Cocoons Can be Comfy

an introverted autist retreats

Poverty and Plenty

Last of my traveling thoughts for the time being. For a small town girl, seeing some of the big cities with their contrasts was both fascinating and, at times, dismaying….

Poverty juts up against plenty,

Decadence with decay.

Yes, I believe in carving out your own way,

Hard work being a bedrock of society,

Even a necessity…

Yet, my heart cries at this hopeless and bitter display.

How can one sit in such ridiculous opulence,

Fat and content on his throne,

Without ever noticing his neighbor

In hunger for some shred of sustenance,

Some place to call home?

When will it cease to be,

“Well, I’ve got mine and so all is well…”?

When will we ever stop this 

Selfishness enough

To see the signs

It’s past time to 

Lift one another up

From the pits of

Our respective hells?

Cloud Cover

Driving home and full of thought… I  realized I have kept my faith mostly quiet on here. Not so much from shame as a desire to remove myself from what was in my less anonymous world.

 But, I fear it has become easy-too easy-to keep God from the equation, allowing what was just for writing purposes trickle into my heart. Today, I seek to rectify with an added category…

Kudos to you for the clouds, Lord.

You painted some pretty ones today.

I feel almost as if I could do a jumpshot

Among them,

Touch their softness

With the palm of my hand.

Is this closeness to You?

I’d like to think so.

Been a while,

And I am ready for more.

Keep me in your cloud cover, Lord,

Mile after mile…

Bare of Soul

For a not so peoply sort, I have encountered a lot of people here on the road. Some I could not bear but a bit of polite exchange with, others I could sense a beauty in, and allow to peer a bit deeper into my soul…

I have been both bare of soul

And excessively clothed,

Depending on the hour and the

Company which I am keeping.

For disdainful eyes sweeping,

My heavy wrap of quiet is most convenient.

For kinder, gentler gazes,

I can afford to undress to

Deeper phases of my heart.

There is a beauty in such vulnerability,

Exchanged one to another

As we pass each other

On life’s long road.

But, it’s all right, I am finding,

To be selective

Who you reveal your innermost self to

And who we guard against in the cold.

We must allow ourselves to be held in,

Under cloaks of night if need be,

For it makes the open times

That much more precious,

A nakedness deeper than mere skin….

Free of the Cell

Screw not writing right now. I decided trip or no trip, if I have something to say, I will carve out a few minutes. Traveling through pretty mountainous regions right now. Something about the twists and turns ( when my anxiety about vehicles lets up for a spell. ☺) has me thinking with some clarity…

All my life,

I have felt so jailed,

One way or another.

Always thought someone or 

Something else was

Swinging the bars closed,

Jingling the taunting keys

As they locked me away for keeps,

A cuffed canary, silenced by her dirty cage…

But, the more I glean of the inner me,

The more I awake to seeing 

That the cage that I live in

Is the cage I’ve constructed

With my own two hands,

Built out of the cold

Others flung from the freezers 

Of their hearts.

They made icicles of many of my times, yes..


No one and nothing can ever truly

Hem me in,

Not for as long as I have a heart or a pen.

In my autist creativity, there are no bounds.

Not in a stranger sent to strangle,

Not even in crowding kin.

In the raw beauty of survival,

There are no real chains.

Here I lift my chin in the encroaching rain

And say fie! to those who would seek

To shackle me round.

Even if that is in the endless internal monologue of myself.

For, there comes moments for us all

When we must sit ourselves down

With bold reminders of the strength on our side,

Rally the troops inside to refuse 

To stand aside,

But, rather, to seize those blasted keys

And march out free of the cell

Set up years ago in the blindest state of mind…


Finding impending trips don’t mean an escape from the harsher realities of PTSD and spectrum life…

And finding I can’t seem to shut up on here lately. Sorry for any who are sick of me not taking the break I alluded to like 4 days ago. 🙄

Oh, friends, I really want this thing to be a positive experience! In fact, between you and me, I need it to. Why, then, am I so scared? Why can’t I get this contrary mind of mine in gear ?! Arrrgh!!!! 

I draw my knees up into my chest,

Lay my head down,

And go silent in my tears,

As if I can gradually disappear inside


Washing away the ugly years of fears.

I grow fiercely guarded,

Protective of my right to a private sort of

Meltdown moment.

Don’t want to share it;

Don’t really relish even having to

Own it.

It’s just there, harping

More and more and more…

The word “breakdown” edges in sharply,

Jagged shards bursting from the door-

The one I thought I had tightly shut and barred.

I don’t really even feel aware of who I am,

Or where I want to be.

Inside, all is careening out the dam

But, damnit all, I’m still not free.

Cannot let myself fall off the ledge now.

Not convenient to the upcoming itinerary!

