Guidelines



Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com. No simultaneous submissions. Use "Verse News Submission" as the subject line. Send a brief bio. No payment. Authors retain all rights after 1st-time appearance here. Scroll down the right sidebar for the fine print.

Wednesday, April 23, 2025

ENDANGERED SPECIES / WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE?

by Dick Altman


An Indonesian father of an infant with special needs, who was detained by federal agents at his hospital workplace in Minnesota after his student visa was secretly revoked, will remain in custody after an immigration judge ruled on Thursday that his case can proceed. The day before [Aditya Wahyu] Harsono’s bond hearing, DHS disclosed their evidence against him. Besides stating that his visa had been revoked for the misdemeanor graffiti conviction, for which he paid $100 in restitution, they also mentioned an arrest from 2021 during a protest over the murder of George Floyd. That charge was dismissed. Harsono is Muslim and frequently posts on social media in support of humanitarian relief for Gaza. He also runs a small non-profit, which sells art and merchandise, with proceeds going to organizations aiding Gaza. —The Guardian, April 29, 2025. Peyton Harsono (pictured above) and Madison Weidner have organized a GoFundMe to support Harsono’s family in these dark days.



I dream,

every now and then,

of an army newsreel

the colonel

across the street,

shows

two ten-year-olds,

his daughter and me.

We are old enough,

he says,

quoting Burns,

to witness “man’s

inhumanity to man,”

a phrase lost on us,

until he turns down

the basement lights,

and the 16-mm film

begins to unwind.

 

It opens

on a city street

of old buildings,

older than anything

I know of America.

The sidewalks busy

with baby carriages,

people shopping,

children skipping.

When,

out of a doorway,

two men abruptly

drag a man

into the street.

They punch him,

until he falls

to the ground,

and then begin

to kick him.

We can only stare.

The colonel,

as if reading

our minds,

says

they’re beating him

because he’s Jewish.

And the voiceover

starts to explain.

*

When I awaken,

my mind grinds

incessantly

on the words

endangered species.

Grinds on the video

of a woman in white—

a student protester

of foreign extraction,

here in America—

converged upon

by three men in black,

who arrest her.

A chilling reminder

of the colonel’s

newsreel.

Echoing

across the nation’s

landscape,

across mountain,

prairie and sea.

 

Endangered species.

My mind trembles

over the syllables,

as I imagine them

enclosing themselves

around the laws

and institutions

that nourish

and drive

our democracy.

 

Endangered species.

I strangle on the words,

here in Indian Country,

where a holocaust

nearly drove a people

into extinction.

We have a history,

I say to myself.

Can we,

as a nation,

change course?

I can almost

imagine

a raging knock

at the door,

as I write.

“You and

your words—

they’re coming

with us,”

I hear

a voice yell.

 

And I think

of the eyes

that might read

these thoughts.

And of the lines

and lives

that didn’t survive

during

and between

last century’s

Great Wars.

And I confess—

I fear those eyes.

 

 

Dick Altman writes in the thin, magical air of Old West’s high desert plains, where, at 7,000 feet, reality and imagination often blur. He is published in the American 

Journal of Poetry, Santa Fe Literary Review, Fredericksburg Literary Review, Foliate Oak, Landing Zone, Cathexis Northwest Press, Humana Obscura, Haunted Waters Press,

Split Rock Review, The Ravens Perch, Beyond Words, and others here and abroad. His work also appears in the first edition of The New Mexico Anthology of Poetry, published by the New Mexico Museum Press. Pushcart Prize nominee and poetry winner of Santa Fe New Mexican’s annual literary competition, he has authored some 250 poems, published on four continents.

Tuesday, April 22, 2025

CLIMATE CHANGE

by Michael Gould


Copyright (and/or) © 2025 Earthday.org. This work is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0


In a forest, sitting on a fallen log
with my best pal, my gal, my dog
at my side, on constant alert
for any sign of harm or hurt
that might come our way
we’re having fun, so much
on this sunny day
feeling like life has just begun
the air is fresh, spring’s just sprung
and the leaves are newly green
meanwhile city life is dirty and mean.
 
Trees and streams inspire our dreams
so too the sounds of buzzing bees and birdsong
here, far from the smog, I’m breathing
in sync (!) with a dog; lost in thought
fully being who we are
not trying to be what we are not
and I say, we came for the good air
and so that you could wag your tail.
 
