Poems

Our latest poems

Bus ride with my brain

Bus due at 8:13
Now is 8:12
One minute
Why is that person
Staring at me?
Now is 8:13
Where is the bus?
What do people do
While waiting?
Look at watch
Now what?
Look at phone
It says a different time
Adjust watch
Now is 8:15
No bus
If it arrives now
I will still be on time
Now is 8:20
I won’t have time
For my cup of tea
Now is 8:22
Bus!
Let everyone else go first
It’s polite
“Hello” to bus driver
A grunt in return
Was it something I said?
Find seat by window
Look at the world whizz by
“Is this seat free?”
What a lovely tree
“Is this seat free?”
“Oh, sorry, yes”
Their shoelace is undone
They haven’t noticed
Is it rude to say?
It’s hot
I’m trapped in this seat
I’m late
Their shoelace is undone
Those headphones are too loud
Their ears will hurt
I’m late
Their shoelace is undone
It’s hot
I’m trapped
It’s too loud
Their shoelace is undone

bus icon
I
Can’t
Cope
. . .
. . .
Stroke my jacket
Hum to myself
Imagine home
Stroke jacket
Scuff shoe on floor
Ignore
Ignore
Ignore
The stares
Ignore
The noise
Ignore
The heat
Two minutes
Ignore
Ignore
Ignore
Almost miss stop!
Sorry
Sorry
Sorry
Now is 8:47
Run to work
Ignore the stares
Now is 8:50
Only ten minutes early
Staffroom
Do my checks
Colleagues
Will be ignored
Until space is restored
In my brain.

By Jenna, issue 109

I, Magneto

I am a magnet
In a box of pins,
Stuck,
Surrounded by the bloody things.
You say you’re used to them
With your thick skin,
But here I am,
Trying to “just get stuck in,”
Dragging pins along with me,
Collecting,
Building,
The pins become heavy
Because none will let go,
And so, I get stuck
Where others just flow.

By J William Nessworthy, issue 109

stress/anxiety icon

"I am a magnet
In a box of pins,
Stuck,
Surrounded by the bloody things."

Masking

We meet in the street;
you fancy a chat,
and you go on and on
about this,
and that;
I admire your coat;
you admire mine;
I say you seem tired;
you say you’d look better
if you’d had the time,
this morning,
to put your face on.

To put your face on
means make-up;
like after a fight;
so maybe a brave face;
which is war-paint;
which then leads to Braveheart,
smeared and daubed,
leading the charge;
so, leads charging;
well, there’s my laptop
at home, charging up,
like a knight on a white horse —
or loitering alone —
the one in Keats’ poem,
where things wither by the lake;
which leads to monsters of the deep,
(though technically that’s a loch)
like in a door,
without a key;

stop, stop, stop —

a quay!
where War-Brides stand
to wave goodbye to their land —
and your remark makes my thoughts take off;
spill into my brain
in split-second time,
and, as they take flight,
I miss your next lines.

So I just keep quiet,
and nod and smile
in the right place, I hope;
put on a made-up face;
wear normality like a cloak;

play out the elaborate spectacle
of the mask,
while behind the crafted veneer,
bottomless wells of thoughts
spiral down endlessly,
and the grey shadow of fatigue
follows fast

By Virginia, issue 109

"So I just keep quiet,
and nod and smile
in the right place, I hope;
put on a made-up face;
wear normality like a cloak."

Poems from previous issues

Explore our mini-collection of favourite poems from previous editions of the Spectrum.

I have five accents available:
First, my monotone for the mundane.
Applied for responding to inane queries of my innocuous actions to pedantic managers who think
they need to keep abreast of my calendar.

