Upon the Wind

Catch the wind,

And ride it,

Let it take you,

On a journey,

To a place,

You never dreamed of,

Let it take you,

Feel it,

Strong yet gentle,


Yet also seen,

Let it lift you,

And carry you,

Feel it’s tender grasp,

Don’t drop me – you cry

And the wind sighs

-I will not

The cold wind from the north,

The zephyr as it’s warm current,

Caresses you,

Khamsin – dry desert wind,

Holding you aloft,

Playfully twisting you,

As you laugh at its touch,

Hear the wind,

Hear it speak to you,

Of all it sees,

Hear it speak of treasures,

That you might see,

Exotic tales from sun soaked lands,

Lush beauty of rainforest,

Icy glacier and crystal fjord,

Watch the wind,

See it twirl and dance,

See the leaves leap to its embrace,

To be carried forth,


Believe in the wind,

Let it catch you,

And carry you,

Away from this place,

Let it open your eyes,

Upon new wonders.

Dear Autistic Community

Dear Autistic Community,

How nice to read your boast,

I read it twice this morning,

Over my tea and toast,

You caressed each other’s egos,

Said how wonderful you are,

A Masters here, a PhD,

You’ve really come so far,

And whilst I do applaud that stuff,

It pains me to repeat,

That not everyone will get the chance,

To do that stuff that’s neat,

For some an academic life,

Is ruined as it starts,

By bullies and poor teaching,

Who each will play their parts,

By lack of meaningful support,

From parents who, like mine,

Believed that university,

Was just a waste of time,

And now you talk of high IQ,

Another thing of which to boast,

You wear them like a badge of pride,

And see who wears the most,

But is it really relevant,

A better person make,

Than the one who’s IQ is not high,

Perhaps your bread they bake,

Perhaps they drive your bus to work,

Or nurse the sick and ill,

Perhaps they serve your vegan roll,

Perhaps they dig and drill,

Perhaps they do much more in life,

Than you, who boast on Twitter,

Perhaps their lives are full and good,

Whilst you, yes you sound bitter,

You rarely talk of happiness,

Or things that give you joy,

You just recite how great you are,

And yes that does annoy,

So stop it coz it’s meaningless,

Superior you ain’t,

Is there value in your life,

If there it must be faint!,

I’ll still applaud exam results,

Congratulate degrees,

But constant repetition of same,

Do shut up, do it please!

Learn something that’s called self restraint,

Be humble, gentle, kind,

And then I’ll not need to write this,

And save my piece of mind!

They taunt me

I hear them scratching, 

In my mind, 

Their claws are sharp, 

Their words unkind, 

They scrabble frantic, 

Claws that tear, 

I know, 

What they are doing there. 

Ghosts of the past, 

These spectral creatures, 

Rasping voice,

And cruel of features, 

Gods of Failure, 

Taunting souls, 

Dragging mind, 

Across hot coals. 

Transparent spirit, 

Mocking me, 

Expose my failings, 

All to see. 

These cruel beasts, 

Who needs no master, 

Urge me on, 

Bid me go faster, 

Drive me, whip me, 

Scourge me bare, 

No love for me, 

They do not care, 

They push me, pull me, 

Drag me down, 

Submerged in failure, 

So I will drown!.

Behind the door

Behind the door, 

I fear it, 

I know not what it is, 

But I fear

The Unknown. 

I tremble, 

I shake, 


Dripping in my eyes, 


Is Lost. 

Behind the door, 


Lies opportunity, 

Or lies. 


But Hope is lost. 

I reach out, 

But hand, 



Extension of my fear, 

Anxiety starkly illustrated. 

Behind the door, 

May be, 

Bright future, 

Darkest Doom, 

Why do I fear it so ?. 

Leap of faith ?. 

But do I lack faith ?

In myself. 

The faith to try, 

To open that door. 

Behind the door, 

It taunts me, 

It whispers to me, 

It gives me hope, 

But still I cannot move, 

Legs of concrete, 

Hold me in place. 

Behind the door, 

Salvation ?

Damnation ?. 

Do I open it, 

Or not ?. 

