I started writing poetry when I was bed-bound following a car accident. 

The smallness of it felt manageable, safe – unlike having my health ripped away from me at the age of 29. It provided a code and a container for me to explore what I was feeling when I couldn’t articulate it to myself, let alone anyone else. 

After quietly banging my poetry drum for a decade, I finally decided to pursue a bonkers idea that I’d been thinking about for a while – breaking the Guinness World Records title for Largest Poetry Lesson (multi-venues). I wanted to turn thousands of young people into record-breaking poets, co-write a poem that gave them a voice and help them see how poetry (and creativity) was something they could turn to if they needed it. 

The record-breaking lesson took place on National Poetry Day 2024, the theme of which was "counting". I created a video and handout, and asked teachers to submit their students’ ideas on three things: a) What they think counts, b) Who they count on, and c) What they’re counting.

I received thousands of submissions from across the world. Some were handwritten. Some typed. I read every one.

While I like to think I’m teaching young people when I work with them, in fact it works the other way round. They teach me how they’re finding school, what it’s like to be a young person now, what they’re watching, doing, saying, thinking, worrying about. And the same is true of this record attempt. Here are some examples of what 6 to 14-year-olds across the world submitted:

I’m counting how much food in is the fridge,
how much plastic waste humans create,
how many natural disasters,
how many days until the war ends,
how many likes, subscribers, smiles,
how many times anxiety takes over. 

But young people don’t just teach me about themselves. They teach me about what it is to be human:

What counts is looking after myself.
Taking my time.
Rest.
Admitting when I’m wrong.
Happiness – because it makes life a little less hard.
Seeing the ability, not the disability.
Time with people I love,
because they won’t be with me forever.
Remembering it’s okay to be scared sometimes.
Remembering what matters.

And what does matter?

According to the young people that took part: climate change, education, the small things. But above all, family and friends – and, specifically, knowing that you have at least one person in your life that will be there for you when you need them. 

If you write, illustrate, publish or sell books for children, do you ever actually stop and ask the target age-group what they think and want? 

Academics call this "secure attachment", and it’s linked to better mental and physical health, as well as language skills (with each secure relationship having a significant impact).

I’ve studied this. I write about it. I harp on about it to anyone that will listen. And for a week, I read thousands of 6 to 14-year-olds telling me what academics know to be true. When you strip out the noise and nonsense of life, what matters is safe relationships with people we trust.

What counts is
having someone to rely on,
to chat to about things that matter,
to love me no matter what,
give me shelter,
want the best for me,
keep their promises,
believe in me,
be on my side.
A family that makes me feel safe,
supports me when I’m upset,
looks after me,
listens.

I wrote a draft poem using students’ ideas. Then during the lesson, 125,000 children and young people voted on what went in and out. They also shared more ideas and voted on those too. Do we keep the stanza about bereavement? What animal could the pet be and what should it be called? Should we capitalise the line about the Premier League?! 

The voting process got very heated. Teenage boys chanted CAPITALS, CAPITALS, CAPITALS, and there were whoops of joy when the axolotl was finally named Bob.

Finally, we had a finished poem.

Technology enabled us to do something complex – collate the ideas of thousands of young people and vote as a group. But at the same time, we were doing something very simple – coming together, sharing feelings, stripping back the noise and nonsense of life and talking about what’s important.

Young people valued this:
I felt like I was part of a really big community.
It was amazing to work on something together,
with so many people from all around the world.
Everyone in lots of different schools had a vote, not just us.
I love that everyone’s opinion counted.

So yes, we broke a record (two, actually…), and changed the way thousands of young people see poetry. (HOORAY!) But we also wrote an important poem. One that gives children and young people a voice. As an industry (and as a society), I don’t think we do this enough.

If you write, illustrate, publish or sell books for children, do you ever actually stop and ask the target age-group what they think and want? We can’t assume we know best. And by encouraging young people to voice their thoughts – and listening to them – we would create better books.

Some 125,000 young people attended Laura Mucha’s record-breaking lesson, of which 43,516 were counted towards the record due to strict evidence requirements. She also broke a second record for World’s Largest Poetry Lesson (single venue). The project was supported by Arts Council England and the Forward Foundation, among others. You can read/listen to/watch the final poem (below) on the Children’s Poetry Archive.

What do you think counts?
I’m counting how many licks to finish a lollipop,
how many times a grown up says “no”,
how many marshmallows I can fit in my mouth,
how many times I cry about homework,
how many sticky notes I can put on Mum’s face,
how many monsters I have in my head.
I’m counting the days
until I’m a famous tennis player,
days since the war started,
days until I see Daddy,
until I have a friend.
I’m counting on my nain and taid
because they give me hugs
and say “sweets cost 1p
back in the day”.
And the friends
I don’t need to pretend to,
that respect me,
that play.
And my bunny, Binky,
my axolotl, Bob,
because although they eat my homework,
they always keep my secrets safe.
I’m counting on the people in power
to protect the planet,
on teachers
so I can get a good job,
money, a better life,
and my football coach
because
I WANT TO PLAY
IN THE PREMIER LEAGUE.
I’m counting cows on the way to school,
raindrops in my mouth,
memories of people I’ve lost.
I’m counting on someone
to love me no matter what,
to want the best for me,
keep their promises,
listen,
and keep me safe,
so I don’t have to worry so much.
I’m counting on
the small things –
because they all add up.
What do you think counts?