Second, is inoffensive Brummie. I may apply to buying petrol; or lottery tickets; or perhaps giving directions to men in Adidas track suits needing to get to Wetherspoons. I will say “mate” and “cheers”; have a few beers whilst watching a silent live tele with erroneous subtitles — hilariously

Next, my menacing shell: trouble(d) geezer straight from Hell.
Back off; don’t harm me and won’t have to harm you. May have done bird; may have points on my licence; hate students and authority. Drop that ‘g’ and ‘h’ and talk a little louder/deeply.

Fourth is my stuttering doggerel; used when I’m at ease with you.
Motor slower than mind which whirls; I slur
and gabble and stop when I
shouldn’t. And start when I shouldn’t.

With these

I will go over tomorrow’s conversation and facial expressions and appropriate pause for thought, with ease
limiting your input as spontaneity rehearsal needs.

Yes, my syntax is designed for internal rhyme
And word rhythm
For prose well written.

Body language is foreign,
Don’t even know my natural gait
I have no nature to fake

If I’m eloquent and verbose or loquacious or articulate with my vocabulary choices; you need to do your research, dumbing down isn’t me, shame on you not shame on me.

My handwriting is a scrawl because my mind is faster than my fingers
Frustrating for me, as it belies my belief of my misunderstood genius.

So, this is my communication breakdown
It’s how I can interact;
My flow chart for
Integration
Amongst you.

I am deficits,
disorders,
and abnormalities.

Difficulties,
restrictions,
and limitations.
Inabilities,
sensitivities,

vulnerable.

I am kind and considerate,
but cold.
Accomplished in everything I attempt,
but intolerant of imperfection.

I am fearless and confident,
but anxious.

My responses are disproportionate,
(I am always too little
or too much.)
My speech is clear and easy to understand,
but too quiet.
I’ll smile when you make a joke,
(if I realise it’s a joke at all)
but not just because you smile at me.

I have no interest in casual friendships,
but am easily led and manipulated.
I’m clever,
but have no common sense.
I eschew conventional gestures,
I am atypical,
unusual.

I’m blunt,
(I tell the truth,
funny how that’s seen as a problem.)
Conversation does not come naturally,
I’ll panic if you don’t follow my script.
I cannot empathise spontaneously,
(what does that even mean?)
But I will try and fix things,
And if you ask, give you a hug.

I am reduced to a list,
A diagnosis,
a disability.

The myriad parts of me
dissected,

and judged.

The labels are all people see.
The acronyms
stamped on my soul.

Incapable of love.
Or of empathy.

A robot.

I am intensity,
curiosity,
and creativity.
Ambition,
acceptance,
and logic.
Talented,
resilient,

strong.

I will drive across the country,
if someone I love says they need me.
My friendships are few,
but precious.
I’ll trust what you tell me,
until you’re caught in a lie,
better that,
than to live in suspicion

Conversation is hard,
small talk is painful.
But tell me your passions.
I’ll listen.

I am my own calm
in the storm of the world.
Where everything hits me at once.
I can retreat into silence,
and a perfect focus,
I strive for perfection
because I know that I’m capable.
I can manage anxiety,
and sensory overload,
triggered at the drop of a hat.
I throw myself into interests
with childlike enthusiasm,
because life is a game, after all.

I see beauty in details,
in patterns and colour,
in the order of numbers and science.
In the sound of a word,
as it repeats on my tongue,
making peace in the middle of chaos.

I am more than a list,
I’m a constellation of stars.
My darkness is spangled with light.

I can’t write a poem
about all that I am,
I can’t be constrained
into lines.

If I’m a robot,
I’m Data with his emotions chip on.
Everything intense and overwhelming.
But there’s persistence in confusion,
strength in despair.
And I’m only cold if you don’t care enough
to really look at what’s there.

I am of another world –
A visitor, a stranger to your shores,
An immigrant born in your heartland.
I am other,
Apart,
A legal alien in native skin,
Vulnerable,
At your mercy.
So treat me gently:
Your customs are strange to me,
Although I was raised within them,
And I fear your people,
Your places,
You.
Accept my behaviours,
As I accept yours,
And understand that I am different,
Not dangerous;
I shall come to love your world;
And it shall become my home from home;
But at heart,
I am always other,
Always apart.
I am of another world.

of-another-world

Illustration by Spencer Cotterell

For more otherworldly features, visit our Alien archive.

