Turn off the News

Turn off the news
whatever colour is the band of tragedy
that runs along the bottom of the screen
turn off the news.

We’ve heard it all before
that mankind hates his brother man
and tries to kill him when he can
turn off the news

that obbligato
of constant liars, confused, bamboozled
those rancid arguments
chaos of words, turn off

the interface of different ways
of looking at the world
rigidity and argument
that maze of foolishness

interrupted, cut up,
bullied, battered, bastardized
all ex communication
all up for question, and never

the major question, never the one
that gets down to the bedrock
where the tree of thought
can put down roots.

Turn off the news
we’ve heard it all before
put back that mound of pounded tree
commit the papers to the fire

put them aside and listen.
Listen to the things that
happen of their own accord,
go unrecorded,

whether the swish of traffic
or the sough of wave on shore
whether the wildness of the tearing wind
at woven leaves,


or just the tick of heat within the stove
or zinging in the ears
unheard until we think of it,
or hearts’ slow counting down.

Music pervasive as motorcars
telling us where we truly live
tuned to our hearts’ desire
where we could go.

If Love is in our heart, we live
and if it’s not, we die.
Simple as that.
and yes, they dip it in a million words

but Love is Unity
Full stop.
How can we live if people drown
because they cannot live at home?

How can it be that no-one,
no speaker on the news, asks
why they must leave their home
and die in some cold foreign sea?

How can it be that no-one dares to ask
what they are running from?
What war? What Government?
What torture cell?

Is it a family that sends its son,
brightest and best, off
to go North for money,
to buy some with his life?

What lies, what lies, behind each tragedy
what scenes played out behind
those clay stiff eyelids
the dark brain of this man,

that child, that mother over there?
What did they witness as they re-ran
their lives, leaving their choked body
in the sea, far down below?

Some force that breaks the root
and makes them leave
their childhood far behind.
Harsh government, or harsher heat

withering the crops, cattle
turning to leather and bone
that makes them turn and run,
or whether it’s an image

coloured, flickering on a screen
a land of wealth where well fed women
smile from the screen and draw them
to a world of luxury

implanting in their brain a lie of wealth
to take a ticket to earthly paradise from the Man
and end up in another world.

Tricked by the scintillating message

Tricked by the Travel Man.
Tricked by the master of the boat
Tricked by the sea.

Now just the wailing of sirens
and their family bereaved.
Lights flash.

Go quickly says the honey bird
Quick, quick

and the young hunter follows
up to the cliff and climbs.
That one got stung
and fell down to his death.

Go quickly says the bird
for humans cannot take
too much of this.
Go back. There’s nothing for you here

Except a world of shimmering light
governed, like your world, by the worst,
who spin a yarn of sheer futility
dressed up as news.

© Richard Lawson

October 16, 2013