Prayer for Uninteresting Times
Send me a slow news day,
a quiet, subdued day,
in which nothing much happens of note,
save for the passing of time,
the consumption of wine,
and a re-run of Murder, She Wrote.
Grant me a no news day,
a spare-me-your-views day,
in which nothing much happens at all,
except a few hours together
some regional weather,
a day we can barely recall.
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Spot on as usual – I would so love for the world to be boring right now…
I came up to Speyside on 31 December. Since then I have been snowed in, nothing around even open to trudge to. And you know? It has been bliss, just getting up, moving around, watching Miss Marple through a haze of Balvenie and Aberlour. But the snow, which I once thought magical, has taken on a more sinister presence:
Looking out from my front door
I can see the snow-clad road
No features stand out anymore
The car looks like a sleeping toad
And there’s this heavy silence
The stillness of snow
Where, normally, I live, in Hertford,
The air is always full of noise
Cars revving round the 414
The raucous shouts of drunken boys
Here, there is a greater violence
In the stillness of snow
Soundlessness that seems to stifle
Breath and clasp the beating heart
Lives threatened by the snow’s arrival
Suffocating shrouds its calling card
White the colour of this death dance
Missteps in the stillness of snow
I agree with the previous comment by KAGGSYSBOOKISHRAMBLINGS, but might tweak the reply from saying “boring” to less complicated thanks to the “you know who’s” in the world making angst the first feeling after tuning into the news of the world. Sigh. Once again I’m drawn back to your poem about America being a gun as well. Again … sigh a bit more.