Poetry from Alan Martin

Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

FIFTY METRE NEWS

Highly transmissable,

this blight of homely airs

that leaks from my radio,

on the hour, every hour,

if I am not lightning fast;

the dreadful news

in morbid repitition.

Gloom enumerated,

a tally of corpses;

hubble bubble

by the week they double.  

And after a while,

of this circus from Hades, 

my senses would blank

like a window with shutters.

No wave long or short would ever get through,

and the ghastly would normalise,

and the psychos go more so;

news making news making news making news.     

But I am the witchfinder general,

and will hear of this hex no more today.

I will miss the clowns, though,

whose reckless antics 

still entertain,

as though a joke could not give pain.

But soon I creep back,

to the rest of the world,

after all,

though dreadfully toxic,

it’s company,

and I crave my reactions;

though dreadfully toxic,

I need to be me,

but today I won’t;

today will be real

if I zoom out and see. 

All my news today is local,

as important as the distance

I would walk to convey it,

so I am rarely for stirring;

it’s usually trivial,

but I’ll take 50 metres,

24/7.

A. Martin   January 2021

Alan Martin is a Pembrokeshire native who has worked in several UK locations as an engineering inspector. He now lives on a smallholding in mid-county with his wife and son.

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