Over 18s
1. A Countdown of Tragic Events
2. A Counting Poem
3. A Mother's Score
4. Achievement
5. Blessings
6. Bruckner
7. Chemo- Radio Poem
8. Counting - Mark 1
9. Counting 2
10. Counting 1
12. Counting, Counted, Count, Count
13. Counting One Day
14. Counting Sheep
15. Counting the Years
16. Counting the Years
17. Counting Them Out
18. Counting Not Counting
19. Count-teen Machine
20. Downs and Ups
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21. Heads or Tails
22. Hey!
23. Hopscotch
24. Lament Of The Scientist Who Spent His Life Counting Quarks
25. Let Me Count the Ways
26. Life and Death and the Spoils of Time … in 30 lines
27. Lucky Thirteen? (Superstitions)
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1.
A Countdown of Tragic Events
Last week felt like I was driving in a thunderstorm…..
Ten days ago, my social worker came for three hours to do an assessment…….
Ten days ago, I had a sore ear…..
Nine days ago, I went to my GP for an infected ear and was prescribed the highest dose of flucloxacillin…..
Nine days ago, I was asked to restart an antipsychotic that I hadn’t taken for five days……
One week ago, I started to question everything that I had been diagnosed with and was confused about my traumatic past…..
A week ago, my world fell apart, and I was plunged into a huge pit of darkness and despair; I started crying……
Six days ago, I went to poetry via the bus and had to leave early due to feeling extremely low in mood and felt like everyone was against me and started crying……
Five days ago, I was late for counselling because the bus never turned up and came out a completely different person…
Four days ago, my world started to crumble, I started feeling extremely low and wanted to disappear; resulted in an A&E trip for a mental health crisis. I wanted to disappear and felt at my lowest…….
Three days ago, I felt better in myself and wondered what the hell had gone on!!
Two days ago, I slipped further into my deep dark rabbit hole of depression…..
One day ago, I went to my GP, “what the hell is happening to me!” and got answers. It was a meds clash…..
One day ago, I did some more reflection on the situation; I felt better……
Today, I’m still not out of the woods but I’m coming out the other side of this. I complained to my GP……
Last week really was like driving into a thunderstorm…….
2
A Counting poem
1.Counting began for me at a sweet shop counter pushing coins with tiny fingers.
2. Counting came by an abacus tin soldiers in line and numerous teachers counting in lines.
3. Counting marbles and counting at rounders and scoring football wins were the best counting.
4. Counting included many lines at secondary school.
5.Counting your place in school dinner lines.
6. Counting to see or visit the headmistress.
7.Counting and trying to cheat on your lines.
8.Counting figures numbers at math classes using your fingers and thumbs.
9.Counting bus fare came with a ticket.
10.Counting your periods came monthly counting.
11.Counting your first wage packet into a small pile.
12.Counting your way out of things becomes an art.
13. Counting your boyfriends was a thing to be famous for.
14.Counting on others who let you down.
15.Counting your reach another birthday.
16.Counting your boyfriend won't cheat on you.
17. Counting on getting engaged then married.
18. Counting on getting that job.
19.Counting babies due to be born.
20.Counting grandkids.
21.Counting hours and time minutes and seconds.
22.Counting days to go on holiday.
23.Counting precious moments.
24. Counting your losses missed opportunities.
25.Counting being on time.
26.Counting on your death.
27. Stop Counting.
3
A Mother’s Score
I, and I alone,
know my misdemeanours:
How many times I’ve disobeyed,
been rude, or just plain vile.
Later I’ve been dismissive, uncaring,
Later still; condescending:
Frankly cross, and impatient.
She sat with plumped-up cushions
Our relaxed matriarch
in her recliner chair,
Plumped-up cheeks
Sucking that perpetual humbug.
Radio and television blaring
Though she couldn’t hear.
Through the thickest lenses possible
She peered at me,
With loving recognition
Reading my lips
as I stumbled my apologies
“No, Darling”, she said:
“I was never counting”.
4.
