Archives For Poetry

The Voice of Autism:

My Topsy Turvy Life

I wish for two days in a row that didn’t always start at one extreme and end at another

I’m happy

I’m sad

I’m mad

I’m nice

It’s not my fault

Some people just can’t be nice to me

Don’t they understand that I have feelings just like they do?

When they say something mean to me

It seems to hurt more

Like they just really want to see me cry

I don’t like crying

I don’t think anyone does

It makes me think of all the other bad times I’ve had

I want to think about all the good times

Don’t get me wrong

I have lots of happy thoughts


The time I spend with my family

When we go places

When we sit and watch funny things on TV

When I get to help bake

Or help in the garden

I love when we travel

My life is so topsy-turvy

Sometimes good

Sometimes bad

I wish I could read everyone’s minds

So I could really understand why they need to pick on me

I wish I could make people see that it’s not right to hurt anyone

I wish I could make people live like I do

And Maybe

They would never be mean to me or anyone else again

I wonder if their lives are topsy-turvy

And if that is why

They are so mean to me

I wish they knew that it would just be better to be my friend

I know then

My life wouldn’t be so topsy-turvy

Copyright 2014

The Voice of Autism:

My Topsy Turvy Life©

Felina Silver Robinson

Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

The Tempest



SCENE, The Sea, with a Ship: afterwards an uninhabited Island.


SCENE I.— Another part of the Island.



By all of us; and the fair soul herself

Weigh’d, between lothness and obedience, at

Which end o’ the beam she’d bow. We have

lost your son,

I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have

More windows in them of this business’ making,

Than we bring men to comfort them: the fault’s

Your own.

Alon. So is the dearest of the loss.

Gon.                                  My lord Sebastian,

The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,

And tie to speak it in; you rub the sore,

When you should bring the plaster.

Seb.                                            Very well.

Ant.  And most chirurgeonly.

Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir,

When you are cloudy.

Seb.                         Foul weather?

Ant.                                               Very foul.

Gon. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord,—

Ant. He’d sow it with nettle-seed.

Seb.                           Or docks, or mallows

Gon. And were the king of it, what would I do?

Seb.  ‘Scape being drunk, for want of wine.

Gon. I’ the commonwealth, I would by con-


Execute all things: for no kind of traffic

Would I admit; no name of magistrate;

Letters should not be known; no use of service,

Of riches, or of poverty; no contracts,

Successions; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none:

No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil:

No occupation; all me idle, all;

And women too; but innocent and pure:

No sovereignty:—

Seb.              And yet he would be king on ‘t.

Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth for-

gets the beginning.                 [duce

Gon. All things in common nature should pro-

Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,

Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,

Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,

Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,

To feed my innocent people.

Seb. No marrying ‘mong his subjects?

Ant. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves.

Gon. I would with such perfection govern sir.

To excel the golden age.

Seb.                            Save his majesty!

Ant. Long live Gonzalo!

Gon.                 And, do you mark me, sir?—

Alon. Pr’ythee, no more: thou dost talk noth-

ing to me.

Gon. I do well believe your highness; and

did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen,

who are of such sensible and nimble lungs, that

they always use to laugh at nothing.

Ant. ‘Twas you we laugh’d at.

Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am

nothing to you: so you may continue, and

laugh at nothing still.

Ant. What a blow was there given!

Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long.

Gon. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you

would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she

would continue in it five weeks without changing.

(On 7/28/14 - We will continue with “The Tempest)

The Tempest

Oh, the peace I still find in my garden

I wake in the morning to gaze upon my garden

The peace I’ve always felt still remains

No matter the pain from what ails me

A glance at my garden soothes me

I think of all I’ve done and what still needs to be done

My tosses about plans and ideas

There’s such an excitement that comes with each thought

Sometimes tattered and torn from the harsh cold winter

Sometimes wilting from the heat of the sun

But when all is right and the sun isn’t choking the life out of my flowers

What you see in my garden brings a certain calmness

A peace and serenity that is desired by all

It’s the way I like to both start and end my day

Oh, how I just love the peace found in my garden

Copyright 2014 Oh, the peace I still find in my garden© Felina Silver Robinson

Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

The Tempest



SCENE, The Sea, with a Ship: afterwards an uninhabited Island.


