No More News

When I was young I had a book
huge and tombstone-heavy, called


Newspapers from every year. I
read it feverishly and the breadth of

human disaster seeped into me
like a sponge. I think of my poems as part chronicle, part

biography, spluttering like a tap
making a timeline. October: Revolution,

guys stapled in like the squares
that stand for churches on maps.

Small scale: I’ve penned the unmedicated
see-saw of waking every day as ‘I’

and the sensitivity that idles suicidal on
train platforms and cries at photos

of dead children. But these days
I feel everything so heavily

I think my eyes are rebelling –
at the bus stop I saw floaters like

jellyfish in clear soup and my
head said crunchily
no more News
You can’t write about everything that’s made you feel sad.

About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s