Bad News
A morning to freeze the spirits.
As they shiver in hollowed times,
Workers stamp and spit used breath.
At the corner I see two men:
Their eyes wet from today’s bad news.
‘You can always tell,’ says my guide;
'They both had sons where it happened.'
I try to do an interview:
Get short shrift. Understandably.
As we leave, one of them calls out:
‘Poetry is dead. Art is dead.’
You want to reply it’s not true,
That there is hope, there is beauty.
But here, at this time, nothing lives.
Stephen Gospage
Fri 9th Feb 2024 17:18
Thanks for your thoughtful comment, Carlton. Like you, I am often concerning about the way disasters and suffering are covered. I understand the need to show the extent of the trauma to the public, but there is a sense that grieving people are being used for entertainment. I would also agree that we should respect the views of those suffering and not try to make an issue of it.
And thanks to Stephen A, Holden, Rob, Steve and Manish for liking this one.