At The Arena's Edge Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

At The Arena's Edge



[For Anna Politkovskaya on the Tenth Anniversary of her Murder]

The creepy clown lives between laughter and the uncanny valley
Dodging side-swinging ladders and drowning in buckets of confetti
Chasing his car in elongated boots with a dislodged steering wheel:
But if he gets too near to a little girl sitting at the ring-side
She will blanch and grab her mother's arm for protection.

Beyond the charades and the farces and the buffoonery
Those who are close see how the ring-masters are working
To woo the crowd with high wire thrills and cowed tigers -
Fleecing and filching the takings, orchestrating the Big Top.
Then they send in the clowns: isn't it rich, don't you despair?

Who will square up and protect the innocent from deceit
By the harlequin suits and greasy visages of the Media Circus
Peddling propaganda, distortion, spin, misspeaking and the Big Lie?
Reach out to those like Anna, who in an increasingly Post-Truth world,
Fully discern the chasm which divides safety from terror - and stand firm.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success