Achievement
Three hundred and eighty seven
Read old magazine, cut toe nails
389, move furniture, wash thirteen pairs of socks, eight pairs of pants
Move damp undies into sun
392, decide to fit a new curtain pole, climb onto a chair, old rail stuck
Find Polyfilla; gone hard
395, coat on, think of going out, go out, buy Polyfilla, speak to two people
Bash old rail down, need to fill holes
398, list: sandpaper, drill bits, screws, look at list and consider shops
Coat on quick, rush to buy things, speak to no one
401, search for spirit level, read two chapters of novel
Feel unwell, chamomile and honey tea
404, climb on chair, insert Polyfilla, feel lazy but rub back Polyfilla
Fit drill bit, practise using it
407, climb on chair again, messy, wobbly holes, sweep up dust
Unpack new curtain pole, look at it
410, rest, venture out for hacksaw, see a tree, find hacksaw in cupboard
Rest, cut pole to length in evening
413, read another chapter of novel, screw in two brackets, unlevel but OK
Offer up pole, use spirit level, have rest.
416, survey pole, insert ends apparently called “ finials”, glow with pride
Am surprised to see new pole here; sit and look at it .
Am almost happy. Have fitted shiny, new curtain pole.
Awaiting curtains. Will try next week.
419, think about the day, the date, the number of days
Have passed 400. More than 365. More than a year.
More than a year without a drink
And now a new curtain pole.
422, innocuous day, unusual, not inconsequential!
Calls for celebration
With anything but.
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5.
Blessings
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The morning opened with a golden glow
I piled the berries in my cereal bowl.
Toast and marmalade, washed down with strong tea,
postman came early; no bills thankfully.
The train was on time, without a delay
I found a seat to prepare for my day.
One hot desk was free at our work station
near the window to help concentration.
My schedule ran smoothly till problems struck;
thank God I left room, to cut me some slack.
The telephone rang as I rose to leave;
I heard my voice answer, what a reprieve.
Arriving at home I found no one there
I sat and dozed in my favourite chair,
when abruptly recalled what I forgot
to pick up my wife; I left like a shot!
In time to collect her leaving the store;
with heart still pounding I opened the door.
A romantic evening with fish and chips;
takeaway at home helped me save on the tips.
We watched our fav’rite film on a small screen
while I fell asleep before the last scene.
As I sank in bed I reviewed the day
and counted the blessings that came my way.
6.
Bruckner
Anton Bruckner – half genius, half crazed, counted
windows, bricks, the bars of his symphonies,
even his list of teenage girls
who spurned his notions of romantic love.
Picture the routine ramblings of this man.
He climbs the hill to view Vienna’s Dom,
its steeply roofed cathedral and its spire.
Carefully he counts each window on its north,
then rapidly descends, only to climb another hill
and count the windows on the southern side.
Are they the same as on the day before?
Not satisfied, descending to the city,
he jostles with people on the crowded streets,
intent on entering this sacred building.
Once there he counts the pillars in the nave
to check the numbers match, like yesterday.
He can’t relax until this task is done.
I’m a bit like Bruckner.
Like him I count window panes and
note the number of rows of bricks in walls.
I always stir my coffee and my tea
in combinations of the number seven.
But unlike Bruckner I could not aspire
to write the melodies his music made.
For crazy though some thought him,
his symphonies have touched the souls of many.
Rest in peace, Anton,
for you have earned your place in heaven,
where you can count the choirs of angels,
ensuring there are nine, no fewer, no more.
7.
Chemo-radio poem
one five one two: counting down
novelty breathes in needles and bruises
six week programme, an attestation
you may win and no one really loses
one three four four: still smiling, flaking, shaking
sure and raw, chemical double shot stick
sole drive, overconfidence
park, junction, hard shoulder: sick
eleven seven six to six seven two:
friends found, dying, crying, sifting
end in sight, mirage of the final
goal posts shifting, lying, drifting
three three six to zero and pause
eat! Bell not ready to ring
sips and custard, saviours from tubes
needles continue, marrow builds, recovery begins
two years gone, survivor guilt, gift unreturned
grappling, all change, learn or do
friends I see, treasure, hold
some friends still leaving, I’ll remember you
8.
