drip drip drip
the tap fills
the sink until
drip drip drip
it overflows
and suddenly
it’s everywhere
and the noise
maddens
drip drip drip
and yet somehow
we can’t turn it off
can’t turn away
can’t look away
we must know
drip drip drip
what she wore
what he said
where they fought
drip drip drip
who made the error
who told the lie
drip drip drip
the flood
the fire
the bomb
the war
drip drip drip
the child crying
Poets used to carry news with them, we are told. I’m feeling a bit newsed out at the moment, but this is for the Toads.
Sarah writes poems 
A very good poem. Thanks for sharing!
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Thank you!
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You are welcome!
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YES, this is how it feels – relentless, yet we cant look away. We need to be prepared for anything.
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I love this. Excellent sound. Fantastic piece.
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I love the ambiguity, Sarah: when I read your poem one way, it is the dripping of news but when I read it another way it is the shock of a person, stunned at what they have read, oblivious to the dripping tap and concerned only with the terrible details and the crying child.
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We feed on the media drip and there are times our sanity is overtaken by the nausea of it.
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The metaphor is powerful and the poem too.
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It is difficult to ignore these days. Nicely done.
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And so we invented our own water torture. Bound and dying of thirst. The inventors of our news understood that deluges are waged by drips. Yes.
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Drip drip drip it does, and I like your metaphor as one who is driven to distraction by a dripping tap.
The way news is presented today has that same affect…
Anna :o]
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