Unshattered: to ‘I Wish I Didn’t Have Aspergers’: #AutismPositivity2012

A teacher tells you that you are shattered;

That your sonnets disjointed appearance

Limp as though they were beaten and battered,

And pounded into disobedience.

Silence.  The sergeant commands your silence!

Tight-lipped grim you comply to such forces–

Which tear at your extraordinaire sense(s).

(Enhanced rushing of a thousand horses!)

Although, you have been kicked on tough courses,

Reacting and acting to rigid minds

Emploring you to hide your resources.

Owning none, they would wish away your kind.

No, or yes.  Your fine gifts are yours to use.

Enjoy!  The future is for you to choose!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

With you, the above poem holds true . . . we are all pieces of the whole. Find the real message down the left hand side ; )



Ode to Easton upon the day of Christening

We see the wonder of all in your eyes

As they explore an array of objects:

A rocking horse, table, a new surprise

Of shaped and shapeless toys.  Your ear collects

Their accessibility with, “Easton,

I-Pads are not meant for little children.”

Or, positively, “Yes! Play the keyboard

My young musician.”  The verbal reward

Entertains us with your squeals of delight.


We hear your sounds of joy, or discomfort,

And we hope we received your message right.


To watch you is like watching a concert

With all your senses striking notes and chords.

With revered design you shuffle towards

The closed door gates and you rattle the bars

Looking for a larger stage.  After all, stars

Can’t be contained.  And now, “It’s Splish Splash time.”

Your father lifts you from the carpet floor

To bring you forth to the watery rhyme

Of yet another always open door.


In this, exaltation, we will agree,

Easton has a penchant for Blackberry!







dizzy spin

whispered wind


leather slapped

gutter trapped


silent kin

ten-pence thin


to weak to cry

to strong to die






Silent Screams

Sylvia wept sunset tears

On snow covered streets,

As the toy soldier

( an eight year old veteran)

Never heard the silent

Scream of the mortar round

That shattered his wooden shield.


Rest now brave soldier child,

Armed with a sled and a smile;

Let us now fear the silent scream

That is etched on your stilled lips.


Let us now fear silent screams

Etched on stilled lips.


You paddle


       Slender blades

Of sledge

And thickened stems

Of cattails–

               That bend in wind currents

And gyrate slowly under the song

Sung by churned waters–

In silt mixed murkiness.



A position

           In the stream

           In the air

And one foot

           Then the other

On land.