APR Annual Autistic Poetry Comption - number 3!
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We are hosting our third annual poetry competition! Open to absolutely everyone on the spectrum, young and old. The theme is your experience of masking. Whether you do, whether you don't. Some of us use it to express ourselves, some to get by, some to hide behind. Show us your creativity. You don't even have to live in Reading to enter.
We are also extremely grateful to announce that well-known autistic poet Joanne Limburg will be our judge. I am SO EXCITED about this. Joanne Limburg is a writer and creative writing lecturer, based in Cambridge. Her poetry collections include Femenismo, Paraphernalia and The Autistic Alice, which includes a sequence of poems about her own late-diagnosed autism. She has also published two memoirs, The Woman Who Thought Too Much and Small Pieces: A Book of Lamentations, as well as a novel, A Want of Kindness and Bookside Down, a collection of poems for children The categories have been chosen to reflect the diverse wealth of imagination and talent in the Autistic Community. We have specifically included categories for those voices not normally heard i.e. those with though learning disabilities, learning issues and learning difficulties. We are passionate about hearing all voices . There are categories for poems written by autistic people without additional learning needs. It's up to you to self categorise as you feel appropriate. Please do feel free to put your age in either of the Child/Young person's category. You must be autistic to enter, although you do not need to have a formal diagnosis, self diagnosed is fine. The competition runs from February 5th 2019 to April 30th 2019. Please remember to put the title of your work, the category code and your age if appropriate, PLUS your poem on the entry form below. All work received will be displayed at Autistic Pride Reading, on 28th June 2019 at the Miniature Railway, Prospect Park, Reading RG30 2BE. Prize winners will be notified beforehand and prizes will be awarded at Autistic Pride Reading. Judges decision is final. The categories are as follows:
Good luck! We really look forward to hearing from you.
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Joanne Limburg
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Autistic Pride Reading Poetry Competition 2018
The AMAZING results of our 2018 Poetry Competition - read what Joanne Limburg has to say and then read the poems!
Judging the poems in this competition was both enjoyable and difficult: enjoyable, because I got to read all the poems, but also difficult, because I could not give a prize to every entry. Before I write about the winning poems, I want to let all the entrants know that I admire and respect them, for expressing themselves, for taking the time to create something, and for being brave enough to offer it up for competition.
Beginning with the AA category, I have awarded 1st place to Alyssa Hilary, for her poem ‘Reflections in the Mirror’, for its use of an extended metaphor to explore the ways in which autistic people are represented, and the effects of these representations on us. 2nd goes to Barry Carter, for his beautiful prose poem, and 3rd to Frank Ludwig, for coming up within another great metaphor, ‘The Plant of Progress’.
In AALN, 1st place goes to Adrianne Elson for ‘Sugar and Spice’, a poem about how it feels to know yourself to be one kind of person, while being continually told that you’re another; 2nd to Jen Echelson, who puts across an autistic perspective very powerfully in her poem ‘Let Me Make You Aware’.
Moving on to AC, I’ve awarded first prize to Rossi Blackburn-Hind for ‘Numbers’, which reminds us that for many people, numbers are poetry. Emmy Bartlett takes second place for her ‘Autism Haiku’, a brief moment about how the world can be too much. I’ve awarded joint third place to Jamie Measom, for a poem that moved me, and to Tori Taylor, for a poem that made me smile.
In the ACLN category, Yousuf Z wins first prize for writing about the rocket of his imagination. Tommy S wins second prize for his inspiring poem about his autism, and Sam P for his. Well done, all.
Let Me Make You Aware by Jen Elcheson
A distressed young child held down to a chair
They say he’s “just being a brat”
They clearly don’t care
The teen they think is too shy to speak
Is aware they are different
And may be more powerful than meek
The adult struggling to find lasting work
Is discriminated against
Over their many ‘weird’ quirks
We may not always look others in the eye
When I see it being forced I grumble and sigh
Others laugh when we flinch from noise or touch
Not understanding
Overstimulation can be too much
They say our behaviours are something to fix
Their ignorance is strong
It’s just how we tick
They only see through the narrow lens of their ways
A burden, tragedy, non-human
Happening constantly, day after day
‘But you seem so ‘high functioning’, not much different from others’
I’ve heard that a million times
As have my autistic sisters and brothers
They tell us how to think, feel, and what to do
It’s highly disturbing
We have our own points of view
We have a lot to share
Be it from our hands or mouths
We are autistic
And we can speak for ourselves!
