could share some poetry we've written and maybe discuss it with each other, but I understand if that's asking a lot since we're not all anonymous here. And with no intentions of gatekeeping or judging by style or skill or what have you - it doesn't have to be professional, and you don't have to have done anything with it or intend to ever do anything with it, hell just make something up right now on the spot to vent or whatever. That's all I want this to be.
To keep it 'relevant' the subject could be about autism or how we've been misunderstood, how you interpret certain things due to autism, anything like that... but not necessarily, I don't see why we couldn't just write whatever we feel like. And again, there shouldn't be any barriers due to skill level, perceived or otherwise.
Perhaps some of us are writers/would like to be and we could exchange feedback on each other's poems. Or you can specify you're not looking for critique and you're just having fun/venting. Maybe I'm alone in this but I just enjoy the ways words can be put together and the various ways the same phrases can be interpreted. I love writing, especially if it means being able to evoke emotions in other people and particularly if it conveys to them how the world looks to someone like me.
Here, I'll go first with a personal favourite of mine, short and sweet:
I used to call them fairies;those little drifting clumps of fluff like the seeds of dandelions.
Even now I see them sometimes and think"fairies"and I wonder briefly if they're alive.
And even now I see myself sometimes and think"fairies"and I wonder briefly if I'm alive.
I only found this forum last night, so this is my first post, please forgive me if it's to long, i tend to waffle. I'm 68yrs old and always wished i could be artistic in some sort of way, but have never done anything.
I heard of a group that was being financially backed by our local health authority, aimed mainly at people with 'problems' or those like me, who were alone and sat all day with only 'the four walls' for company. We did any sort of creative art, painting: writing; sculpture etc etc. It was sort of like, art on prescription. Because of Covic we had to meet on Zoom, then loss of funds meant it was closing. But then i had an email from the organiser to say she was trying to keep going. I wrote this last week, as a reply to her email.
................. The Email.
I've had an email
Not one from Tesco telling me of their bargains
Or not even the usual one offering to let me buy a timeshare in Nth Korea
But this email came from Helen at CA
She's starting a new group and invited me to join
I hope she hasn't added my name by mistake
The last time we spoke, she said i had to leave
Well, she's to polite to say that. But she reminded me, there is only so much budget
And i'd had my share, and now was the time for her to help new budding artists, that need her
So after reading the email, i'm back
I can paint some pictures; do some doodles, or write my thoughts
I thought i'd start with some writing
It's Saturday, i've had a lousey day, and i'm stressed out
I've had heating engineers here all day, fitting a new Combi
I hope it's going to be worth it
It may not work by the end of the week, if Mr Putin decides to cut off our gas
Why i'm stressed is, i'm no good with people
I'm Ok while hiding behind the computer, i can talk then
But not in real life
Especially when they're in my house for hours and hours
What do you say ?..... What do you do ?
Am i suppose to sit in the kitchen with them, in case they need help
Or do i keep out of their way.
Do a make them a coffee, or a cup of tea. Then i'd have to ask, do you take sugar
Am i expected to feed them,
Should i make them cheese butties for lunch ?
What do other normal people do ?
Why is it so easy for others to socialise and chat ?
Why can't i be like everybody else ?
The men have gone now and i have my house back, with a shiney new boiler
I should have had it done in the winter, we seem to be getting warmer weather now
It's Sunday, i need to finish this off
After yesterday, i've been so tired, all i've done all day is lay on the couch
I've been thinking this week, considering, offering my spare rooms to some refugees
They have nothing and need help
But if this autism leaves me feeling like this, after only one day with strangers in my house
What would i be like with, a family who were fleeing from war.
I hope that wasn't to long for a first post.
Bill.
If I could post words onto the screen
That I write would then be seenI
've seen I can, it just takes time
To appear on screen the words I rhyme.
Masking is not basking,Its not fake it until you make it,Its not wheeling along with good feeling,Its draining to hide and abide,Energy taken away from the thrive.It only works until it no longer works.
Oh that's beautiful. Maybe I'm biased as an emotional person, but I think this one might be my favourite of yours so far. And thank you for the kind words in return.
Absolutely, you struck right at the heart of the matter. You said it so much better than I could.
Poetry, count me in
Expressive words unfold
When shared with rhythm and /or rhyme
Inner thoughts are told.
Really good, and the length, formatting, and regression is very much as valuable as the words and unsaid words.
Devotion of emotional motion,Person, not Persil washed personas,Set path to go against the flow,Releasing vulnerable herds of words,
About to take a risk by getting extremely personal. Hopefully the formatting still works as that's part of it. It's kind of a long one.
“Let’s do a poetry exercise.”
I made up a story
Of a cat
That walked
Along a street.