SCENE I.— Another part of the Island.



Gon. Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have

(So have we all) of joy; for our escape [cause        

Is common; every day, some sailor’s wife,

The masters of some merchant, and the mer-


Have just our theme of woe: but for the miracle,

I mean our preservation, few in millions

Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh

Our sorrow with our comfort.

Alon.                                    Pr’ythee, peace.

Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge.

Ant. The visitor will not give him o’er so.

Seb. Look, he’s winding up the watch of his

By and by it will strike.                         [wit;

Gon. Sir,—

Seb. One:—Tell.                             [offer’d

Gon. When every grief is entertain’d, that’s

Comes to the entertainer—

Seb. A dollar.

Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have

spoken truer than you purposed.

Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant

you should.

Gon. Therefore, my lord,—

Ant. Fye, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

Alon. I pr’ythee spare.

Gon. Well, I have done: But yet—

Seb. He will be talking.

Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good

wager, first begins to crow?

Seb. The old cock.

Ant. The cockrel.

Seb. Done: the wager?

Ant. A laughter.

Seb. A match.

Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,—

Seb. Ha, ha, ha!

Ant. So, you’ve paid.

Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,—

Seb. Yet,—

Adr. Yet,—

Ant. He could not miss it.

Ar. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and

delicate temperance.

Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench

Seb. Ay, and a subtle; as he most

learnedly delivered.

Adr. The air breathes upon us here most

Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.

Ant. Or, as ’twere perfumed by a fen.

Gon. Here is everything advantageous to life.

Ant. True; save means to live.

Seb. Of that there’s none, or little.      [green!

Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how

Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny,

Seb. With an eye of green in ‘t.

Ant. He misses not much.

Seb.  No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

Gon.  But the rarity of it is (which is indeed

almost beyond credit)—

Seb. As many vouch’d rarities are.

Gon. That our garments, being, as they were,

drenched in the sea. hold, notwithstanding.

their freshness and glosses; being rather new

dyed, than stained with sale water.

Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak,

would it not say, he lies?

Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.

Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as  .resh

as when we put them on first in Africk, at the

marriage of the king’s fair daughter Claribel to

the king of Tunis.

Seb. ‘Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper

well in our return.

Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such

a paragon to their queen.

Gon. Not since widow Dido’s time.

Ant. Widow? a pox o’ that! How came that

widow in? Widow Dido!

Seb. What if he had said, widower Æneas too?

good lord, how you take it!

Adr. Widow Dido, said you? you make me

study of that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

Adr.  Carthage?

Gon. I assure you, Carthage.

Ant. His word is more than the miraculous


Seb. He hath raised the wall, and houses too.

Ant. What impossible matter will he make

easy next?

Seb. I think he will carry his island home in

his pocket, an give it his son for an apple.

Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea,

bring forth more islands.

Gon. Ay?

Ant. Why, in good time.

Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments

seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at

the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen.

Ant. And the rarest that e’er came there.

Seb. ‘Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

Ant. O, widow Dido; ay, widow Dido.

Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the

first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort.

Ant. That sort was well fish’d for.

Gon. When I wore it at your daughter’s


Alon. You cram these words into mine ears,


The stomach of my sense: Would I had never

Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,

My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too,

Who is so far from Italy removed,

I ne’er again shall see her. I thou mine heir

Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish

Hath made his meal on thee!

Fran.                                 Sir, he may live;

I saw him beat the surges under him,

And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,

Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted

The surge most swoln that met him; his bold


‘Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar’d

Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke

To the shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bow’d,

As stooping to relieve him; I not doubt

He came alive to land.

Alon.                          No, no, he’s gone.

Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great

loss;                              [daughter,

That would not bless our Europe with your

But rather lose her to an African;

Where she, at least, is banish’d from you eye,

Who hath cause to wet the grief on ‘t.

Alon.                                     Pr’ythee, peace.

