• Welcome to Autism Forums, a friendly forum to discuss Aspergers Syndrome, Autism, High Functioning Autism and related conditions.

    Your voice is missing! You will need to register to get access to the following site features:
    • Reply to discussions and create your own threads.
    • Our modern chat room. No add-ons or extensions required, just login and start chatting!
    • Private Member only forums for more serious discussions that you may wish to not have guests or search engines access to.
    • Your very own blog. Write about anything you like on your own individual blog.

    We hope to see you as a part of our community soon! Please also check us out @ https://www.twitter.com/aspiescentral

POETRY

Allen Ginsberg (with Tom Waits' Closing Time) - America

The mentioning of 'responsibility' in a different thread made this one play in my head again. I posted it before, but it's just so beautiful; I wish I could hug it. NO! I wish I could have sweet sweet sex with it and have it's babies. :)

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go **** yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
 
Stroll By The Water

Heading off towards the soothing sound
Transfixed by the subtle rustling heading down stream
The dappled light a pleasant gentle cloak
Leaves shielding me from the harsh burning sunshine
Moss covering the lining of by the water
Rocks and logs adorned by the luxurious moist green
Ripples in the water created from beneath
Schools swimming through the foliage of aquatic plants
Eel-tailed catfish grazing on the algae
Smaller blue-eyes and rainbows hiding from barramundi

Light softly catching the gentle waves
Patches of sunlight reflecting from the glassy surface
Further downstream ferns and grasses
Weeping Melaluca giving a soothing relaxing vibe
Mating calls emanating from the reeds
Drawing me in to find the ever-adorable Litoia croaking
Finding a male fallax perched in leaves
His throat pouch swelling with luring loving anticipation
A sudden leap from a hidden neighbour
Interrupting and showing more of the surrounding life

Stumbling onto a welcome boardwalk
Saving my feet from the dampness of the nearby wetland
Waterway widening with trees on looking
Looking like an inviting swimming hole for the wildlife
Adding a feel of belonging a few nymphae
The allure of water lilies has always been overpowering
Wading in the shallows a number of birds
The metallic sheen of the reddish glossy ibis eye catching
My ears delight in all the wild chorus
Gentle whistling coming from the flock of plumed ducks


Joel I
 
Eek, I'm a bit scared to do this, but here's one of mine...

Knead/Need

I make the bread

I tend your head

I swim the seas between us when the waves die down.


How many troubles

How many bubbles

Will burst over us before we drown?


Get up off the floor

Before the cold hits your bones

Get up off the floor

Get up and come home.


I never left

You’re away inside your head again


But I never left…
 
The World

//grammar mistakes ahead//
Many people have said that this world, and all others, where created in a single moment of time but for those of us that where there at the beginning of all things and the ending of nothing... It was more like a melody a sweet symphony of music that was slowly drawn out, planned out, it was constantly debated over which instrument to use, whether to use a violin here or a bell there. In the end we all agreed the best melody would, and was, created by a choir... Imagine if but for a moment being surrounded by not but void and having only your few kith and kin to keep you company now imagine all the voices of your kin rising in a single moment slashing through space and time like the dragons(sadly no-one else was keen on creating them..their loss).
At the beginning of the symphony only the magician and the fool sang each adding there unique voices creating the architecture of the song, eventually the empress started to raise her enchanting voice to all of our combined shock when she did this strength so moved by her voice and her conviction decided to sing beside her forever lending her his strength.
Has time was composing itself and history was being written the fool, ever the jester, decided to add in his own brand of music; some crashes here, some bangs and clanks there out of sheer aggravation the emperor roared his angered and quieted the fool, though the fool still sang, at least now he was in line.
Once the fool had been tamed and the emperor was back to humming his own tune, the wheel of fortune opted to join in, even though none had asked them to raise their hands to an instrument...let me back up a bit the four deities within the wheel of fate though they were ever strong they had not a single tongue among them.. so we all agreed it would be rather insulting to ask it of them to join us, yet they raised their violins and played a melancholy tune less to is the mood but more to display their own nature in the fabric of things, once they had played their piece death decided to make a mockery of the wonder we were creating and starting sowing his own poison into the rhythm of the symphony and when it has seemed has if all our work would be for not, because the song was beginning to collapse the tenuous peace the was created was being to fray at the edges, the sun and reversed-moon(apparently moon got tired of facing one way all the time..who knew) starting to play out a jovial beat on their drums, the kind of sound you would hear in times to come; when mortals went to war, when the young lost their elders even within all the discord and mayhem that both of their drums caused it was enough to put death back to sleep, what else would be a lullaby for death if not death its’ self?
Seeing that harmony had been restored and discord put to bed, if only for a little while, world rose from her perch far above all, even to so far has to see time has we saw the song, upon rising from her eyrie she screeched her joy and happiness, and within that screech we could all hear the beginning and end of our final and only master piece.