COUNTING -MARK 1
____________
It's what I do, I'm OCD
Lock the door, check it's locked
One, two, three
Walk away,
Step back,
One, two, three, four
Must equal seven.
Make a smoothie - 3 minutes
Weigh myself twice
One biscuit for lunch, and one apple.
I'll probably make it to 80,
Or at least 70
So much more to do
One drink before dinner
Fizz on a Monday
To celebrate I'm still alive.
One wine with dinner
Nightcap - small brandy or port
Dreaming my way to dawn
The clock ticks on,
The hours roll by
Up at ten, as bed at two
Spanish time, old habits
Breakfast at 10 a.m.
Dinner at 10 p.m.
Creature of habit
Counting the hours, the minutes, the years.
But does it all count?
Really?
9.
Counting (2)
Counting can waken our inventiveness
or send us to sleep like sheep.
How could you possibly predict radio waves
electromagnetic, like light, without
the invention of complex numbers?
How could a square root of a negative number,
a wholly theoretical thing, a consequence of
pure reason, lead to such inventions
as were never dreamed by Leonardo?
How could a negative number, in a nation's
finances, lead to homelessness, joblessness.
hopelessness, while a positive number,
totally disconnected from purpose or morality
leads to such joy in Westminster?
Does the number of pitiful refugees
or hungry children
obey some law of restraint, such that
compassion can only be counted?
How can we count what really counts?
How to use numbers for their creative purpose,
for their pure joy of understanding,
rather than a tool to prove the right of
the rich to more and the poor to less?
Measurement is for physical, real world, things,
not for dubious justification of ideologies
Counting can waken our inventiveness
or send us to sleep like sheep.
10.
Counting (1)
I’m not really counting the days you know
But I have an internal score.
With memories of those special times
A metronome ticking inside
Like a plant who knows when to thrive
Or die.
The deep beat goes on and on
Who is this unconscious conductor?
Who won’t let me forget
Haven’t I grieved enough for you?
Not yet!
11
COUNTING – MARK 2
___________
You don't count though, do you
When you get older?
A burden on the NHS
Pensioners, useless eaters
Clogging up the buses
Blocking beds,
In your head
You're 21.
Don't realize, you seem too small
To count at all
Inside you're wise,
You're 6 feet tall
With knowledge, grace and kindly thoughts
But you're despised
By governments,
Off with your head
They want you dead
As you don't count at all.
12
Counting, Counted, Count, Count
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, once I saw a seabird dive.
6, 7, 8, 9, 10, caught his prey and rose again
1, 2, dancing shoe
3, 4, dance some more,
5, 6, rhythm sticks
7, 8, DON’T BE LATE
Counting, counted, count, count
Number fun is what it's about.
Learn by rote, repeat, repeat
Nonsense rhymes use rhythm beat.
Squeaking chalks on old school slates
Maths equations, learning dates
Counting hairs on palms of hand
On the beach, the grains of sand
How many stars up in the sky?
Countless starlings swoop and fly.
Singing songs we mark the beat
Crotchet, quaver, singing feet
Calories counted, waist SO slim
Breathe in dear, “You’re NOT that thin!”
Abacus and calculator
Number blocks and pen and paper
Ten fingers …. can’t estimate
Socks off now to calculate!!
Einz, zwie, drie und une, deux, trois
Counting coins in a foreign bar
Accountancy courses, cricket score,
What a shot, scored a 4
Dreaming, drowning, nightmare stuff
Count me OUT…. Ive had ENOUGH!!!!!!!
13
Counting one day
1, one mug, I use the same each day, attached I am to the way it feels, like a comforting hug, my hands so easily stretched around its form.
2, two, two socks, odd as pairs always go astray, so now a kaleidoscope of oddity fills the drawer, my feet always uniquely dressed, each different from each other, their own identities on display.
3, three, three small tablets to keep me healthy, tiny capsules to keep me strong, to keep me focused, to keep time at arms bay,
4, four, four breaths to start the day, 4 stretches to the sky, 4 seconds to be still before the noise and chaos reaches in, into this home of mine.