Seb. You were kneel’d to, and importun’d


(On 7/27/14 - We will continue with “The Tempest)

The Tempest

Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

The Tempest



SCENE, The Sea, with a Ship: afterwards an uninhabited Island.


SCENE II.—The Island; before the Cell of 


Speak not to him; he’s a traitor.—Come.

I’ll manacle thy neck and feet together:

Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be

The fresh-brook muscles, wither’d roots, and


Wherein the acorn cradled: Follow.

Fer.                                           No;

I will resist such entertainment, till

Mine enemy has more power.       [He draws.

Mira.                                     O dear father,

Make not too rash a trial of him, for

He’s gentle, and not fearful.

Pro.                                  What, I say,

My foot my tutor! Put thy sword up, traitor;

For I can here disarm thee with this stick,

And make thy weapon drop.

Mira.                               Beseech you, father!

Pro. Hence; hang not on my garments.

Mira.                                       Sir, have pity;

I’ll be his surety.

Pro.                     Silence! one word more

Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee.


An advocate for an imposter? hush!

Thou  think’st there are no more such shapes

as he,                               [wench!

Having seen but him and Caliban: Foolish

To the ost of men this is a Caliban,

And they to him are angels.

Mira.                                My affections

Are then most humble; I have no ambition

To see a goodlier man.

Pro.                        Come on; obey: [To FERD.

Thy nerves are in their infancy again,

And have no vigour in them.

Fer.                                    So they are:

My spirits, as in a ream, are all bound up.

My father’s loss, the weakness which I feel,

The wreck of all my friends, or this man’s


To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,

Might I but through my prison once a day

Behold this maid: all corners else o’ the earth

Let liberty make use of ; space enough

Have I, in such a prison.

Pro.                           It works:—Come on.—

Thou hast done well fine Ariel!—Follow me.—

[To FERD. and MIR.

Hark, what thou else shalt do me.   [To ARIEL.

Mira.                                        Be of comfort;

My father’s of a better nature, sir,

Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted,

Which now came from him.

Pro.                              Thou shalt be as free

As mountain winds: but then exactly do

All points of my command.

Ari.                                    To the syllable.

Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him. [Exeunt.

(On 7/26/14 - We will continue with “The Tempest)

The Tempest

There’s A Nightmare Under My Pillow

When you lay your head down to sleep

You close your eyes


There’s a smile on your face

As you head off to dream land

But under my pillow I’m not so lucky

Because every time I lay my head down

I close my eyes

And try as hard as I can

To head off to my dream land

But there are no sweet dreams for me

Because, There’s a nightmare under my pillow

And it won’t go away

I turn right

I turn left

I move up

I move down

I open my eyes

I close my eyes

It doesn’t seem to matter

My nightmare is there when I close my eyes

It’s there when I open them

And Now I dread the night-time

Because I know it’s never going to get any better

My Nightmare must be a punishment

For what, I don’t know

I know I have to spend some time

Working it out or I’ll never be able

to lay my head upon my pillow

Close my eyes



Oh how I long to visit my long-lost dream land

Maybe it’s just my pillow

Next time

Maybe, I’ll just borrow yours

Copyright 2014 There’s A Nightmare Under My Pillow© Felina Silver Robinson

Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

The Tempest



SCENE, The Sea, with a Ship: afterwards an uninhabited Island.


SCENE II.—The Island; before the Cell of 


Re-enter ARIEL invisible, playing and singing;

FERDINAND following him.


Come unto these yellow sands.

And then take hands:

Court’sied when you have, and kiss’d.

(The wild waves whist,)

Foot it featly here and there;

And sweet sprites, the burden bear.

Hark, hark!

Bur, Bowgh, wowgh,                  Dispersedly.

The watch-dogs bark:

Bur, Bowgh, wowgh,                  Dispersedly.

Hark, hark! I hear

The strain of strutting chanticlere

Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo.

Fer.  Where should this music be? i’ the air,

or the earth?

It sounds no more:—and sure it waits upon

Some god of the island Sitting on a bank

Weeping again the king my father’s wrec,

This music crept by me upon the waters;

Allaying both their fury, and my passion,

With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it,

Or it hath drawn me rather:—But ’tis gone.

