Poem and pictures, with the boy

My son still swims, and enjoys the water. Took some pictures last Saturday. Thought I'd put an old poem with the pictures and cover a couple of topics this month; National Poetry Month and Autism Awareness Month. A couple of years ago, I did thirty poems about autism for National Poetry Month, to mixed results.

This was one of the better ones.


Swings Inside the White Fence

This little boy I see, at the playground where I take my Grandson
He seems shy
He waits his turn, patiently, to go down the slide
Sometimes he likes to climb it, from the bottom

A lot of kids do that, even my Grandson
I've never seen him speak to anyone, not even his Mother or Father
They watch him close
He walks along the fence that encircles the play area,
but does not leave
My Grandson asked me about him, he tried to talk to the boy -
he walked right past him

This boy, he makes a sound like a motor cycle, or a boat
I'm not sure why he does that
I told my Grandson that he is the captain of a ship
on an ocean that is more important
than the ground he is walking on

You know who else did that?

To maintain a presence on social media means a near constant solicitation by others known and unknown. If it's not a kickstarter type campaign, there is someone out there needing money, asking you to buy their book, music, like their business page and on and on. For the most part I'm fine with this, it's easy to scroll past, to acknowledge or even donate to the cause on occasion.

It's the guilt trip that irks me. Do not try to make me feel guilty if I do not vote for your pet salamander as the cutest in the midwest. Do not say I am not a real friend even after I notice you did not offer any sympathy after my Mother died, you will not get my vote. And if you threaten to unfriend me if I do not click like, well guess what? It's already been done.

April is National Poetry Month with means that many poets will be attempting a thirty poems in thirty days project. I wish all of them well. I will not be doing that this year. Taking off in the middle of the month will not give me enough time to commit to it daily. Plus, I am not feeling confident. Done it before, along with other projects. Even had an idea in mind for this April, but winter sapped my spark. My idea is still with me though.

Slowly start your pens

The Blue Jackets had their best month ever and are in eighth place in the conference. I know other teams have games in hand, and the Blue Jackets are horrible on the road and have only four home games left. This is a small celebration for this franchise though. one that many have written off. They have flaws, deep ones, but right now while they are not necessarily learning how to win, they're proving they do not know how to lose. That is a big shift in the culture of this team.

Beginning to pack for the trip. Getting excited. Not sure how much blogging I'll be doing from the road, and certainly not doing a 30/30. I'll be writing though. Heck, I still have not really edited much from the last trip to Scotland.

Keep in mind Scott Woods' project The Road Taken begins tomorrow and The Rumble Out on the Promenade takes place on Saturday at Kafe Kerouac. These are two worthy projects for anyone to attend or participate in as National Poetry Month starts.

The Eighth Job

In the autumn of 1999 I became a civil servant. The job was assistant manager at the gift shop in the Ohio Statehouse. The location was awesome. It was a charge working in the basement of a 150 year old building that had plenty of history.



That was the original location of the shop. It was a fascinating place to work. People from all walks of life come through here, everyday. I learned a lot about Ohio politics, and that republicans are people too, for the most part. The Governor came in every few months, friendly enough but a doofus. I met Doris Kearns Goodwin when she researched Team of Rivals. Found the officiant for my second wedding. Great man who was one of the volunteer tour guides. All kinds of tour groups came through from all over the state, even the world. Have to say it was easily the best place I worked, but not the best job.

The work itself, was alright. Trinkets, tschockes, Ohio made crafts and other assorted stuff. I screwed up the data entry on inventory and never heard the end of it. Big mistake, yes, but the boss could never get over it. A year and a half in there was not much point to working retail anymore, and I found another job.



A couple of years ago the shop moved, here's a picture of the new location. It's a few dozen feet away, but in a much smaller space. Never was much of a money maker.

Sad Songs Say So Much

Day 22 - A song you listen to when your sad.

So many choices, so many eras of sad.

A lot of Beatles have been played, that was high school.

I really was not sad in college, just bat shit crazy.

In the eighties and most of the nineties I was in a trance. Kind of like college, with less pot and more alcohol. There was some sadness amidst the awkward late teen age years

Elton John's "Elton's Song" off the little remembered The Fox album was a sad unrequited love long.

John Hiatt's "She Loves the Jerk" was sad, but not sad enough to make the embedding.

The heavy sad kicked in around 1997-98. Playing XTC in the five disc changer and staring at the ceiling until it played out.

Maybe that was not quite sad either.

The Bitterest Pill (I Ever Had to Swallow) by The Jam is one of the saddest songs ever written by a 24 year old.

No one sings sad like Traceyanne Campbell of Camera Obscura. She's not sad enough to make the cut though.

Then there was the crazy, and yes, sad time of 2006-07 when I'd be driving around playing this song on repeat. It does not have much relevance to me today, but it brings me back to a time when I was sad, dripping emo out of my poetry, with no real regrets other than being too sad too publicly.

It's May Day!

