Countdown to Heaven

[hillwalker]

COUNTDOWN TO HEAVEN

Now I am four years old;
sorry face squashed against cold, frozen sky.
Spots of rain shadow spit-spatter the sill.
A long pair of sleeves lifts me down to the floor
but I’m scared that the man with the dog-voice will come
and play bang-bang-bang music the rest of the night.
Scanning the clouds for a beanstalk or two.....
counting.....

Now I am six years old;
Narcissus in a streaming window.
“Mummy, how old are the clouds?”
A half-muttered curse tagging on to my tail
as I tiptoe back out in bare feet and pj’s.
Barbie, my only friend, held to my breast
as we watch from the top of my enchanted tower block.....
counting.....

Now I am twelve years old;
unfocussed stare of despair on my face,
dreaming of hair-straighteners, make-up and dance moves.
Her in the front room, crashed out on the couch
with the TV on mute and the curtains closed tight
‘til I pull them apart so they let in some light;
searching the skyline for signs of the cross,
looking for Calvary.... finding Kinross.....
and I’m counting.....

Now I am fourteen years old;
street-corner smart with a hairband and beads,
down with the boys, high on hormones and weed,
daring to touch and be touched, but that’s all -
STACEY’S A SLAG in felt pen on the wall.
Aching and empty now, small and afraid;
wanting to kiss and be kissed by the blade.
Watching the moon as it tugs at my insides
and counting…..

Now I am seventeen years old;
tied to the bairn, pacing round the room round;
daring to jump one day, drowning on air the next.
Hem of the towel clamped tight in my mouth
as I bite it and chew it and twist it in knots.
Desperate for Cyrus to send me a text
‘cos he said he’d be here with my gear b4 7.
Caressing the razor ‘til hell becomes heaven
and I’m counting.....

Now I have turned twenty-two;
splinters of bliss snag my skin as I sleep
‘til I wake in the cheap hours of night with the chills
and end up on the sill with my knees to my chest
and that itching inside like a hive of unrest
and that song in my head saying “Mama knows best.”
Trying to decipher the barcode of rain
as it scribbles graffiti in streaks on the pane.
Unlock the window..... step out on the ledge.....
and I’m counting.....

[anzki4]

Very sad, and beautiful one. Pretty great description about youth also. I`m counting for your next poem. :)

[hillwalker]

Thanks for your response anki4.

Rather a depressing ending I know - but a poem partly based on hard fact unfortunately.

H

[dizzydoll]

Very well written, but I must be honest in saying it was a pretty disturbing read. Its like I want to hug that child and tell him it will get better, we all carry a burden of some kind like a cross of sorts... and then quite suddenly, we let it go.

For my part I am just so happy to get older, given the chance I would never redo my youth under any circumstance... getting older is where its at. We should find a phrase for the 'young/old status quo', similar to: "less is more". :toetap05:

[hillwalker]

Thanks dd - part of the reason I wrote it was to provoke some kind of response or reaction.

That you were disturbed is to be expected and shows you have a kind heart.
Perhaps I should point out that the child is a girl rather than a boy - a minor point that perhaps is not clear on first reading.....

But your response is appreciated. And I'm intrigued by your comment about leaving the past behind and getting on with life even though by that stage we are all older. I'll have to give that more thought.....

H

[PrinceMyshkin]

Both very brave and very beautiful! The repeated end-line, the reference to counting, is as if the persona simultaneously hopes for a promised or imagined better tomorrow and at the same time is holding her breath against some feared, inevitable disaster.

A fine, fine poem with some brilliantly vivid lines. Thank you.

[dizzydoll]

That you were disturbed is to be expected and shows you have a kind heart.
Perhaps I should point out that the child is a girl rather than a boy - a minor point that perhaps is not clear on first reading.....

LOL these days its hard to tell, altho I havent seen a boy in electric rollers yet.

Just joking... but I thought Barbie was his female friend with the hair straightener etc. etc.

[hillwalker]

That just about perfectly sums up my train of thought when I scribbled this one down, Prince.

Thanks again for your response.

[Hayseed Huck]

Hello,

I have no formal reason to like this poem.

but I do.

and that's the thing that bothers me.

the language sparkles like a sparkler
sparkles.

Usually, the 'ages of man' thing reeks
feral with cliches. Shakespeare did it
best, but inspired a thousand poets to
fail trying to emulate.

Many critics advise-- 'tighten.'

I don't know what that means, 'to tighten
a poem.'

take out words?

take out spaces between words?

I don't know.

One of the better poems posted here ...

HH

[hillwalker]

I'm pleased you did not find it too cliche-ridden even though the topic is a little hackneyed - I always try to approach issues that I write about from a new point of view.

Your positive comments regarding this piece which is a particular favourite are very welcome.

[lallison]

Another intriguing, daring, and dark piece, hillwalker. It pulls empathy from the reader and sadness as well. Reminded me a bit of the book Go Ask Alice, which I read in college and found extremely disturbing. This poem is just vague enough to allow the readers imagination to be struck with horror and suggestion. I await eagerly to see whose head you try to delve into on your next experiment.

[hillwalker]

Thanks for that lallison.

Glad you have noticed my penchant for experimentation and headgames.

Watch this space.....