5, 5 steps to the door, 5 small steps, am breathing in, today to step outside, to no longer hide, today will be the day, to go outside.
6, 6 steps retreating in, not today, today I'll stay, today I will stay within.
7, seven birds visit on my window sill, to feed quite happily outside, a space which to me is still out of reach.
8, eight raindrops on the window pane, watching them race down smooth flat space, an outside world so close but not within my reach.
9, nine tears I count down my face, but inside this is my safe place, tomorrows another day.
10, ten deep breaths, as I lay down my head, in my deep and safe and pleasant bed, 10 times I slowly blink my eyes, 10 times and then I sleep.
14
Counting sheep
Sleepless nights gnaw at my soul,
my body restless, jumping,
a fizzing electric fence.
Sparks that shock the mind,
thoughts like broken clocks
stuck at the wrong time,
hover on decisions
damned into oblivion.
How to tame the churning brain,
greet the joys of night,
unfettered sleep, kind dreams,
a waking of pleasure, hope
for a happy day ahead,
the zing to work and play.
No, my body will not be still,
my thoughts not rest in peace,
the sounds of waves on costly apps,
will not calm, nor lull, nor rest.
waking will be brutal,
brain fog mark the day ahead.
But in these long, black hours,
I remember simple ploys from childhood,
and count sheep in sodden fields,
ewes, lambs, rams it matters not.
Only the comfort of numbers
A good night one to ten.
A poor from one to fifty,
which quell the tremors of my mind
and softly welcomes blessed sleep.
15
COUNTING THE YEARS
When I was two, I could count up to four,
so Mum put a golden star on the wall,
when I was five I could count up to ten,
proudly she gave me a golden pen.
When I was ten, I could count to a thousand,
I was ace at Maths, and loved big numbers.
When I was thirteen, I was too cool to count,
I’d my secret book to work things out.
When I was twenty, I needed to count,
I was eight days late, my future in doubt,
but thank heavens, my counting was wrong,
I could dance and party, all night long.
When I was thirty, I counted my money,
I owed so much, it wasn’t funny,
So I worked in a sweet shop, so very strange,
To be counting all day childrens’change.
When I was fifty, I counted my friends,
I didn’t forget my naughty affairs,
the number was high, but getting much less,
my life at the time was a horrible mess.
When I was seventy, I counted my blessings.
by then life had taught me some vital lessons.
Count what you can and be pleased with that,
And give yourself lots of thunderous claps.
Now I’m ninety, I can no longer count,
I’ve forgotten most things, without a doubt,
I wait for the place with nothing to count,
My words will be done, I’ve naught to recount.
16
Counting the years
Year 1 passes in a blur
Numb
Autopilot
Year 2 it all becomes real
Too real
Heightened
Year 3?
Everyone says it
Gets easier
17
Counting Them Out
The countdown has begun.
And all the stars are taking their leave,
filing out of luminous French Doors
popping like bubbles in a glass of pink gin fizz;
drifting away into vacuity.
We watch.
Night. Architects schemed for us to fail.
Capturing memories for their glass jars;
While fractured boundaries leak out the darkness.
Forgotten; their martini runs dry again.
Try in vain to catch those falling embers
And deposit into one of the many containers.
Tupperware dreams to keep for all seasons;
grew up with the astral stories, but grew up,
heroes have vanished, as the heavens.
Flickering to final dust at the end of a reel;
Pause, press play; watch again, as commanders brew
wishing the constellations would try again.
But the sidereal have fled; we let them.
Our fizz, bone dry from use of their sparkle.
The bottles lie empty, strewn trashed;
those omniscient French doors slammed shut.
We have lost our dawn to the final dusk.
18
Counting. Not Counting
They count our money,
And then count us into dinghies.
We count the indignities.
Then we watch
And count
the drones,
Watching us,
Already struggling to stay afloat.
Although we’re not far off-shore,
So in theory safety is still within reach.
But we can’t count on it.
Later, we all count
the bodies,
washed up on your beach.
