(Don't worry - the fiction entry will be posted later tonight. I just haven't written it yet.)
In a fit of inspiration and jealousy, I've decided to double up on the entries for a little while, so I can post some poetry without interfering with my usual scheduled variety.
This first one is at least 30 years old. I've never been able to find a copy of it from all those years ago, so I've pieced it together from memory, and perhaps improved it a bit. Be assured that I no longer feel as alienated now as I did then - most of the time! But there are moments, even after all these years, when I still feel like an outsider, looking in at people who don't know I'm there.
Window Taps
Do you see it?
That pane toward which they vaguely glance
Occasionally, at my louder taps.
Of course you do, astute, poetic mind!
Ah, but do they?
Do they
(Amid the chatter about what He said
And what to wear)
Notice that the window's there?
(Or dimly find protection in a second pane--
A cold storm window!)
Do they know the world outside,
Where I stand tapping, gently tapping,
Desperately, silently,
Here I am, here I am?
They only see reflections in
This one-way mirror, silvered glass -
With intercom, so I can hear them
Gabble,
Gibble,
Geep.
It shouldn't matter;
Why should I
Care that Ed said this to Sue?
Would I rather gibble geep
Than play bright music of my own?
The music plays for me alone.
Its comfort cannot stand
In place of friendship,
Hands that care,
And looks returned
(Without the glass between).
Karen Funk (Blocher), circa 1974 - October 2005.
You are looking at an archive edition of 
4 comments:
Karen
Thirty years old or not, the poem is a winner! Nicely written.
Sam
Karen, Thanks for the heads-up.. yuppers I do indeed find this poem resonating with me. Amazing how at my age I can still sometimes feel like the man behind the curtain... "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain." OZ
**Do they know the world outside,
Where I stand tapping, gently tapping,
Desperately, silently,
Here I am, here I am?**
Gotta love this sequence... speaks volumes of how many of the folks with ADHD that I've interviewed feel. Isolated and out in the cold. Fortunately there are ways to sometimes climb in through the window... thinking that might be the title of my book ("I Came in Through the Window"). HA. such a dream am I.
Write on my dear. Tap on my screen if I ignore you too long... it's not you, but the blinders and bit of a daily grind.
Be well,
Michael
Yeah it's me... am using my other screen name for when I'm trying to get "stuff done" Just couldn't resist commenting. See there's my ADHD rearing again. Shesh!
Have I told you that I hate most poetry? No? Well, I do. But I like this one.
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