M
Ten paws in ink,
one tat per cat,
ascend her arm like
carpeted platforms on
each of her walls or
veterinary bills.
We choose our lives, you see,
our selves and purposes and loves.
The little orange stray
poked a curious nose on
her porch, so she
fed him and loved him as
long as she could.
She chose to be
angel of cats.
I Could Not Sing
I faced eternal dark and cold, and horror,
Because the silence choked my song. I did
Not know a force could do that. Shriveled chords
Would die in grief, and none could bid
My lyre or lips to rise. And so I went,
To beg a dint of pity from a stone.
The dog, the ferry, shades of men… I bent
My face away. A man with flesh on bone
Should not have seen. I went below, below.
At last I saw the great pale god, his throne,
His stare. I begged in song. He granted, though
I could not trust. My eyes defied, I saw,
I looked away, and when I looked again—gone.
Humans, Logan is one of them.
Hello humans!
Today we shall learn,
About someone who is definitely human!
Logan Lambert,
Has always had Autism Spectrum disorder,
Making him seem not human.
But he definitely is!
He is interested in reading, fantasy, and sci-fi,
Like plenty of other humans!
Writing too of course,
to help him understand others and let others understand him!
He is always watching others,
to learn how humans work.
He honestly just doesn't get them, but he tries his best!!
It might have taken him a few years to figure out what a friendly human is,
but he still did it!
Emotions and showing them, so so confusing.
Body language, tone of voice, what is this magic and how do I use it?
all questions our wonderful, definitely human, Logan asks.
He can feel, think, speak, just like anyone else.
Please remember of course, that he is human. Never say he is robotic or alien, or that he speaks like he isn't a human, or he might end up sad and cry...
Yes, Logan, definitely human!
A wonderful person, and human, indeed!
@countingstars
#poem
#childish
#serious
Genius
I can see it but cannot do it.
The gift that stretches that bit beyond;
that final nudge from goodness to greatness;
that toe tap in the air above the ladder
on which I grip my rung high above the ground,
higher than most, but
above I witness the last contact of
skin and bone with metal that marks
the leap of faith into sky
and I can watch that moment when the
footfall somehow finds solidity in aether,
propels upward with the force and
grace and greatness of a god
to whom gravity bows
and the feet find footing
incorporeally racing
upward, upward, upward.
Clutching my rung, I give thanks.
It’s miracle enough to see.
Sacrament
I’d like to say
it was her mind, first,
but you told me that lies
are slips into sin.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot
(a lot a lot),
and I think it might even be better
if I could say
it was her hair, or her lips,
or her curves (please
pardon me Father Johnson),
because beauty is good,
from the hand of God,
and is admiring art sin?
But the truth is, Father…
this is very hard…
but the truth is, Father,
mind was third and body second,
because as she stood next
to me at the party in that
tight red sweater,
the first thing that got me was
the perfect knot she tied into that
cherry stem with her tongue.
