| Introduction Black, White and Grey was written in 2007, shortly after I received my official diagnosis of Asperger’s Syndrome. At the time, the diagnosis answered many questions that had followed me throughout my life. It explained experiences, misunderstandings and ways of thinking that had often left me feeling different, yet it also opened the door to a greater understanding of myself. I have chosen not to alter the original poem because it captures my thoughts exactly as they were at that moment. It reflects both my understanding and the language that was commonly used at the time, and remains an honest record of an important chapter in my life. Nearly twenty years later, I found myself looking back at those words with a different perspective. The companion poem is not about changing who I was, but about recognising how experience, acceptance and time have quietly reshaped the way I see both myself and the world around me. Together, these two poems tell the story of a journey that began with a diagnosis, but ultimately became one of self-understanding. They remind me that while a diagnosis may explain part of our story, it never has the final word on who we become. |
| Black, White and Grey Many are oft confused by Asperger’s Syndrome, Hardly surprising considering the lack of tomes, Even as to what kicks it off, is a mystery, Genetic errs, but no clearly determined pathology, It’s not a disease, and as such there is no cure, Characterised disorder of repetitive interests and behaviours! Not to be confused with autism, but part of the same spectrum, And no, none of us are stupid, or slow or even dumb! Known for an supposed ‘above average’ intelligence, Intellectually we could knock most off the sixpence, Sure we have our faults and flaws, and they are intense, But harmless they are, and never ever cause offence, Don’t get us confused with those that sputter profanities, Turrets is a completely different ‘psychology’, game wise, We can be clumsy and use the odd phrases or words, Not forgetting the ability to speak and think the absurd! Because it’s not a damning illness, there’s no treatment per se, Overall, considerations awarded to improving our ‘grey’, Addressing our communications, looking into our routines, Managing the way in which we express, and are to be seen, By others whose lack of knowledge at times can be damning, Comes with the territory of the innocently and honest beings, Our functioning might be perceived to be repetitive or obsessed, But what is wrong with making sure, that one does their best? Disorder is usually present at our incarnation; we have no choice, Childhood can be hard, or easier for those who understand our ‘voice‘, We speak the truth, honesty is our key, yet emotionally open to abuse, But we still walk the path of constant discovery, despite the bruise, Seeing the world differently through non aggressive eyes, Makes us open targets, for those who berate and continually lie, It‘s said that we have no empathy, and this is not entirely true, Seeing the truth as others refuse to acknowledge, is all we do We prefer to speak as we see it, within the black and the white, Directly this might be seen as wrong, or by a few, honest delight! Many aspies as we are known, are not diagnosed until later in life, Thankfully it makes the jigsaw come together, and explains the strife! Like myself, always accused, awarded and treated for stress, Diagnosis of the syndrome arrived a little late, to clear up my mess, But l live with it now on a daily basis, and have come to understand, That despite not seeing the grey, l am l believe a better man! © Rory Matier 2007 |
| The Colours Between [The Second Verse] I once believed the answers lay, Within a single name, That all the roads I’d travelled down, Were somehow not the same. The jigsaw slowly found its place, Each piece began to fit, Explaining years of questions asked, And wounds I carried with it. At last I knew the reason why, The world seemed out of line, Why others read between the words, Whilst I read every sign. I saw the truth in black and white, As clearly as the day, Yet life would gently whisper still, “There is another way.” Not changing what I know is right, Nor softening what is true, But understanding every heart, Sees life from its own view. I still prefer an honest word, Though honesty may sting, For truth was never forged to hurt, But understanding bring. I’ve learnt that being different means, Not less, nor more than you; The world needs those who question why, As much as those who do. The patterns that I could not miss, The details others passed, Have quietly become the tools, Upon which dreams are cast. The gardens that I tend today, The wildlife that I see, The thousands of unnoticed things, Have all been gifts to me. For what I thought were faults before, Have often proved my guide; A quiet strength I could not see, Was walking by my side. I no longer seek to fit the mould, Or wear another’s face, For every life was meant to grow, Within its rightful place. So black and white still shape my thoughts, As they have always done, Yet time revealed the greatest truth… The grey was never to be feared. It was compassion, Patiently colouring the spaces Between everyone else… And me. © Rory Matier 2026 |
| Some poems are written for a moment in time. Others quietly wait for time to answer them. Echoes Through the Garden – The Second Verse revisits poems first written years ago, not to rewrite or replace them, but to continue the conversation. Seen through the eyes of a gardener, a naturalist and the passing of years, each original poem is accompanied by a new companion piece, offering fresh understanding shaped by experience, seasons and the quiet lessons the garden has taught. Together, they become two verses of the same story—one written then, the other written now. |
The Gardener's Curious Journal 