Local Poetry

The Old Box  By John Brown

Whatever is on the old box
It don't matter,
Some people just sit there
Their eyes getting fatter;
Their brains being dulled
By the flickering screen,
By the adverts that urge them
To buy what they've seen;
They worship their telly
And won't move an inch;
If the house caught on fire
Well I doubt if they'd flinch.

It's a puzzle to me
How it has so much power
To keep people glued to it
Hour after hour;
Film upon film and then
Soap after soap,
With a life such as that
I don't think I could cope;
Like the old saying goes:
'They'll end up with square eyes;'
And to me it will be
No great loss, or surprise.

Some programmes can teach
I admit that it's true;
But of excellent ones
There are only a few;
Still, if children can learn
As they sit there and drool,
It's a start, 'cause they learn
Very little at school;
Had it not been invented
Not a soul would have cared;
But it was,
And the blame lies with John Logi Baird.