Coastguards – LIFEguards -
count
how many survive.
Politicians count
how much we're likely to cost.
Both politically and actually.
It’s then we understand.
Our hopes & dreams
- our lives -
Don't count.
To you,
And them,
We're numbers,
That don't amount
to much at all.
19
Count-Teen Machine
12....
had no place safe to run
the day when evil came
and stole away all fun
and 13....
found new inner strengths
survival was by any means
what cost belied those lengths
and 14....
seemed fully in control
but demons knew the inner shame
and bartered for a soul
and 15....
had fallen deep in lust
though after school shenanigans
live short on little trust
and 16....
thought the ordeal soon would end
if only on the outside
does inside ever mend?
and 17....
was smitten deep in love
skipping puddles kissing
hand in hand a glove
and 18....
bereft and broken hearted
crying inconsolably
the day they finally parted
and 19....
was only wanting fun
instinctive reflex action
in safety now could run
20
DOWNS AND UPS
Counting the cost of the crisis
Injury damage and lies
Deeper the hole to get out of
Weariness not a surprise
Sourcing the steps to solution
Finding a place to begin
Somehow we must work together
With faith and hope, love can win
21
Heads or tails
Election night, electric atmosphere.
The counting has begun.
Votes balanced on a knife-edge as the piles grow.
Candidates watch anxiously with baited breath.
Forget the fringe parties – they don’t stand a chance,
but there’s a fine line between the serious ones,
the two of them, shifting from foot to foot.
Finally the counting stops.
Agonising moments while officials confer,
and then the revelation: who has won?
Contenders line up behind the returning officer
looking like convicts facing a firing squad.
Results are read in alphabetical order
which heightens the tension in the airless room.
One vote between the parties of right and left.
The victor smiles, the loser demands a recount.
Sighs of frustration and discontent.
Back to the count, frustrations rise again.
Recounted votes laboriously laid aside,
counting completed in the early hours.
The returning officer calls for calm,
hoarsely declaring the second count.
No clear winner.
The main adversaries have equal votes,
winner to be decided by the toss of a coin.
A crude solution to a complex night.
So that’s how it ends. It’s called democracy.
22
Hey!
Hey, I can carry ten five-kilo bags
for ten metres all by myself, one
at a time, much easier than carrying
one fifty-kilo bag – the work done
is the same. It's the weight times
the distance.
Hey, if that's what work is then it's
obvious that, if I walk faster, I get
more work done in a given time,
I'm more powerful, so the energy
I use must be the power times
the time.
Hey, if that's what energy is
it must be equivalent to mass
multiplied by the speed of light
squared. If you want all that
more slowly, there are plenty
of courses.
Hey, if that's what energy is,
there's too much of it, where's
the 80% dark mistake. Not
so obvious now, is it? if you
want all that explained
good luck.
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24
Lament Of The Scientist Who Spent His Life Counting Quarks
Dear Heart, you have given me a garden
Of exquisite delight.
I have not tended it wholeheartedly,
In the place of rose and flower
Thorns and thistles grow now
Bitter apples shrivel, dissolved by fungi bright and white.
I have spent my time on crosswords
And sudukos, nuclear fusion,
Submarines and satellites,
Rockets to the moon and cryptocurrency.
I have lived in electronic bunkers
Counting quarks and sparks and streaks of light
And failed to make white black and black white.
I hear you calling to me
“Come into the sun and rain
And fill my garden
With your colour and your joy again!”
But I have loved the Machiavelllian mind too much.
I know my time to play is limited,
And when I leave this place,
I ask you for another chance to play.
I will return with pockets full of seeds, I say,
And I will count each one of them, and plant
Till rose and lily blaze with light
And I will dance with you
And fill your garden, dearest heart,
With all my undivided joy and my delight.
Dear heart, you have given me a garden
Of exquisite delight.
I have not tended it wholeheartedly.
In the place of rose and flower
Thorns and thistles grow now,
Bitter apples shrivel
Dissolved by fungi, bright and white.