-the hermit

P.s this was written for a contest were we had to pick a tarot card and write a poem using it, i decided to try and mimick the creation story told in the silamarilion(j.r tolkiens work) and add my own spins here and there i wrote this from the hermits perspective.
 
Last edited:
When I was around 11yrs, our teacher read Ozymandias to us. We then had to write what we thought of it. I said I didn't like it, I preferred poems like this one:

I wish I was a little grub
With whiskers on my tummy
I'd crawl into the honey pot
And make my tummy gummy.

I could relate to this, and it made much more sense to me. What made this poem especially good was that our neighbours' surname was Grub. :-)
 
Poetry was very dear to me when I was younger. I started off really bad. I think I learned quite abit about writing. Here is one I wrote that I've always been fond of.

Hushed secrets cached beneath septic skin,
Anemic bones tormented from pain within,
Enhanced nerves tremble blood streams,
Tarnished tears gush upon open wounds,
Chaotic mindset awoke believable dreams.

Isolated visions engulfed muzzled thoughts,
Taped skeletal frames escaped triple knots,
Languished emotions controlled innocence,
Injected fears revealed unknown past scars,
Chaotic mindset hushed in complete silence.

Narcotic fumes consumed troubled airways,
Fainting portraits stood strong on displays,
Collapsed future stared fear into the eyes,
Regretful memories flashed beyond lights,
Chaotic mindset prayed for final goodbyes.

7th September 2006
Copyright (C) Natalie.
 
A personal favourite is this brief one -

'Oh little man,
Can't you see
The endless pain and misery
That you have wrought
Beneath the rainbow
That you sought?
Oh, little man'
 
I l
Harrison54 said:
A personal favourite is this brief one -

'Oh little man,
Can't you see
The endless pain and misery
That you have wrought
Beneath the rainbow
That you sought?
Oh, little man'
Click to expand...

Oh I love this - who wrote it?
 
I did write many poems in my native language but its really hard to adapt them in English because of the lack of rhyme. But there is one that I want to share with you. I am not sure if you will like it but I will give it a try.

=====================================================================

Solitude
by Raul Wheeler

I feel a shiver in the night,
When I see the lightning moon,
It looks so pale, it shines so bright,
It sparkles the lagoon ...

Near the water I stand alone,
From people there is just no sight,
Surrounded now by rock and stone,
I see no hope, I see no light ....

In the night I feel a shiver,
And the moon, it shines so bright,
It helps me spot a little river,
At 50 meters to the right.

I see people singing, dancing,
All around the camping fire,
And the fishes they are lancing,
Eating them when they desire.

- Oh what should I do my lightning moon ?
To live my life in solitude ?
To go them, to leave so soon ...
As they are to me so rude ...

In the night I see a spark ,
Coming from the lightning moon,
It covers them in fear and dark,
As I watch from the lagoon ...
 

CONTEMPLATION

A soundless scream

with holded breath

vibrates each cell

to glowing, death

of WAS, WILL BE;

eternal IS.​
 
Last edited:
Little solace comes
to those who grieve
when thoughts keep drifting
as walls keep shifting
and this great blue world of ours
seems a house of leaves
moments before the wind

Mark Z. Danielewski
 
THOUGHT PATTERNS
Out there, a dancing butterfly, floating in the sky
Weaving patterns in the air
Touching flowers here and there
While dreams are passing - by​
 
I wrote this the day that Robin Williams' death was confirmed suicide...

I AM DEPRESSION

I am just in your head
They all say
I make you wish you were dead
Every miserable day

I make others mad
Because i make you sad
You cannot cure me
With pills or money

I will ruin your life
By putting thoughts in your brain
I am the sharp knife
That will end your pain

I take away your hope
And replace it with pain
I will give you the rope
And watch you hang

Its all in your head they argue
But they dont know the truth
If they would only listen to you
They would see the proof

I am depression
I am surely real
I am also agression
I AM a big deal
 
I wrote this poem this evening.

The Crow

A crow among the trees,
dark and covered,
where none look upon to see,
its fading shape in the green.

It wanders the branches,
where wings without will,
reprise the mind,
from the spring to the winter.

In the silent auburn season,
the leaves all but still,
and so the crow moves on,
leaving the sorrow of its perch.

An absence among the trees,
lost and buried,
where none look upon to see,
its faded shape in the green.
 
Last edited:
You must log in or register to reply here.

New Threads

Top Bottom