Celebrated the end of 30/30 by waking up at 2AM with a cluster headache. Man, those things hurt and there's not a damn thing you can do except toss and turn on the couch in the dark waiting for it to go away.

Thank you all again for following along and supporting the April Project. It was quite the experience.

For the first time in nearly three years, I have a stereo. Picked up a lil' Phillips system last night. Tiny speakers, but it is freaking loud!

Maybe I'll get my baseball uniform back someday before my son grows out of it, or before the person who gave it back to me just so she could see my son wear it, dies.

And who'd be reading my blog from Fiint, Michigan? Hmmm.

Gallery Hop tonight, my friend Stephanie has an opening. Hoping an umbrella will not be needed. New, to America anyway, Doctor Who tonight then the Crew at Claddagh.

30/30

Another Toy Story

If he had Woody, he would be ignored
the same way Andy eventually did
When Buzz Lightyear made a sound
he would run from the room
but he would love the sound of the cellophane
of the box he came in
my son never plays with plush toys, dolls or action figures
the way most kids have

Yet a wooden Eddie George stacking doll
that was given away at an Ohio State Hockey game
is one of his favorite toys
He disassembles them
tries to put them back together
then moves on to something else

A simple puzzle of a circle,
Square and triangle is the one he plays with the most
He will say the word out loud as he, slowly,
Puts the piece in the correct spot
Two year olds do this faster
I do not have the heart to throw it out

He will play with puzzles of letters, numbers,
Different types of cars and airplanes
Struggling to place the objects
Into the slot where they belong

In over confidence in his abilities
I got him a puzzle map of the United States
Every time he will take out the states of
Alaska, and Tennessee
Set them aside, then flip it over
As States fly all over the living room
Leaving us to clean up the mess, and learn
The state capitals as we do it

With my son, we do not look for the missing piece
He is complete, not a mystery
We try to put him together
Into a shape that can function
Not with smooth edges of perfection
But with strength, independence, language
In the end, as he always has been, a beautiful picture

Almost a Resumption of the Usual

Last night was another Writers' Block preliminary slam for team contention in the National Poetry Slam. The last three slams I have drawn either first or second and have not been able to make it to the second round. Probably more for my lack of quality work than anything else. Last night, I was relieved to draw the seven slot (my Scottish Wife said beforehand I'd go sixth), which put me in the middle of yet another twelve poet slam.

Did a new piece about the recent cow escapes in Central Ohio. It's silly, fun and just want I wanted to do. Threw in a bit of 'Go Dog Go!' and a nursery rhyme and it scored high enough to put me in a third place tie to move on into the second round.

Have to give a shout out to Paula (no, not that one!) who not only cheated death last week but participated in her first slam last night, and ended up in the second round!

Brought out another newish poem about cell phones going off during slam which I did at first draft a couple of weeks ago. It's sinister, and evil, but if you know me you know my feeling toward cell phones. Had no idea how it went over as the crowd was very quiet while I read it. Where they wondering whether their cell phones were on? Were they waiting for someone's phone to go off to see how I'd react? We'll never know.

I stayed in third place, barely, as Louise had a second round charge that nearly overtook me. Congratulations to Vernell and Scott who finished one, two.

The third place point definitely puts me into the Grand Slam, which was a point cushion I needed. There is one more preliminary slam on May 19th followed by the Grand Slam on the 26th.

Tomorrow I will post the 30th poem relating to autism in thirty days. I'll say this April project is about done, nearly ready to put the final one here now. It will wait. It's been an interesting month of shorter poems, a few forms I never would have taken the time to do (thank you Scott and Joanna) had it not been for the support and encouragement of several people. I'm proudest that I did not take the easy way out and do one haiku. Go me!

Thank you all for taking part in this project, and for witnessing a bit of what it is like to live with autism.

29/30

Transcript of my Son Speaking
(Macaronic verse?)

for Joanna Schroeder

Boo tee wee
Grapes, apples, bananas
chchchchchchchchchchchchchch
Do you want computer?
I want computer
I want pudding
Open please Daddy very good
Weeeee ooohhhh
Do you want lolly?
Bridge, mountain, volcano
Ba ba ba ba
Find baby burma
Ming Ming
Leeen ami
Thank you very good!
Dey might be giants?
Hi-oh!
Good job!
A dub a dub a dub ah
Bugga Bugga
Everybody ah hum
Circle, square, triangle
Say all done

28/30

Neil
(Pleiades?)

Not one time has he pointed and asked, 'What is it?'
Now, he'll name all the letters but counting
numbers is what he knows, up to thirty
Nuances in food labels he
notices and he will not eat a label he does not approve
Neurons firing at all times
Never does he sleep

27/30

Letters in a Row (alphabet)

A boy can discover every facet, gaining harmony, instinct.
Joy.
Knowing language may not occur
Persistent queries regarding stimulating the underlying vocabulary,
when X years zoom.


Lame ending, I know.