At the end of a story
there always has to be a dog
waiting for the clue
in black and white.

Every day he awaits,
the opening of the door;
that is the essence of his existence.
He waits patiently, eagerly
only to please
what he does not understand.

After the end of a story
the dog walks a crowded street,
not knowing where to go,
or who to live for,
only knowing the road
in front of him:
black pavement
below a white sky.

Every day he awakens
into a world
he does not understand
chasing cats
to horizons,
where dogs are not allowed.

At the end of the story,
the door closes,
and faces look just the same,

just too damn gray!

dog head icon
Looking for more canine-themed content? Visit our Animal archive.

He worked alone, not a team player
Not a keeper or a stayer
Didn’t fit in, not really our sort
Talked about boring stuff not sport
We had to let him go
She didn’t smile, service with a frown
Missed the big picture, always drilling down
Flapped her hands, rocked and hummed
Chewed her pen and sucked her thumb
We had to let her go
Profit margins were getting low
We didn’t want to let him go
But some things we just can’t afford
We can’t keep funding his support
So we had to let him go
Wasn’t friendly — never spoke Lost her temper — can’t take a joke
Had some really weird obsession
Didn’t give a good impression
We had to let her go
She wouldn’t put in the extra hours
No party tricks or superpowers
Too quiet — too loud — too fast — too slow
Everyone said she had to go
Great at the actual job, to be fair
Well, yeah
But we had to let them go

Why do you like that tuneless music?
Wear your hair the way you choose it?
I think you get it, then you lose it
Why can’t you just be normal?

Can’t you make yourself conform?
Do anything that’s near the norm?
Don’t you know there’s a uniform?
Why can’t you just be normal?

Why do you hang with those dropout friends?
Dress how you like, ignore the trends?
Your oddness seems to know no ends
Why can’t you just be normal?

Why do you have to say that stuff?
Me and the others have had enough:
Why must you make our life so tough?
Why can’t you just be normal?

Why do you flinch from being praised?
Why can’t you tell that I’m amazed?
Can’t you see that my eyebrow’s raised?
Why can’t you just be normal?

Your posture comes across as rude
Your face is plain and your nails are chewed
You’re not even eating normal food
Why can’t you just be normal?

Why don’t you walk like others do?
Look at me when I talk to you!
Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to!
Why can’t you just be normal?

Why must you flap and skip and spin?
Screech and make that frightful din?
What headspace are you living in?
Why can’t you just be normal?

Why do you sign instead of speak?
Don’t you mind being thought a freak?
A nerd, a loser, weirdo, geek?
Why can’t you just be normal?

No-one likes the way you’re sitting
Won’t you even try to fit in?
I’ve done my best but I feel like quitting
Why can’t you just be normal?

You’re making people stop and stare
You do things that I wouldn’t dare
No-one likes you - you don’t care
Why can’t you just be normal?

You have your strengths: it’s such a shame
Why can’t you play convention’s game?
Then everyone can be the same:
A perfect world of normal

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Poetry library

Our latest poems

Bus ride with my brain

I, Magneto

Masking

Poems from previous issues

Communication breakdown

Communication breakdown

Notes from my diagnosis

Notes from my life

Of another world

At the end of a story

We had to let them go

Why can't you just be normal?

Calling all contributors!

Subscribe to the paper magazine

Submit work and our rules

Poetry library

Our latest poems

Bus ride with my brain

I, Magneto

Masking

Poems from previous issues

Communication breakdown

Communication breakdown

Notes from my diagnosis

Notes from my life

Of another world

At the end of a story

We had to let them go

Why can't you just be normal?

Calling all contributors!

Subscribe to the paper magazine

Submit work and our rules

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