Ripley's Rose

An alliterative poem about a girl with autism I cared for.

Within the forest of flowers
A wild rose was born.
As beautiful and perfect as any, and all
In the florescence of humanity could see
That she was sown of seed...forged by fire.

Though none could see the microscopic menace
Advancing in an aura.
Nineteen aphids of fate preying on proteins
Creating chemical chaos
That seized her being...rippling her reality.

But she was strong of stem and stood proud
Wearing her petals in a kaleidoscope of color
A beautiful blossom uniquely beguiling
Puzzled in judgement and perplexed of tongue
Her thorns pricked the patience..ripped the appropriate.

So she was wrapped in the protective leaves
Of her collective care
From the rushing wind of her impulse.
The raining whims of her indulgence.
To hide in her aura...rippled with happiness.

The forest echoed her joy in a chorus of keys
And despite abilities disguised, the floret thrived!
Flying in the face of fate
On an imaginary unicorn sniffing wittingly
Swinging higher and higher...to touch the sky!

Author's Note

This one might seem like gibberish without some background. Her name is Ripley Rose R. Both her parents were fire fighters. She was born with a rare condition called PCDH-19. Proteins couldn't adhere causing seizures. Non verbal. No impulse control or danger awareness. But so much personality! Communicated by sniffing. Had to wear the brightest plaids on neon prints. Had 6 pair of unicorn pants. Obsessed with keys. I weighed them once , 4 1/2 lbs around her neck! But above all she loved to swing.

Reviews

[M. J. Smith]

Mine obsesses about dogs, chatters the same points repeatedly and likes her sandwiches plain. But her teachers adore having her. She makes friends easily, and is the perrenial first grader.
I love the rose, thorns and all. Thank you for sharing.

[William Michael Reeves]

Roses would be plain old flowers without the thorns! Fascinating how many aspects of all our lives intersect in the poetry we write.

[William Michael Reeves]

Thanks. I got the impression from your poem that you understand the OCD of it all. And hopefully you know the joy of unconditional happiness in your family.

[Cherrie Palmer]

This is beautifully expressed