What does a number do?
You’re invited—plus one
—that’s everyone!
The infinite conundrum.
Just one red card
That's all I ask
To give me hope
My luck will change
They've all been black
For so long
The odds have to change
But flip a card
Its still black
The math isn't mathing
It can't be black again
It has to change soon
Surely the next one
Heart or diamond
It makes no difference
But the long odds win again
Another black card
The dealer shrugs
And asks my bet
Am I counting wrong?
Lets try again
This can't keep going
I try again
But again its black
I'm at my wits end
The spades keep digging me deeper
The clubs beat me mercilessly
They can't continue
I look to the dealer
As if to ask what I have to do
But then comes up
Another black card
But now a change
A new dealer steps in
Could this be my chance?
I cautiously place my bet
Make it small
A million times bitten
Twice shy
She turns the card
I hold my breath
It sits there in front of me
Like the sword plucked from the stone
But this made no one king
Instead it made me think
My luck has finally changed
Because clearly this new dealer
Had my Heart all along...
Left little finger — mocks old strident foes.
Left ring finger — wears pale imprint after love ups and goes.
Left middle — taps out the years between hugs.
Left index finger — points up high to the heavens above.
Left thumb — presses today's stamp on yesterday's late mail.
Right thumb — flips through faded pages of old diaries.
Right index finger — traces funny faces on misted window panes.
Right middle finger — catches tears way before they fall.
Right ring finger — encircles promises with gold bands of hope.
Right little finger — wiggles forlornly until another pinky wiggles back.
Good morning bookstore owner,
here my new book is a loaner.
It is a must read,
it will turn your young readers head.
It is about silly yellow ducks not red,
shaking their feathers and counting ahead.
The kids will love this fun book,
fill your shelf so they can take a look.
TRUMP ISSUES AMAZE
PROBLEMS CONTINUE TO RAISE
MUST BE IN A DAZE
Sleepless Nights,
I have trouble at night and don't sleep very well.
The doctor gave me,
funny colored little pills.
Life gave me,
counting sheep one by one.
The bible gave me,
counting my blessings one by one.
WOW!!!
counting blessings really works.
I'm counting on you and I know I shouldn't
but I'm counting like 1, 2, 3, 4
Waiting for you to walk through that door
I'm counting like 5, 6, 7, 8
Tell me it's gonna be alright, that you're gonna hold me tight
You say you don't like me so why do you always pick up the phone on the third ring but lately it's been the second
Tell me, do you find me annoying
What are we
What is this
You look at me when I'm halfway across the room with stars in your eyes but that's the same way you look at her
But you're looking at me like I'm the moon
See your eyes light up when I walk in the room
You make me laugh and smile all the time
So do you hate me, love me, even want me around
Do I keep counting on you or just let you walk back out that door that you walked through
I feel weak, I feel broken
I feel like my heart has been ripped open
Counting hours is all I do
I just need to make it through
Can't say how I really feel
When I think about it, it makes me ill
So many words wanting to come out
My head can't work out what it's all about
There's something strange about being manic
Always in a state of panic
Teeth grinding, body tangled
My brain feels like it's being strangled
Feel resentful, don't know why
Feel like I'm waiting to die
No relief, nothing works
How do I lift this curse?
No sleep, doesn't matter
It just adds and makes me madder
Losing grip of reality
I'm at one with my mortality
Waiting for this all to end
Is driving me round the bend
Another poem full of gloom
Hopefully I'll be dead soon
When I think of zero or of one,
I think of a whole or I think of none.
Our family grows from two to three,
and numbers march to infinity.
Nights awake dreaming
Restlessness stalks her victim
~ Convalescent home
O, Glory Be for Poetry
Just posted number nine-thousand
So, I hereby give thanks
for Poetry Soup’s website
~ to house ‘em in
Counting is our nature --
balls and strikes; clouds and
their potential...Stars, when
one is really bored (I generally
loose interest around 100) --
those left on a battlefield
are numbers we never forget --
and my prayers, a vault full,
between myself and God; kept safe
from human consumption.
Counting every hour,
minutes marked in blood,
seconds weighed in tears—
waiting for the flood.
So precious at first, all the firsts:
hummingbird-heart memories,
both febrile and lucid,
a fantasy of feathered dreams.
Your hand around my heart
as you slid the truth off my wrist—
a deft sleight of hand,
misdirected as we kissed.
Where did we go, beneath the waves,
breathing water, searching shore—
a brush, a taste, missed memory,
a trick of the light, nothing more.
The man in the elevator hung a sign
which said that going up will cost you a dime,
and he barred the entrance with some bright red twine,
which the man would unfasten from time to time
whenever the coin was pressed into his hand.
And thousands of people who worked in the tower
went up twice a day and so paid it offhand;
He would remove the sign at each midnight hour
The man in the elevator every eve
said, so many sheep, it's hard to believe.
For only he knew that the sign wasn't real.
And hey, only ten cents - it's not a big deal!
My Chronology
ages
as my writing
stays young
The years
in retreat
as each new song
is sung
A number
but unit
of folly
relayed
Whose essence
a symbol
of prescience
— in play
(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)
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