Still time

A cloudless sky, 

A man sits still, 

Of life, 

He feels, 

He’s had his fill, 

From lofty perch, 

Where once he ruled, 

To lonely spot, 

He is not fooled, 

That high achievement, 

Crowning glory, 

Makes of him, 

A better story, 

Than the humble, 

And the Meek, 

How articulate, 

They speak, 

Of lives with little, 

Lives with none, 

But still so blessed, 

Beneath this sun, 

They speak of love, 

And friendship true, 

Things, this man, 

He never knew, 

Ever driven, 

Power sought, 

And when he fell, 

He had but nought, 

But now he lives, 

Full of regret, 

For all of those, 

He never met, 

For all the friends, 

He never made, 

For the child,

He never played,

For a love, 

With whom he’ll grow, 

For a love,

He’ll come to know,

He sits alone, 

As ever been, 

The saddest sight, 

The saddest scene, 

But not too late, 

For hope again, 

Reach out kind hand, 

And ease his pain. 

Never too late, 

For love to grow, 

Hope springs eternal, 

He should know, 

That there is hope, 

So he will stay, 

And hope that love, 

Will come his way. 






That tenacious thread

Delicately poised, 

A wisp, 

A whisper, 


Silken thread, 

All that holds me, 

Binds me, 

To this place. 

Through starlight, 

Through sunlight,



This tenacious thread, 

Holding tight, 

Keeping me from the fall, 

Into darkness. 

From plummeting, 

Into the depths. 

The knife, 

Fierce of edge, 


So sharp, 

Cut me that I might bleed, 

But that is not, 

Its purpose, 

Its duty, 


Saw quick, saw true, 

Saw through, 


Silken wisp, 

Send me, 

Into the dark below. 






Answers on a postcard

I don’t know, 

Who I am. 

I’m lost, 


I’m numb. 

My identity, 

Is lost to me, 

Who was I ever ?


It was never ?. 

Unsure of me, 

I cannot see, 

Where in life, 

I’m meant to be. 




Remove oneself, 

From life. 

Who am I ?. 

Really ?. 

Do you know ?. 

I wish I did. 

Or do I ?. 

Would I like me more, 

Than I like me ?. 

But when I hate me now, 

Would I be, 

Better off ?. 

Or Worse ?. 

I just wish I knew. 


That would make me, 


Be happy ?. 

Although that’s not a word, 

I recognise. 

Who am I ?

What am I ?

Where am I ?

Why am I ?

Answers on a postcard

To me. 






Hiding behind

In the silence, 

Hear me breath, 

Sign of life, 

I am still,


Dust motes, 

Dancing in shattered beams of light, 


Like opportunity wasted, 

Through my fingers. 



Ethereal, otherworldly things, 

Fragments of a whole. 

The bigger picture, 

That I was blind to, 

That I could not see, 

Like wood, 

For the trees. 


I had my chance, 

Or did I ?. 

Memories, floating like clouds, 

In a sky where mistakes, 

My mistakes, 

Fall like rain, 

Endless torrent. 

Story of my life. 

Dark, Sullen storm clouds, 

Amber light, 

Fading sun, 

Dusk- into dark, 

Swallows me, 

Hiding my failures behind curtain of stars. 






One drop, 


Reflective of what it sees, 

Mirror in miniature, 

The world around, 

Beauty in chaos, 

Chaos in beauty, 



Silver drop, 


In nature. 

See as it shivers, 

Quakes at the passer-by, 

Harsh tread, 

Seen and then gone, 

A brief reflection, 

A moment captured, 

Only to be lost, 



Is short, 

Its place, 

A random, accidental thing, 


Was not its own, 


Opportunity caught, 

In frailty. 

Appreciate it, 

Whilst it lasts, 

For tomorrow, 

Under Suns fierce glare, 

It dies. 

And with it, 

The image, 

Caught last, 


Upon its silver lens. 

At my passing

I sat amidst the snowdrop, 

In the Winter of my days, 

For delicacy and gentle form, 

To capture lonely gaze, 

The gentle scent of roses, 

Caressed me as I lay, 

Their petals, fragile blanket, 

Showing me the way, 

The tree so high above me, 

A marker for my soul, 

Branches set like Angels wings, 

Their shadow marks my toll,

The primrose and the buttercup, 

Offered succour to my heart, 

The tulip and the poppy too, 

Each to play their part, 

Forget-Me-Not, its sentiment, 

Allowed me wistful thought, 

That nature was all that remained, 

When my life was naught, 

The bower that surrounded me, 

The place where I shall lie, 

When all the worlds forgotten me, 

And I come here to die.