Notes About The Poem
Some prose poetry on the idea that to reflect on the world today is to know that inevitably you will someday be no one and nowhere, save the everywhere of existential dust. (Image by Sarolta Ban)
Ratings War
Ratings War
By Odin Roark
His trembling fingers press remote buttons
Finally pausing on…
The News Channel.
Breaking News – Many dead.
As ordered by chests of ribbons and medals,
Faces covered by executioner masks,
Crusaders of jihadist-style black gowns
Man’s all-encompassing human ant hill
Frantic with hate and holiness.
The Feel Good Channel
A stoic President speaking reprisals,
The ghost-piloted drones
The magic answer to hostilities.
The Re-Run Channel
His despondent fingers traverse his face
Where annals of imbedded scars pulsate,
Like shrapnel shards once removed,
Repressed memories refusing to die,
Reminders that combat remains forever alive.
The History Channel
So many mirrored yesterdays,
Smiling neighbors once happy like him,
Knowing all too well how history truly repeats itself,
Its legacy forever ready to lick the corners of its bloody lips,
Even when there is no blood…temporarily.
The Pay-Per-View Channel
Battling for fame and fortune,
Caged bare-fisted men and women
Pounding one another in between hungry kisses,
Ripping off each other’s clothes
As hordes of spectators scream “Get it on!
Get it on!”
The Dark Channel
His finger presses the final button.
Inviting the opaque screen of assurance,
That super natural attestation,
Where without sound,
Picture,
Or Network Sweeps,
Heaven is always an offering,
That other make-believe promise of peace,
Forever vying for ratings.
He dozes off.
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