Neurodivergent Poetry: How Rare It Is

As an autistic school child I was challenged by irony, sarcasm, ambiguity…

Why would teachers, parents, friends waste time saying one thing to me trying to communicate something entirely different…?

Later, why would bosses, priests, lovers mock, rage, abuse me for doing exactly what they said…?

Deeper yet…

Why would my speaking clearly, directly, truthfully be the most unforgivable sin of all?

Like any autist faced with a puzzle, I became entranced by ambiguity, tackling all its forms…

And like the possibly autistic poet WH Auden, I quickly became addicted to exploring and conquering its power….

Another of my written Songs without a Singer. (More here.)


How rare it is
A two-tailed comet in the sky,
A lover doesn’t lie with her eyes,
To greet one free man before you die,
How rare it is
How rare it is

How fair is it
Jesus AND Jim Jones got emails from Beyond,
Love rusts til it’s just one more bond,
Your soul’s released when your last day’s dawned,
How fair is it
How fair is it

A distracted juggler drops his satin ball,
As the drunken knife thrower ties assistants to the wall,
The smoking fortune teller wheezes, “Doom finds us all,”
A Ring Master’s whip echoes through an emptying hall….

How rare it is
To find a god doesn’t want more than he gave,
A lover who can stay even while I rave,
A man who can live not caring if he’s saved,
How rare it is.
How rare it is.

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