By Tamsin Parker
It's like being in love
Though they call them obsessions
They often zone out
When I ramble on
But I'm just trying to enrich the world
And their minds
Cartoon Network, Greek Mythology,
Discworld, Seth Rogen
Then cartoons again
My obsessions change
And evolve over time
Inspiring my art in new ways
Some of my latest
Obsessions
Have one thing in common
Finding myself
Understanding myself
Through characters
From film and television
Mostly guys, really
Because fictional men
Are fascinating to me
The first was Tuco Ramírez
Vengeful but relatable
I was introduced to him
At a difficult time
He inspires me the most
In my fashion and art
Then I found Kikuchiyo
The lonely angry misfit
Of 'Seven Samurai'
More of an escapist fantasy
Of succeeding by being yourself
But I identified with his plight anyway
Park Gang-du
Was another aspect of myself
He was screwed over by life
And blamed for it
That reminded me
Of my experience
And finally
Blue-robed Shinmen Takezo
From the first part
Of Hiroshi Inagaki's epic trilogy
He struggled and suffered
From the mistakes and accidents he made
Out of all my obsessions
Throughout my life
These have got to be
The most profound
Sugar and spice by Adrianne Elson
I'm such a girlie girl
Sugar and spice and all things nice
That's what I'm made of
But I can be such a Tomboy
I like trains more than any boy I know.
But I'm going to be a ballerina
And 'jetee' 'weeeee ' straight into
The arms of my handsome Prince.
I love my wee doll Pipin
I'm practicing to be a mummy someday.
I'm so sweet and gentle.
I like to play skipping, hop scotch,
Rounders and netball.
I adore flowery dresses,
My hair in pig tails,
Patent shoes,
My legs in silky white tights
Just to complete the cute look.
But sometimes
I get so confused
And frightened
And I cry.
For they tell me
I'm a boy!
It's about US by TC Waisman
Diagnosed at 48
A woman, black and proud
But what does it mean to be the ‘new’ me
Amongst the old waiting crowd?
Confused, elated and finally free
I let it all become real
Some friends are gone and new ones emerge
I don’t know how to feel
I stimm, I stimm, I stimm, my days
When never had I before
What happens now to things I know
And the ones whom I adore?
‘You don’t look autistic’, ‘You shouldn’t disclose’
Are words I begin to hear
‘Keep being you and nothing will change’
‘We love you the same my dear’
Relationships end and ever so quietly
My lonely heart does break
Decades of friendships all but gone
Diagnosis was all it would take
More than black, a woman, and old
I have yet another fight
Autistic and adult born anew
Another campaign for rights
I’m tired and crabby and ready to quit
But others need me now
Back to school at my old age
To show our young ones how
We must go on, nothing without us
Our voices need to be heard
Doing a doctoral on autism studies
It’s our time to be asked first
Autism in adults is an actual thing
Our children grow up too
Time to band together and have one voice
Time to get over you.
Autumn Child by Alexandra Forshaw
Around the sun we go; once more we turn,
Unthinking, pages numbered large and small
To mark the passing days. What do we learn
In this obsessive counting? Is this all?
Shall nature be reduced to shuttle flights
That go direct to summer sun’s embrace?
In winter, must escape the long cold nights
Constraining warmth to meagre fleeting trace.
Such focus goes unquestioned; normal ways
Astound the eye that sees a simple fact:
Let slip the tightly held beliefs and gaze
On metamorphic transit. Now react:
Unnoticed autumn child, how could we know?
Denying how you differ hurts you so.
The Plant of Progress by Frank L. Ludwig
There are seeds in the winds of the planet
of a plant that could alter its face,
but on reaching their marked destination
very few find a suitable place.
Some are crushed on the spot where they landed
till the life disappears from the germs,
and instead of providing a harvest
they provide a dessert for the worms.
Some are starting to grow in a garden
or a field with the soil that they need,
just to find themselves extirpated
by the ones who consider them weed.
Some are trimmed on a regular basis,
and they're questioned, ‘Why can’t you just grow
like the other sweet flowers around you,
with some beautiful petals to show?’
While they may be abhorred or accepted,
they are never expected to thrive:
they're regarded as plants with no purpose
which rely on largesse to survive.
One or two in a thousand may manage
to grow free into autism trees,
standing tall in the middle of nowhere
as convention's revered escapees.
Each of these bears a fruit which is different
from all fruits that have yet been defined,
and their boughs dangle heavy and laden
as they benefit all of mankind.
The Manual by Frank L. Ludwig
The curious young man was standing
at Nature's workbench, made of pine,
as she described her many duties
and showed him an assembly line.
‘This is where I, without cessation,
produce the standard human brain
which I deliver with the body
and a short manual to explain.
‘But one in ten must be created
by hand, and that's when I explore
new ways and try out new connections
that I have never tried before.
‘These function on a different level,
the brains with individual sights,
producing scientists and artists
and those who fight for human rights.’
‘Is there a manual for these then?’
the man enquired about her craft.
‘A manual?’ Nature snorted roughly
and laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed.
NUMBERS by Rossi Blackburn-Hind
I like numbers
Because I can count really high.
Even numbers can make
Bigger even numbers.
Odd numbers can make
Bigger even numbers too.
An even and an odd
Make a bigger odd number.
From 5 we can count another 5
And make 10.
From 10 we can count another 10
And make 20.
From 20 we can count another 20
And make 40.
From 40 we can count another 40
And make 80.
Then 160.
160 is a hundred plus 60.
