The speaker says plainly that the news doesn't get much trust from them. It's "writ so simply" and "made of nothing," a flimsy thing that nonetheless asks people to live in a constant state of alarm or hope. The speaker pushes back on that idea: who really expects, or wants, to be troubled every hour?
The last stanza shifts from rejection to something quieter. "Now," the speaker says, isn't a matter of a day or two from now, as headlines would have it. It's the present moment, and the speaker tends to it. The phrase "my little lock" is open to interpretation, but judging by the context it seems to suggest a small, private place or habit that keeps the noise out and keeps attention in the here and now.
The mood is calm, a little wry, and quietly stubborn. Short lines and plain words mimic the simplicity the speaker values, so the poem feels like a small act of resistance: a decision to stay put, pay attention, and let the constant churn pass by.