No, it begins again.

ARIEL sings.

Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;

Those are pearls that were his yes:

Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change.

Into something rich and strange.

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:

Burden, ding-dong.

Hark! now I hear them,—ding-dong bell.

Fer.  The ditty does remember my drown’d


This is no mortal business, nor no sound

That the earth owes:—I hear it now above me.

Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,

And say, what thou seest yong’.

Mira.                               What is ‘t? a spirit?

Lord, how it looks about Believe me, sir,

It carries a brave form:—But ’tis a spirit.

Pro. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath

such senses                          [seest,

As we have, such: This gallant, which thou

Was in the wreck: and but he’s something

stain’d                             [call him

With grief, that’s beauty’s canker, thou might’st

A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows,

And strays about to find them.

Mira.                                   I might call him’

A thing divine; for nothing natural

I ever saw so noble.

Pro.                        It goes on,           [Aside.

As my soul prompts it:—Spirit, fine spirit    I’ll

free thee

Within two days for this.

Fer.                            Most sure the goddess

On whom these airs attend!—Vouchsafe, my


May know, if you remain upon this island;

And that you will some good instruction give,

How I may bear me here: My prime request,

Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!

If you be maid or no?

Mira.                       No wonder, sir;

But certainly a maid.

Fer.                        My language! heavens!—

I am the best of them that speak this speech,

Were I but where ’tis spoken.

Pro.                                       How! the best?

What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee?

Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders

To hear thee speak of Naples: He does hear me;

And, that he does, I weep: myself am Napes;

Who with mine eyes, ne’er since at ebb, beheld

The king my father wreck’d.

Mira.                                 Alack, for mercy!

Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords: the Duke of

And his brave son, being twain.         [Milan,

Pro.                                The Duke of Milan.

And his more braver daughter, could control

thee,                                  [Aside.

If now ’twere fit to do’t:—At the first sight

They have changed eyes:—Delicate Ariel,

I’ll set thee free for this!—A word, good sir;

I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a


Mira. Why speaks my father so urgently?


Is the third man that e’er I saw; the first

That e’er I sigh’d for: pity, move my father

To be inclined my way!

Fer.                             O, if a virgin,

And your affection not gone forth, I’ll make you

The queen of Naples

Pro.                      Soft, sir; one word more.—

They are both in either’s powers; but this swift


I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside.

Make the prize light.—One word more; I charge


That thou attend e: thou dost here usurp

The name thou ow’st not; and hast put thyself

Upon this island, as a spy, to win it

From me, the lord on ‘t

Fer.                              No, as I am aman

Mira.  There’s nothing ill can dwell in such a

If the ill spirit have so fair an house, [temple:

Good things will strive to dwell with ‘t.

Pro.                                         Follow me.—


(On 7/24/14 - We will continue with “The Tempest)

