The News?

The News?

Staring at the words,
clinical, detached, silent.
Headlines larger than life,
blankly screaming all-too-real horrors.
But what do you care?

Pain printed in black and white,
Handlebars for grief.
Numbing wounds as they rot and fester,
simplifying hurts that are anything but simple.
But what does it matter to you?

Life, love, agony,
Broken down into sentences,
for anyone to examine.
You can read about it for a dollar,
but no money will buy you understanding.

And as you wipe the ink
from your unscarred hands,
wonder what it’s like to be a horror story.
To be today’s news
and tomorrow’s kindling.

Poem number two was written on a bus to Melbourne.
I don't like reading newspapers.
Can you tell?

Introduction

Introduction

Welcome, my dear reader!

Welcome to the trove

of weeping trees and jagged seas

and ancient, mossy cove.

Lose yourself, dear reader,

in the printed pages

of thrashing words and chiming birds,

threaded through the ages.

Come in, come in, dear reader!

Leave this world for another,

where feelings flail and whimsies sail

‘cross depthless lakes of colour.

Watch their tears, dear reader,

down like walls are tumbling.

See through their lies and touch their skies,

and read their fancies fumbling.

First Post!

Yes, it's called Don't Touch My Poems. Mainly because that sounds vaguely offensive and offhand and silly. It's a poetry blog I've been meaning to set up for a while. It WILL be mind-blowing.
Hold onto your minds, people.
^_^ Here come the poems!