Aspie Poetry

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Hey,
I am looking to see if their were any fameous aspie poets or if anyone here writes poems

If you have a poem post it! :D

I will start :

James,
My best and only friend,
Gone now,to a better place

He was not like other kids;
Not into sports,
He liked nature

He was always outside,
Or in the woods
Never at a screen of any kind,
Just outside
We usted to camp outside
Just us.

He is gone now
And i must start afresh
And look foward not back
Now i will start again
Wiser and stronger
Just as he would of liked it
not greiving,
or no big funeral




Note: this is fictional

I'm certainly not famous but I have been writing poetry since I was 16...most of mine is from when I was in High School.

There is a site where you can read and post your art and writing that can be fun to check out.

Here is a link to my poetry but....warning,warning,warning...some of it is very dark and disturbing and hardly any body has anything nice to say about it...I like it though I'm not depressed any more , so I cured myself of writing poetry.


http://alianoraspie.deviantart.com/gallery/

Ummm... ok, a couple very old things:


Often have I thought to taste the rough surface
that lies round your frame, hung in colours pale
and sunken on the members wrought within.
Wistful hours in angry intoxication because the senses
were too dulled in their stupor, and there were simply
no more ruses left to be dispensed with in bedroom games.
Grown tired, where little lost dreams become lost
in fabled times where I didn't notice the flush of your
cheek as the cheap wine kissed the inside of your mouth.
And whispers were more like the shift and tumult of weeping
when at last the numbness traces gentle outlines upon my
face in faint lines of moist remembrance of a fiction.
Sometimes I've wondered why I show up any more.
I do little more than absorb your excess and subdue
the quieter passions that detract from youthful play.
The game has ended, and where was I but a distant third
as the fanfare dies away and the music becomes pale in
morning hues, light pastels smeared across the sky.
There is subtle peace in 'morrow's dawn.

-----

Tears blossoming in fragrant iris
Blue gold falling in late summer's hand
Touched and invited outward by richness
in earth and green and vibrant nature
Reaching out for God with a clenched fist
Lame leading blind leading deaf leading
Onward as twice-fallen raindrops know
their descent beyond the heavens
Spirits surround, compass, encompass, and
Embody that which none are willing to accept
In human fragility and imperfection which
man was envisioned and designed
Knuckles, bloodied flesh and bone broken
From tirade and anger lashed upon
Doors from old celtic oak and knot
upon which this new vision rests
Suffering, no martyrdom in that which
Has afflicted all with savage lashes
As though religion were leprosy and
nature-soul the dropping flesh
Maelstrom, madness, none too clear nor true
After all, what place have we without
Each other to assure and approve our
delusions, our imaginations of kinship
So anguish damned, and all the bindings
Of word and letter be cast aside in
Light, light of heart and birth-sight
without knowing the bitter darkness
Tempered by fists of doubt and fearing
Such fragile bonds find we among the others
Outstretched arms and darkened palms
find solace in those soothing touches


M.

SLEEP

The sharp cold corners of the day
Deny the soft foundries where the I
Undoes all regulation. Not location
Nor chopping minutes' disciplines
Can marshal marching corps from liquid instances
That infiltrate the secret places of the psyche.

Here an eyelash curl can twirl a galaxy.
Here the warm flesh of sex and ecstasy
Erects municipalities of rushing blood,
Of thick fluid smells and salty flavors
Which dissolve known pathways into broken chasms.
Landscapes out of continuities erupt, slide, and slump.
Sounds bark or tinkle into coruscating creatures
That dance or threaten, invite or pursue
Bedecked in pointed talons, needle teeth,
Enrobed in smoking clouds that twist and hiss.
The waking mind cannot confront quotidian cascades
From all the senses, pure and direct.
It must shunt the horrific flow to holding pits
Where trap doors creak wide only in the dark
Wherein the exploring eye may adventure
Safely cloaked in the insanity of sleep.