National Poetry Day 2024

Writes Mrs Shockley

At first I wondered if this year's theme, Counting, seemed a little one dimensional. Apart from Browning asking 'How do I love thee?' and then counting the ways, when else has counting inspired great literature?

As you can see from the winners below, it turns out that the counting - the act, the concept, the collocations attached to it - can inspire profound and entertaining poetry. We had gamblers counting cards, insomniacs counting sheep, influencers counting likes and wartime journalists counting deaths. Some poets counted down their days, others counted minutes in an exam whilst some pondered the purpose of counting as an instinctual human desire to measure, categorise and map out knowledge. The final collection of winners is impressive. We hope you enjoy them as much as we have.

See the winners and read their entries below:

I don’t count my chickens; I just count the cards.

I donned a disguise to slip right past the guards.

My mug’s on a poster up there in the office

The pit bosses know that I’ll pick their silk pockets.

The last time I left here, they counted the cost

‘Cos they were the ones who gambled and lost.

There’s a reason my clothes are all Gucci and Prada:

I’m the cutest card counter in all of Nevada.

The dealer caresses the cards to the felt

The Texan beside me has loosened his belt

He calls for a Scotch before he plays the next hand

He hollers and hoots when he loses ten grand.

No whisky for me, thanks, I’ll just have a coke

I gotta stay sharp, I don’t wanna go broke

I start off by losing, I can’t raise suspicion

But breaking their bank is my burning ambition.

Within ninety minutes, ambition fulfilled

I tip the poor dealer and savour the thrill

The chips that I have are worth more than a mill

I cash out and plan a long trip to Brazil.

We start with one, a quiet sound,

A whisper echoing through the ground.

Then two, like hands that intertwine,

A simple rhythm, step in line.

Three arrives to shape the flow,

A stable path where all things grow.

Four corners make a space to keep,

A shelter safe where dreams can sleep.

But count beyond, and soon we find

A glimpse of more, beyond the mind.

Five, six, and seven lead

To mysteries that we still read.

What waits for us past ten’s return?

A path we trace, yet never learn.

Is life a circle or a climb?

Does counting capture space or time?

With each new number, we expand,

Infinity slips through our hand.

And as we track both loss and gain,

We chart the stars, but can’t explain:

What is the total of all we know—

A final truth, or ebb and flow?

Perhaps in counting, we divide

The endless from the soul inside.