peter cowlam 

poems   

News Agency

Reports of a fracture come I know

As more in those endless variants

From a new schismatic group,

Whose island is mid-estuary.

What they map, they say, is the ‘mental

Meteorology’, the state of physical or tensile

Man, who as time ticks on is in the qualms

Of his own upsetting. It’s true they can,

Through the fibreoptic nerve of news,

Within nanoseconds have us all worrying,

And worrying.

They don’t care for my polemic (all my neat

Arguments ranged against them),

My fullest dialectic, as that absorbs

Political fire, political lacerations. Away,

I say, these who sully our centuries

(For let us begin our life of integrity): away!

I know, I know, I know

I can’t quash this social pestilence.

I just know.

Copyright © Peter Cowlam

petercowlam.me.uk/poems