Anthony J Ball is a local poet who performs spoken word around the West Midlands area, and has been doing so for a few years now. He is currently involved in The Man about Mondays project at Gatis Community Space, which deals with men’s mental health. A.J goes on to say;
“I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my time at Gatis Community Space, especially the writing challenges, and the wonderful, talented people that I have met through this project.”
A.J has recently been involved in ‘LoveTheReans Festival’ at Gatis, and also at Newhampton Arts Centre, performing poems written in the Man about Mondays project, and also performing at Wozza, and Bones-’Words Of Wisdom’ at Cafe Royale in Victoria Street Wolverhampton. He goes on to say;
“It’s always an honour to be given an opportunity to speak at open mics, especially one such as this which was all about imparting wisdom, and inspiring others. Through the years I’ve really enjoyed performing at The Fountain Inn, in Walsall, and I am eternally grateful to Ian Davies who gave me the opportunity to perform, and to Breandan Hawthorne who has done the same at The Orchard in Wednesbury. I’m also very grateful to Ian Henery who has been so supportive to myself, and lots of other talented poets, encouraging us to be the best versions of ourselves.
A.J has written a poem for National Poetry day, and the theme is counting. So what does counting mean to you A.J?
“October the 3rd is my mother’s birthday, and I count the days that she is still here. Not so long ago we thought we might be losing her. So the idea for this poem came from remembering my hospital visits, and thinking about what people go through in those tough times. So this is my poem for N.P.D and it’s called, "Counting.”
COUNTING
I'm counting
Counting time
the minutes, the hours that drag
Watching the drips that drop
into your dignity stricken
colostomy bag
Counting the people
lost in gloom
Their composure crumbles
in antiseptic scented rooms
Pacing in copycat corridors
where the reaper surely looms.
Counting the breaths
The crackles in death’s rattle
The audible mortal tether
tearing in sickly whispers
until it’s torn forever.
Counting tubes
the crude rubber that intrudes
like snakes that slither
through a desert’s corpse
left to rot, to wither
Counting the Beeps,
the green triangular peaks
leaping on the fragile line of life
Soon to cease
in eternal sleep
Counting the liars
The pretenders that hover over the dying
Kin, like vultures waiting to feast
Taking trinkets for remembrance
Ignoring their absence
in the life of the one now nearly deceased.
Counting the kisses
Lips pressing upon your wrinkled brow. I'm out of wishes,
Save one,
the vow I made to you.
Now I must follow through, somehow.
Counting the tears
crying, knowing
The time
is now
Gathering round
I'm counting
Counting you down
3 2 1.
(Beeeeeep)
And finally If anyone is interested, my two books are on Amazon at £5 each.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0BW2XKGB5?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860