God, please show me how…

Don’t let me lose my grip on my sanity…


We are set to head out soon and will be gone several days. Frustrated as I have been with waning creativity, or, at least the sort I am satisfied with, I had not intended on another post until we were back, but this came to me earlier today in the processing of my constantly running brain. Almost chucked it, thought of scheduling it for later, but figured, what the hell? Let’s just throw it out there…

Light knifes pink through the horizon.

Routinely, I pick up the

Proverbial pen,

Flip open a fresh page of living

And wonder where to begin.

Some days, there is something 

Incredible that overtakes me,

Lyrics dancing electric on every limb.

Others, my every utterance is like

Gears grinding rust,

Seizing up like a wheel with a bent rim.

I hardly know upon rising

Which will greet my day.

For ability seems to meet me

Only in varying waves.

Exultant movements of creative drive?

Well, desire is always humming somewhere.

But, the actual wherewithal proves 

Far more elusive the longer I’m alive,

The more weight I bear.

Perhaps, this side of me is finishing,

Or so goes the question burrowing 

From deep in my fear.

Yet, my heart aches for replenishing,

To twine out in fresh branches of artistry

For any out there who still will lend an eye or ear…


Yes, yes, more talk. So uncharacteristic of me here. Will I ever slow down? 🤔

Well,  I think I will after this. At least, for a brief break.

I  just had to share first that the panic of the past few days has subsided. All I was fearing has turned in our favor! My dear girl, our finances, and the old family vehicle are all pronounced well-all three of which were in question before. 

As a result, in a matter of days, we are actually off and away on a bit of a road trip, something we have not had much of in our married life!  I can honestly get a bit anxious in unfamiliar territory, but, right now, my heart feels restless. Change will do us all good. Maybe I will even come back with a few new thoughts. Until then, I leave you with this…

Out my window,

Waves of grass are winding,

Welcoming my feet to wander.

Oh-so-cautious me,

Usually so reluctant to enter the breach

Actually dares to place a toe out in 

This sweeping sea,

Following my heart’s stir

To view a little more than

My often insular world

And find what it will offer me.

I hope for beauty,

I thirst for curiosities.

Old buildings

And legends galore.

Mysterious music, merriment, and more.

Sad but true

That I always must convince myself I am entitled…

But, with courage my cue,

I find I must recognize journeys can be vital…

Mirror Maze

This is half poetry post, half processing. Half-baked? 😕 

Of late, I am writing more. That should be good, right? I have a lot to say. Yet, almost I am feeling as if I am beginning to pump a drying well. 

Really. This stuff doesn’t seem as good as prior efforts. And, I actually looked at stats. I make it a practice not to in this happy, non-ambitious world I have set up here. But, I did. And they seem… low. Sigh. 

Maybe, I am just too hard on myself. Maybe I need to not read too much into absence. Or I might just have realized I can’t fully escape the approval seeker inside. I don’t know. At any rate, I don’t know just what I am seeing, but I know I don’t like it…

Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever 

Truly be content in myself,

Even in this, my blessed haven of

Eternal words.

I snatch at bits and pieces,

You see,

Sharing morsels with those precious few

I feel I can trust to see me.

I smile a moment,

Think I’ve found peace,

Only to find it gone.

Oh, there are depths

I can’t seem to get,

A place that is drying up

Before I can reach it!

And, somehow, I know I could dare not 

Reveal it all 

Even if I could.

Not even to the looking glass gaze.

For, yes, I often shrink from my own reflection, my friends;

I cringe and retreat to a sort of 

Unfocused haze.

Or, maybe, maybe… it’s just that it’s hard to

Find the right face, anyway, 

In this,

My not-so-funhouse mirror maze…

Memories of Evening Blue

It took me a bit to click together why my departed granny is on the brain lately. I always think of her most in August. Not only because this is the month she passed, but, also, the month we were always winding up a visit with her. Lots of nights were spent savoring summer on her front porch…

Past whistles down the dirt road tonight,

Sidles right up to my slab of porchlight…

And I hear your country girl drawl,

Drawing out an old tale of gladder days,

Winstons flickering the deepening

Evening blue.

Somewhere in the distance,

Tinkle of ice in the red tea glass,

Crickets call to one another of

Love so true.

Amazing grace how sweet the sound

Weaves itself into the wandering air,

A cool and soothing caress all around,

Brushing away these endless cares.

And I find I miss you so much

At the same exact moment

I find you still nearby,

Like almost we could touch.

For, though, I no longer see your face,

I carry you from years gone by

To this very time and place.

Memories swelling, aching

In such bittersweet fashion, but it’s okay.

Mourning’s less keen than before.

It’s more like the serene limbo ‘tween 

Sleep and waking

A dream moving so slow and so fast

All at once

‘Tween where we go and where 

We’ve been,

All we were,

And all that’s still in the making…

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