The Tempest

Today my heart cracked a little

I read the story of a mother from Mercer County, PA

Cracked my heart a little

I cried me a river when I heard


Mary Rader is a mother of four

Doing her job was too much of a chore

With her own mother and her mother’s husband living at her home

There’s was almost one child for each adult

Who could ask for more

But in her eyes it wasn’t good enough

So I don’t know her rhyme or her reason

But she chose her 7-year-old son Antonio

To be sent to his own private dungeon

He slept in the basement

with the cold cement floor for his bed and his bathroom

No company, no food, no hot water

Sometimes allowed upstairs for the sake of a cold shower

Maybe a small fraction of food

An occasional trip to the backyard

Not remembering how to play he catches bugs like a snake

for that he is beaten

He tries to sneak real food but is beaten again

So it’s time to return to the basement

Where silence has become his best friend

Each day that passes his pounds slip away

His little teeth begin to rot and his feet have become infected

What his case worker sees when he is finally found

is a poor little 7-year-old skeleton near his death

The adults tending to the house

Show no remorse of course

The case worker is puzzled

When she finds three healthy siblings running about the house

With no rhyme or reason poor Antonio lay wasting away

in a tomb darkened by boarded windows

What wrong could a poor little boy do

Covered in urine and feces atop his dirt riddled body

Near death she said

An undeserving mother now facing charges

Antonio and siblings with a better future ahead

Now Mary Rader must face the music

There is no penance that can save her

A full sentence must be served

May god heal her children with happiness and cheer

May they find peace through the love of good people

This is the only thing that can heal the crack in my heart

Copyright 2014 Today my heart cracked a little© Felina Silver Robinson

Taken from the Complete Works of William Shakespeare

The Tempest



SCENE, The Sea, with a Ship: afterwards an uninhabited Island.


SCENE II.—The Island; before the Cell of 


Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well;


Mira. The strangeness of your story put

Heaviness in me.

Pro.                  Shake it off; Come on;

We’ll visit Caliban, my slave who never

Yields us kind answer.

Mira.                          ‘Tis a villain, sir,

I do not love to look on.

Pro.                              But, as ’tis,

We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,

Fetch in our wood; and serves in offices

That profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban!

Thou earth, thou! speak.

Cal. [Within] There’s wood enough within.

Pro. Come forth, I say; there’s other business

for thee:

Come forth, thou tortoise! when?

Re-enter ARIEL, like a water-nymph.

Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel.,

Hark in thine ear.

Ari.              My lord, it shall be done.        Exit.

Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil


Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!


Cal. As wicked dew as e’er my mother brush’d

With raven’s feather from unwholesome fen,

Drop on you both I a south-west blow on ye,

And blister you all o’er.

Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have


Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up;


Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,

All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch’d

As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more


Than bees that made them.

Cal.                                I must eat my dinner.

This island’s mine, by Sycorax my other,

Which thou tak’st from me. When thou camest


Thou stok’dst me, and mad’st much of me;

wouldst give me

Water with berries in ‘t; and teach me how

To name the bigger light, and how the less,

That burn by day and night: and then I lov’d


And shew’d; thee all the qualities o’ the isle,

The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and


Cursed be I that did so!—All the charms

Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!

For I am all the subjects that you have,

Which first was mine own king; and here you

sty me

In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me

The rest of the island.

Pro.                             Thou most lying slave,

Whom stripes may move, not kindness: I have


Filth as thou art, with human care; and lodged

In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate

The honour of my child.

Cal. O ho, O ho!---would it had been done!

Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else

This isle with Calibans.

Pro.                                Abhorred slave;

Which any print of goodness will not take,

Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,

Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee

each hour                            [savage,

One thing or other: when thou didst not,

Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble


A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes

With words that made them known: But thy

vile race,                     [good natures]

Though thou didst learn, had that in’t which

Could not abide to be with: therefore was thou

Deservedly confined into this rock,

Who hadst deserved more than a prison

Cal. You taught me language; and my profit


Is, I know how to curse; the red plague rid you,

For learning me your language!

Pro.                                          Hag-seed, hence!

Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou wert best,

To answer other business. Shrug’st thou,


If thou neglect’st, or dost unwillingly

What I command, I’ll rack thee with old cramps;

Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar,

That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

Cal.                                       No, pray thee!—

I must obey: his art is of such power, [Aside.

It would control my dam’s god, Setebos,

Ar’d make a vassal of him.

Pro.                                  So, slave; hence!


(On 7/24/14 -  We will continue with “The Tempest)

The Tempest

The calm of the Summer night

a thickness to the air

with a hint of a struggling breeze

the airy blue night sky with twinkling stars so bright

it gives me pause to wonder

if the twinkles are the hearts of all the souls lost

or the hopes of all the dreamers

I sit and spill out my own hopes and dreams

to a sky that may have no answers

to a sky that has no voice

but its warmth and friendliness makes

you think of it as an old friend

One that you have as your confidant

No worries that it will tell your secrets

or judge you when it doesn’t like what it hears

With every twinkle comes

the feel of acceptance and a sign of hope for things to come

I look forward to my old friend

The calm of the summer night

Copyright 2014 The calm of the summer night© Felina Silver Robinson