There was a time when you needed
a licence from the Commonwealth
to listen to the wireless.
No shock-jocks then,
nor the capacity for listeners
to add their own layers of opinion;
informed or otherwise,
it doesn’t seem to matter.
No unwelcome language back then, either;
the words were better disciplined,
and valued,
perhaps because they were paid for.
Today’s airwaves ruled
and shaped by common denominators
of the lowest kind.
Outrage, locally manufactured, and cheap,
is retailed at a premium, peddled shamelessly
over an appropriately-named narrow band
of the electro-magnetic spectrum.
Advertisers smile among themselves;
outrage is good for business.
In occasional embarrassment,
they protest their corporate innocence,
but only when the blurry, self-regulated
line
is crossed once too often.
The addicted audience,
(there must be one, or the vile ones
would be out of a job),
selects its favoured frequency.
Sad and fearful, they draw the polluted smoke
of self-righteous loathing
deeply into their lungs and hearts.
It’s potent mix of bile and indignation
offers no relief.
The distress accrues;
the sadness and the fear add
to the sadness and the fear.
Somewhere,
but not here. Somewhere
grace and compassion can be found.
No, not here; somewhere else.
Change the dial,
tune in to a more generous frequency.
Listen for other voices,
wise and joyous, with welcoming hearts.
Hearts that have chosen love ahead of fear;
voices that speak words of hope.
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