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23
Hopscotch
Hopscotch squares beneath
a child's feet
1, jump 2&3 down
4, jump 5&6 land
7,8,9 & 10
back to the beginning
to play again
we would play this game for hours
as children who lived in a concrete tower
I, count the cracks in the pavement
as I walk along the street
so I won't slip through
I would gladly fall
In-between the cracks
If they'd take me back to you
I count the endless stars
in the midnight sky
I wish upon a star
as I think of you
knowing it couldn't possibly
come true
for my only wish
is to be with you
It's been 731 days
since you left
but the number I'll never forget
which brings pain and heartbreak
sadly also regret
happiness of memories of long before
as we sang, danced
laughed and endured
now I count the days
I wonder too
when will I be reunited with you
this number, this number
I will never forget
18/12 the year 2022
the day that you passed
when I had to say goodbye to you
I'm told you're never too old
to learn something new
I'm slowly trying
to live without you
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25
Let me count the ways
O sweet aporia
How much do I love Thee?
-
More than gravy Browning (!)
-
More than Kultur when Goering reaches for his Browning (!!)
-
More even than the Dawn, in russet mantle clad, embrowning yon Eastern hill (!!!)
But what am I counting?
-
Surely not the days (!)
-
Nor the lilies of the field (!!)
-
Nor the streaks of the tulip (!!!)
(Poets don’t do that)
Our riches are limitless
Though we be but shadows of shadows
But I want to be in that Number
When Lost Saints go marching in
Counting them in
Counting to the very ends of being
A tearful Finite imbricated with the Infinite
And the dry-eyed Illimitable:
My Belovèd, you are all numbers
And the counting never ends
26
LIFE AND DEATH AND THE SPOILS OF TIME … in 30 lines
Computations of life, coloured beads on an abacus;
counting the heartbeats of one new born
in the immeasurable span of a universe;
one of many, a drop of dew on a thorn
in a horn of plenty; another death, another birth,
another soul to inherit heaven or earth,
infinitesimal in the scheme of things.
A new life summed up by its ambitions and dreams,
hopes and fears; its length measured in years –
perhaps three score and ten. In geological time
hardly a heartbeat from beginning to end.
Yet what multiple equations this short span may bring;
counting down its man-made hours on atomic clocks,
on time-calculating candles with rings … a whim of a king.
And the reckoning of adulthood soon spreading its wings
is measured against its peers in all senses of that word;
learns that gold counts over love in a monetary world
and economics are all that arouse in its counting house.
And totting up their lives, the break evens, losses, gains
of our heroine or hero, one numeric fact remains;
existence minus love equals zero.
Ah love, counting the syllables and lines of a verse,
a sonnet no less; susceptible, for better or worse,
to derision; the division of hearts, the parting of the ways,
how quick and easy to lose that which was once abounding
as cynics paraphrase the words of Elizabeth Barratt Browning;
“How do I love thee? Let me count the days”
But even though true love may come and go, its life force stays.
Computations of life, time’s subtractions, coloured beads on an abacus,
we must all eventually divide into fractions; ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
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27
LUCKY THIRTEEN?
(Superstitions)
Thirteen might be lucky for one but not another,
like a black cat or other such superstitious things,
for there were thirteen disciples at the ‘Last Supper’,
there are thirteen witches to a satanic coven,
there are thirteen loaves or buns to a baker's dozen —
and what, may I enquire, will Friday the Thirteenth bring?
Best not walk under ladders, avoid breaking mirrors,
toss salt over your left shoulder if spilt at dinner,
If someone walks over your grave, you'll get the shivers!
Don't step on cracks, beware black cats and number thirteen!
Every black has its white as each wrong has its right,
just as day has its night so there's both darkness and light,
there's a Yin and Yang, an opposite to everything.
NOTE: The poem’s title has thirteen letters, as does the subtitle, there are
thirteen lines to the poem each containing thirteen syllables.
Who's counting? I was, obviously, hoping this poem would qualify as an entry
for the National Poetry Day Competition.
(The total word count of all the above, including the note, is 169 words; which as a
sum is 13 times 13)
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