This collection of autism poems is always growing. People send in new poems all the time. So be sure to check back regularly if you want to read the latest that's being written in this little niche of the poetry world.
This isn't the poetry of Robert Frost or Edgar Allan Poe. They were both great poets but neither of them had autism as best we can tell. And although they each had a unique view of the world their views were nothing like the view of people affected by autism and other spectrum disorders. Autism poems tell a story from a different angle that few classical poets could see.
Poetry is what gets lost in translation. - Robert Frost
Public Display of Autism
by Tina Moreland
If he falls to the floor, kicking and screaming, because there’s no chicken nuggets, it’s just his way of coping. Be patient, you’ll get your turn to order.
If she bumps her head and starts to hit herself in the face, don’t stare, it’s her frustration. Mom will handle it, she see’s it everyday.
If dad is cutting his child’s food, he’s not treating him like baby. He just doesn’t want his son to choke.
If she ignores your child on the playground, she’s not a brat. She’s just not good at social interaction. She would love to play with your child, she just doesn’t know how.
He may be to big to sit in the shopping cart, no, he’s not lazy. He wants to run around, but his mom needs to shop. She’s not up for chasing him today.
If she has to be carried out screaming, it’s probably because of a meltdown. Be helpful, open the door. Don’t just stare or whisper. No, it’s not because she didn’t get the toy she wanted. If it were only that simple.
Don’t talk to her like a child, unless she is one. Don’t yell, she’s not deaf. She may not talk, but she can understand.
No, it’s not bad parenting. Discipline won’t help.
This is autism, it’s his life. Don’t judge him, he’s not judging you.
Walking Home
by Rachela Anderson
Bzzzzz
The bell rings,
hurting my ears,
disrupting my thoughts.
Sudden, loud, chatter
My classmates scrape
their seats against the floor
and hurry out, talking
all the way.
Pain!
I step out
into the hallway
surrounded by people.
They stop in the middle
they talk, they shout
I hear their conversations
hear their footsteps
feel their pushes and shoves.
Some of their words are directed at me:
"Hey, retard!"
"Get out of my effing way!"
"What, are you drunk or something?"
I try to ignore them.
They still hurt.
Many thumps surround me.
Along with the slams of lockers.
Finally, finally, I escape
I escape to the outdoors
And walk to my bus stop.
The noises have changed
I hear the thump, thump
of my footsteps still.
I hear the buzzzzzz
of some electrical equipment.
I hear conversations, but less of them,
the whooosh of the
cars rushing by.
I get to the
bus stop as the
bus arrives. There
is sudden commotion,
of students rushing,
happy to get home
on a Friday afternoon.
The bus is loud
Not only conversations,
but the rattle rattle
as the bus travels down the
city streets covered in potholes.
I finally disembark from
the bus, and walk to
the elementary
to pick up my brother.
The sounds are again
different; there is the
bark of a dog, the
rustle as the wind
hits the trees.
Then there is the bell
and shouts from the children
Like their older counterparts,
they are excited for the weekend.
A small, warm hand in mine,
The sounds of a teacher
describing how he was today.
Finally, finally, we get to
Walk to our home.
And rewind from our long,
Stressful days. There is no
need to talk, there is just
need for the comfort of
Home.
Untitled
by Sarah Watson
I watch you on your own Island
You seem happy that way : )
Sometimes when you're not looking
I cry my act away : (
King of your own island people do as you say!
I hate making you sail off your own Island
Tearing you away
The land I make you travel to is a million miles away
I don't know how to make it better or make it go away
I try to make you understand me, them, you us...
The other Island we all live in, you just can't act that way
Watching you pretend to fit in, do as they say
Makes me cry from the inside but smile and push you the same way
I hate that I make you say yes when you only feel no
It doesn't feel right that way, Im sorry to say
I watch you struggle in your mind and know there is nothing I can do
I just wanted to say I love you and your beautiful island too
Sometimes it may seem hard
But a Mums got to do what a Mums got to do
You can keep your own Island and use it for just short stays
You can escape to it's paradise but be home soon though Jay
I have to help open your wings and make you fly in the same skies
I prey one day soon you will realise
I hold you and tell you it's going to be fine but return to my
bedroom with your tears in my eyes.............
Workplace Interpersonal Skills
by Kate Gladstone
As I was heading homeward on the bus at 6:03,
I overheard two people, and they were discussing me:
My workplace supervisor, Ann, complaining to her boss
That, though I did my job quite well, I was a social loss.
"She does not like the office parties our department throws:
She comes, she tries to be polite -- it's TRYING. Well, that shows.
She's helpful, kind, she stays on task. Subordinates and I
Depend on her for research ... still, we wish she'd quit or die."
Her boss asked questions. Then she said: "Yes, Ann, that type I know.
I cannot put my finger on just why they ought to go.
I do not care how well they do: when folks like that are hired,
If we can't make them want to quit, it's best to have them fired."
Ann said: "Oh, yes, she's got to go. I sure agree that's true.
I've planned a little accident. I'll share the news with you.
You know the First Aid training all our staffers have to pass?
Her name's been dropped discreetly from the roster for the class."
(I'd heard no hint of this before. In fact, I had been told
By Ann, that very afternoon: "Tomorrow you're enrolled
To take the First Aid session. Please be here by half-past eight --
The first floor auditorium: no credit if you're late.")
So I spoke up (in terror at how rude I must appear) --
"Why, Ann! And Mrs. Sánchez! What a pleasure meeting here!"
They turned and glared and frowned because they knew I knew they knew
I'd overheard each single word of what they aimed to do.
I kept that job -- because by eight I'd memoed Personnel,
And "cc"ed several advocates the tale I had to tell.
(But other times I've lost a job, I've wondered: "Was it me,
Or was it conversation on the bus at 6:03?")
It's Autism Sunday
by Kate Gladstone
It's Autism Sunday, that one day a year
We welcome in fellowship "THOSE folks" 'round here.
We pray to become more autistic-aware
On this one special Sunday: the rest, we don't care.
We'll pray for you all, you're the cause of the week:
But please don't imagine that YOU ought to speak!
We pray for you, speak for you, WE shall decide --
WE steer the course, you're along for the ride!
We'll pray you get healthcare and all of that stuff --
We'll pray once again -- now, that SHOULD be enough!
Sure, come 'round next Sunday if help you still seek --
And we will inform you: "We prayed that last week!"
The service is ended, we rush to the door --
Till "Autism Sunday" next year, we'll ignore
The folks that we pray for, this one day a year:
It's "Autism Sunday," we're SO glad you're here!
The Unforgivable Sin
by Kate Gladstone
Down in his playpen, early in the morning,
Stevie lines his toys up in a long straight row.
"How awful!" says the therapist -- "Pay me to extinguish that!
Forty hours each week will make it go."