26/30

Spell it Out (Acrostic)

As he looks at imaginary lines in the wall
understand that he
things in pictures or sees
images out of the corner of his eye
Slowly, at his own pace, he learns how
many ways there are to survive

25/30

A Silent Prayer to Electronica

He once called a hippo a pig
An igloo a house
This morning he thought a digital picture frame
was an iPod Touch
He broke my heart, a little
when he pressed on the screen
expecting the same results
The way I borrowed the iPod Touch,
downloaded some communication apps,
tossed a coin to see if he'd react
If this would be the miraculous thing that
transforms his life
Instead I received giggles he could not explain
Repetition of words on the screen
A happy child
No further away
No closer

24/30

Where the Sand Meets the Ocean

The beach is a straightaway
He runs along the shore,
avoiding the water with a seagull's skill
His direction, forward
His speed, full
Only using one gear
When he reaches the lighthouse,
where the Earth ends
He melts down
There's nowhere left to go
Nothing new to race by and through
He does not want to look back
or trace his footprints in the sand
but to create new ones
Every impression he makes is unique
Textural
Every color of the spectrum

23/30

The Night Crooner

At 4AM his eyes are open wider than yours are at noon
For seven years he has owned the pre-dawn hours
He has owned you

All your attempts to wear him out before bedtime,
at letting him sleep early late or not at all have failed
the way your marriage to his mother did

You stare back at him, knowing he will not respond
to your pleadings that he shut his eyes
To pack it in for now
Secretly you want him to talk back to you
with a smart-ass remark
But there is nothing

Nothing but hazel eyes that at this hour
have turned to unblinking slate
When he finally succumbs,
you summon all your energy to write this
Remembering you love him

22/30

The Tender Boy

He sees out of the corners of his eyes
in the places your shapes have been
He does not look directly at objects
but behind them
He knows more about your past than you ever will
He looks at the seed that was you and
plants it in his brain -
Where it stays dormant,
waiting to be fertilized, germinated
by a gardener
only he can know

21/30

Condition: Gravity

Born small
We could not hold him without his connection to
heart and blood saturation monitors
A life providing oxygen tank
outside of the plastic and metal box he called home

With a feeding tube going down his throat
he was not able to breast feed
(ask his Mother how that felt)

When he came home,
we thought it was colic
causing his restlessness and profound parental stress

There were few eureka moments
of first steps, the first pulling off of my eyeglasses
Crawling came naturally, slowly
Words with little frequency
Eating right, not at all
An occasional pretzel, sucked on, never chewed
He never chewed on anything
even when he teethed

We knew something was not right
much sooner than we found out
There was no crushing death sentence revealed
by his doctor
No denial
Yes, my son has autism

I'll admit the world turned upside down
in more ways than a hard diagnosis could make the world shake
There was an affair, divorce - personal dramas
my son handled better than the adults in the room
It took some time
but I did learn how
to gradually figure out
the art of
standing on my head
while making sure, he did not fall on his

20/30

Carrying a Needless Load

This condition, we fight for it to not control us,
Not to lock us inside our homes the way he can stay in his head
We go out, with him, we have to, for him, for all of us
We worry more about what people think of his behavior
Than what he is actually going to do
He wanders
All kids wander
He makes noise
All kids make noise
He does not throw food
Use abusive language
Treat anyone with disrespect
If he does not like where he is
He lets us know
We all go out to eat
He gives us about forty five minutes
Then he’s out the door
You fit your life in his life
And make it work
Why do we worry about what others think?
He’s fine

19/30

The Checkout Line of Anywhere

So how old is your baby?
The cashiers ask as they ring through a few dozen
jars of baby food
I admit they're all understanding when I tell them
he's seven and has textural issues with food
They get very apologetic, say "I'm sorry"
when I say he has autism
He's not dying, hooked up to a ventilator
or in a wheelchair
He is not broken, there is no need to be sorry
I do worry about the stares, what people will say
when he whoops, or does not speak when spoken to
by those who do not know him
Worries that are not his, but yours
The autism baggage you carry for both of you
A trip you so desperately want to unpack the bags of
but a journey you understand will never end
After my card is swiped, I am grateful
she did not mention the diapers

18/30

Saturday Mornings at the YMCA Pool

I remember the first time I put him in the water
He ran in place, paddling his skinny arms to propel himself forward
Not one ounce of fear in his eyes
Yelling with such joy he was not able to keep his head above water
Eventually he would sink
I'd be right by him to pull his head out of the water
With his face wet, coughing up chlorinated liquid, there was always a smile
on his face as he'd start his engine back up

After a few weeks we took the floats off him,
they were no longer necessary
A week later, this four foot tall kid was moving around
in the twelve foot part of the pool like it was a puddle

He still will not jump in on his own
He'll go right to the edge, pretend to make the leap
then laugh as I pull him in
But he loves it when one of the lifeguards,
or his father throws him in
With arms spread wide he flies forward,
deliberately landing in a belly flop
I've never seen a forty pound child
make a bigger splash