Numbers never lie. The more we add the higher we get.
By Rossi (age 6 yrs 3 mths)
Summer by Tori Taylor
Aged 10
Summer is always number 1
When you are having lots of fun
You can also have a run
If you are out in the sun
Make sure you put suncream on
Don’t be in the house for long
Come on guys, let’s go and play!
Stay up late, play all day!
Daniel DB
I have autism and I feel unique
I have exceptional powers that makes me unique
My brain works different to others
And we see the world in a different way
And this is me. Unique in every way.
Yousuf Z
I have a spaceship in my garden
And it can fly to the moon
My spaceship is powerful
Big and full of energy
This is how my imagination works,
Feeling proud of my autism.
Tommy S.
I am autistic and this is good
No matter how many bullies I’ve got.
I will always be me,
special no matter what.
Nobody is normal, not even my dog
but I still love her as she is my weird bulldog
I will always day dream
I will always make weird noises
but that is just me, an autistic boy.
Sebastian S.
I have autism
And this is fine
My mind works in a different way
But that does not mean that I cannot learn
or I am an awful person
I am just autistic
Tom P.
Autism is my life,
I was born with it.
Autism is everything
Every autistic person is special
As I am
And I feel proud of that.
Sam P.
Tom is autistic and I am too
but that does not mean we are horrible too
just diverse in a different way.
It is good to be autistic
Because some of the most famous people in the world
are or were autistic as I am.
I feel proud of who I am
A little autistic boy in a big world.
Reflections in the Mirror. By Alyssa Hillary Hillary, 25.
Monsters have no reflections in the mirror,
Is this who you want us to be?
Invisible, unreal, if extant ignored,
Till we learn to reflect your kind back.
Monsters have no reflections in the mirror,
For we're made as a mirror to you.
Find what you are from all we are not,
Leave only lacking to us.
Monsters have no reflections in the mirror,
Illusionists fueling gas lanterns,
Brighten their words, darken our worlds,
Show deception to our eyes.
Monsters have no reflections in the mirror,
No images prove who we are,
Hide us from the world, say we are not there,
Convince us of our non-existence.
Monsters have no reflections in the mirror,
No view through the looking glass.
Where are we from, and where are we going?
Who imagines what we could be?
Monsters have no reflections in the mirror,
That's monstrosity defined.
But what of the makers, what of the designers?
They choose what mirrors may find.
Monsters have no reflections in the mirror,
Now we set the record true:
If your mirror refuses our worlds,
That's on the mirror-maker-- That's you.
Autism Haiku by Emmy Bartlett aged 17
Everything is loud,
Aghh sensory overload,
Please just be quiet.
Clarity by Heathar Barrett
Vague sounds too clear to me
Beautiful time before I see
Girdle my name and feel my voice
Be true to yourself and make a choice
Poem by Jamie Meason
I awoke in the night,
But the only light,
That was shining bright,
Was your star!
You may not be alive,
But in my heart,
You are the one,
Who loved swans,
And your fish!
You made me hold onto a dream,
To one day be like you,
An amazing man!
And when you comfort me
When I made Nanna mad,
By letting Petra run away,
You were there for me and I’ll try to be like you,
A wonderful person!
I love you Poppa
XXXXXXXX
I miss you, you know who you are,
You have left me, which I don’t understand,
I held on to your hand, you taught me to count to 100 And also the time I tore your newspaper
I will love you forever, Poppa.
Poem by Barry Carter
Nine year old Pablo was fixated by the drumming
rain outside the attic window, he was autistic, a
condition his mother struggled with, Pablo had
hidden her anti-depressants behind the glass case
of butterflies. The wind outside to seemed come and go
like a rocking chair, Pablo had taught himself to
play guitar, he heard music in the wind and the rain
and could see musical notation in the clouds, but
Pablo kept his music a secret.
Pablo noticed his mother staring at the clouds, they
contained fire when he saw them reflected in her eyes,
he also observed the twitching of butterfly wings in the
glass case. One summer evening Pablo's mother slipped
inside the attic unnoticed, she was enchanted by her son's
rain enraptured eyes and the music he was playing. The
butterflies had vanished, Pablo had brought them back to
life allowing them to leave through the window.
The trees in Pablo's garden kept their leaves through autumn and
winter. Between the borders of dreams and sleep Pablo heard
notes no one else could hear as he dreamed about the confluence
of two rivers of light where the wind's hands bled from collecting
butterflies exhausted from attempting to reach the moon, the blood
reacted to the light, Pablo could see himself emerging from the womb,
butterflies connected like an umbilical cord, he could see the moon
shaving off it's beard of fire in his mother's eyes, she purged her grief
in it's flames as they fell, her husband died before Pablo was born.
Five butterflies returned, they were pressed against the attic window,
his mothers last vision of her husband was of of him clutching a music
box, Pablo began to wonder if this was the source of his music.
Pablo's father sang to him in a dream, the butterflies gathered to move and
sway like a rope in search of a bell.