POETIC LICENCE

 HAIKU 

Procrastination -
I think I'll write about it.
But maybe later...

(13th April 2015)


There's a period
of life known to all women -
it's called the menstrual cycle! 

Oh, my thyme is up.
The clock of life is ticking
away - my plant died.

Calm after the storm
Tidal wave of emotion
Swept away by God.

Sky-borne bright white disc -
Strange this ethereal light 
solid as our earth

Skeleton branches
waving at me in the midst
of winter high winds.
                        
(25th February 2013) 


Take one Swallow, and
then another - Oh my God!
Summer already?


Self will run riot
given half a chance - leads me
in a merry dance
                       

"Silence is golden".

Funny, but I cannot hear

the sound of colour

Great British weather -

pouring rain, howling winds, cold:

B S T has come!

Sun-ripened mango

from the other side of the world -

It's still winter here

Springing from the ground -

green blades of unseen soldiers

March-ing on the world

Waste paper and paste,

papier mache heaven

 - it's complete rubbish

Aquamarine glimpse

swiftly skimming the water -

King Fishes again

Day breaks dark night's hold

with softly creeping sunrise -

Birds shatter the peace

Ignominious

arrival into the world -

Lambing time has come

Lion lays in wait.

Praying it's not yet too late

to escape - its prey


Rabbit, rabbit, rab ...
Cut off in mid-flow again - 
Hopping mad I am!


Dark before day ends.
Time is travelling backwards -
Winter calls again

All by Lisa M H

ODDMENTS

“HELLO GOD, IT’S ME”

Hello God, it’s me,

it’s the start of the day.

I thought I’d check in

before my mind strays away.

You know how it is,

I just can’t keep it still:

it will wander off,

leaving me feeling nil

connection with You,

which is flimsy at best.

I do seem to think

I can deal with the rest

of the day by myself,

which is silly, I know,

when you stop to consider

that I rarely go slow

enough to give thought

to anything I might do:

which frequently lands me

in a big pile of poo.

And then can be heard

my most frequent lament:

“I’m sorry I did that. 

It’s not what I meant

to do, not at all.

So I’m rather bemused

by the turn of events."

Hope You’re feeling amused

at my lack of success

as I run my own life

down a very dark tunnel,

into a great deal of strife.

Hello God, it’s me,

it’s the end of the day.

I thought I’d check in

now my mind’s been astray.

DAYDREAM BELIEVER

Sometimes when I’m not quite all here

I think I’m over there:

but when I go to find myself

it seems I disappear

Into a world of fantasy

where everything is fake.

It sometimes beats reality,

from which I seek escape.

But then I find that I am lost,

submerged in all my dreams.

The fight to claw my way back home:

is it really worth the cost?

What started as a daydream, fast

turns into something else;

a way to disconnect from me,

deny what is my self.

Another person fills my shoes,

I know not who she is;

she looks vaguely familiar,

but her life does not exist

Except within the confines

of a mind that’s gone astray:

which wants to keep me under,

but I’ll be back again – one day.

IN SANITY

In sanity I shall be free,

Free of the shackles that anchor me

To the mind that is unwilling to see

That it is the thing that is ailing me.

In sanity I shall be free,

Free of obsession which conquers me,

Driving me onwards towards the key

Which locks the box that imprisons me.

In sanity I shall be free,

Free of the thoughts that bewilder me:

Ever bombarding me furiously,

‘Til analysis threatens to paralyse me.

In sanity I shall be free,

Free to stop trying to copy and see

A world that is so very different to me,

And understands not what it is that I see.

In sanity I shall be free,

Free to be everything I’m meant to be;

To stop denying the Self that is me

Is autistic and happy and joyous and free.

A YORKSHIRE SONNET

‘Ave ah composed fer thee a sonnet?

Nay, lass, I a’n’t, but ah’ll get rite onnit.

But I ‘ave ter tell thee ah’m not that good,

Ah’m far better off wen ah’m whittlin’ wood.

So, shud ah mek fer thee instead

An extra leg fer tha four post bed?

Tha never knows, it might cum in ‘andy.

At the least, it’ll look quite dandy.

So, this is me luv song ter you.

Now ah’ve got ter ger off ‘cos ah’m mekkin glue.

An’ if ah’m not careful it’ll stick ter pan,

Which ah ‘ave ter tell thee i’n’t part o’ plan.

Much better that ah shud stick ter you,

And then tha’ll know that me luv’s so true.

BUY THE BOOK

If I go buy the book,

I’ll just take a look,

and find that it doesn’t make sense.

But I cannot not look

when I get hold of a book,

‘cos not doing so makes me feel tense.

It’s a bit of a bind,

and they say you’ll go blind

if you read for too long in the night.

But then I just find

that it’s lost from my mind,

so I continue to ruin my sight.

The really sad thing

about this whole thing

is that the words leave me feeling confused.

I have a big brain,

it’s autistic by name,

but it’s wiring just keeps me bemused.

I’m literal, you know.

It’s a bit of a blow,

‘cos it means that I cannot read deeper.

The meaning sublime

stumps me time after time:

it’s a bugger when it seemed like a keeper.

So if I go buy the book

I’ll just take one look –

but then I’ll just take another.

And before I know what’s happening,

I’ll have gone and bought its brother.

THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD

The pen is mightier than the sword - 

and yet I can't help but feel so bored

if I have to write for a longish stretch,

the end result? - I'm a total wretch.

"I can't do this," and "I can't do that."

"So what can I do?"; but my mind's gone flat

out of ideas as to what to write,

I begin to think that the sword just might

be for me a much better bet,

for achieving something, though I don't know yet

just what it is that I'm trying to gain,

other than a way to relieve my pain.

It's the one that resides just between my ears:

and I've had it now, oh, for years and years.

It's centred in what they call the mind,

and it makes it hard just for me to find

the slightest hint of inspiration.

Instead I produce lots of perspiration,

and a constant stream of rhyming verse

that I can't control, and I can't immerse.

"Why can't I write something serious?"

But, then again, I'm delirious.

I've spent my life feeling so much strife - 

let not art imitate my life. 

So the pen is mightier than the sword,

'cos if you take off 's' then you just get 'word'!

“IT’S JUST LIKE STARTING OVER... AND OVER...”

I’ve had to start over, and now it’s day two.

It’s really hard going – I wish I were through,

This bit at the start, which gives me such pain:

And makes me feel like I have nothing to gain

From forcing myself to keep pushing ahead.

Oh, woe is me, God, I wish I were dead!

I know I’ll feel better if I just give it time.

But I’m so impatient, and I don’t like the climb

Back up to the top, from here down below.

I feel like I’m stuck, and I’m on a go-slow.

I keep counting the minutes, and watching the hours,

And trudging along with my God-given powers.

To stay wide awake in the midst of this storm,

Is harder to do than conform to the norm.

And then when I manage to pull myself through,

And find a safe place where I’ll enjoy the view

It’s not very long ‘til I find myself tweaking

The plan that I’ve made; and now I start peeking

Through the pages of books that I don’t need to read,

And ignoring the rules that I just have decreed

Are essential to follow, to keep me in line,

And forestall the inevitable mental decline,

Back into a place that I don’t want to be,

But which seems to forever be calling to me.

All by Lisa M H - The Artistic Autistic