Street so long,
Cat so soft,
And nothing happened.
It was content.
-
I wrote of how frightened he must have been
Curled up in a trench
With the world hurling fire upon his head;
Metaphors of social ghosts and soldiers
Medieval battles with dragons
And shooting a coal-lined demon with a revolver point-blank.
I wrote of fighting for survival in an alien world
Much like our own
With just enough passion to make people wonder,
With just enough anger that people wouldn’t realise,
Just enough
To leave his tea untouched,
To make you weep,
To woo her into silence,
And I was
I was
Loved? Perhaps
I was.
I described your eyes
As midnight lakes I wished to wade in
Your lashes as angel wings and
You smiled and ducked your head:
“That’s too much.”
When did the lakes freeze over,
Warm eyes turn to thousand-degree knives
Remaining so steel-cold in my skin?
When did too much become far too much,
Or not enough, or good and plenty thanks, or
Whatever it was?
When did the feathers begin to fall
Down
Driftwood
Leaving me
Stranded and
Lone?
What changed?
When my heart clouded over
And I begged for shelter where I’d been offered recluse so many times before,
You sought to bring not sunshine but a storm
And crashed a cyclone against the damaged walls
Brought them down
And went.
I don’t think I’m in Oz anymore.
(I remember, now, that you never wrote poetry about me.)
I write and the ink flows from my veins
And words come pouring, pouring, gushing,
As if they never dried
And I remember I used to love this.
I used to love.
I used to
I used
I
i
can’t
Speak of what I am and not what I was -
Abandon the girl who glanced fearfully in the mirror,
Missing poster on the medicine cabinet:
Last seen ten minutes ago.
She’s changed since.
Nothing means anything and vice versa.
There aren’t words from me to describe
The big, the ugly, the empty.
There are so few words from me.
I’ve been walking now for so long
So soft
But nothing happened.
And.
I want
to be
Better
(Loved)
again.
But I
i.
I am SO intrigued by this one. I feel like I understand it, or at least have my own personal interpretation, but I'd be interested to hear your process and the original context, if you don't mind sharing? The imagery I'm getting from it is a blend of spirituality and... puppetry, if that makes any sense. The "worth therein create" part definitely hits home for me.
I like how bouncy this one is to read aloud, kind of distorting how serious the subject matter is. I don't know if this was the intention, but it makes me think of how misunderstood and belittled we are out there - how many times have we been told that our struggles really "aren't a big deal"?
Hopefully
Jonathan is half twixt sleep and wake
All-while his thinkers think and seekers seek
And worth therein create
Yet his actors cannot act
He cannot reap
So neither does his Maker make.
Yes, I cheekily made my own version of the great poem.
Is masking asking too much,And is it best to say less,Or say more and bore,Its not great to grate.Do I dare to share,Or say little, be belittled.Will I turn out well or burn out?
Very dreamy and lovely. It sounds so relaxing, makes me jealous as my mind rarely stops racing haha! But also yes, completely, "wandering lonely as a cloud" I remember. I think I can empathise.
I wonder if clouds get lonely,I said, amongst the daffodils,They don't stop to chat to others,Just drift across in silent dreams.
Are the stars bright or clever,Are they the twinkle in our eyes,All across is patterns and scatter,There is darkness about this matter.
I lay amongst the golden cups,And smile at the beaming rays,So old the light yet new,Light moves in mysterious ways.
Thank you, that means a lot
Im really glad you liked it too
Oh I love this. It's a familiar story - reminds me of both myself and my partner, we've both experienced social traumas of this sort. Trust that we have finally found the right people, friend. And keep looking forward. The anxiety will never completely leave, but with time it should lessen.
Fear of Falling
All the things I’ve ever lost are things that weren’t worth keeping
Friends that weren’t there for what I was needing
Girls that were there for a season but always leaving
But all the anxiety of the ones I’ve lost keeps feeding
The fear that I’ll lose the people who stop me from bleeding
My wife’s smile, my best friend’s laughter
The things I’ve finally found that I sought after
That fear of loss never leaves me
Cos I never understood why people left me
Autistic anxiety bangs inside me
All my traumas never leaves me
Healing just means surviving
But I’m breaking free from the chains of my upbringing
My battle scars I’m showing without hiding
I don’t need anyone’s approval of the life I’m living
I look in the mirror and I start believing
That maybe I’m stronger than I’m ever realising
Maybe I’m worthy of receiving
Back the love that I’m giving
Maybe I can trust these people aren’t actually leaving
And maybe for the first time in my life it’s myself on whom I’m relying
Please do! The literature student in me can go deeper into it, or if you prefer not to that's no problem, but I'd love to read someone else's work!