Oh, nature
serene and sweet
your perfect scheme has become obsolete
earth’s climate is changing, and here we sit
wondering when the shit will hit the fan.


Michael Gould is a gay Canadian New Zealand writer whose poetry has appeared in publications, academic and popular, in Aotearoa New Zealand, Australia, the United Kingdom and the United States. In 2021, at the age of 71, he was awarded by the New Zealand Society of Authors as an emerging poet. He is also the author of Surrealism and the Cinema: Open-eyed Screening (1976), one of the first English language books on that topic. He lives in Wellington (NZ).

Monday, April 21, 2025

IN RESPONSE TO RFK’S STATEMENTS ABOUT AUTISM

by CL Bledsoe




My child was born pyrokinetic, 
daughter then son, something in between
that’s the best of both. They can make
fire with words, fire with eyes. My child
burns brighter than the sun being reborn. 
Their potential is immeasurable, more 
than the cups and spoons of normality
can pinch off. Their eyes smell of smoke,
of bright chaff burning. The cracklep
on the wind. Yazoo City never heard
as much applause. Hard as diamond,
the stress of the world holds its place
in their side-eye. A miracle in combatp
boots. The sun in black. The world 
hates unicorns. That’s why you see
so few. 


Raised on a rice and catfish farm in eastern Arkansas, CL Bledsoe is the author of more than thirty books, including the poetry collections Riceland, The Bottle Episode, and his newest, Having a Baby to Save a Marriage, as well as his latest novels If You Love Me, You’ll Kill Eric Pelkey and The Devil and Ricky Dan. Bledsoe lives in northern Virginia with his teenager.

Sunday, April 20, 2025

BIRD BY BIRD BENEATH THE LIGHT OF A NEW MOON

a Haibun
by Laurie Rosen

  After Anne Lamott 





My son would come home from college, pull out the dozens of photo albums I assembled

over the years. Together we’d laugh at how young we all were, remember our trips, 

our adventures, the birthday parties. My more recent photos are stuck in my phone, 

no longer easily available to share or reminisce as though life ended in 2005. 

I hear myself saying things like,  I miss the old days, before drones and internet,

when cameras had film, and a day at the beach meant lying supine in the sun 

as we swatted the flies and bees.


Yet, every family has their catastrophes, every era, its own crises to contend with. 

Our family still grieves a devastating plane crash, life-changing diagnoses, family 

estrangements all set against the crashing of the World Trade Center, horrendous 

school shootings, racial strife, and endless war. 


I sit on a beach and the buzzing above isn’t a mosquito, while my photos float 

up to the clouds, and our government catapults us back to vaccination-free days, cuts 

money for research, erases history and people, sends women to the alleys and even to jail. 

I’m left speechless and hopeless, when for so long, despite it all, I felt hopeful, 

that we were moving forward if ever so slowly. 


Maybe I’ll scroll through each photo, choose favorites, send them out 

to be printed, organize them in albums labeled by years. 

It’s overwhelming and tedious; but I can’t sit back and watch 

our story end here.


A sliver of moon

reclaims the star-studded sky,

waxing resilience 



Laurie Rosen is a lifelong New Englander. Her poetry has appeared in Gyroscope Review, Zig Zag Lit Mag, Oddball Magazine, The New Verse News, The Inquisitive Eater: New School Food, One Art: a journal of poetry, Nick Virgillio’s Haiku in Action, Pure Haiku, and elsewhere. Laurie won first place in poetry at the 2023 Marblehead, MA Festival of the Arts.

Saturday, April 19, 2025

THE MILLER'S TALE

by Lynnie Gobeille




I tend to be on the lighter side of white,
don’t often get singled out—

in fact at 74 I am barely noticed.
I can walk down (mostly) any street and feel safe.
No fear of being deported.

I have no tattoo that would taunt them.
No affiliation with some unseen gang.
No radical disclaimer required

I can roam my country freely.
Little do they know of my SDS ancient background—
Or my scars from protests long since past.
I tend to be on the lighter shade of pale.


Students for a Democratic Society button circa 1965


Lynnie Gobeille is passionate about poetry. She is one of the cofounders/editors of The Origami Poems Project, a world wide “free poetry event.” She was the Editor of the Providence Journal Poetry Corner (St.Cty Section). Her poetry has been published online & in numerous journals. Her work has also been read on NPR & ELFIN radio in England. She currently works at her local Library, with fingers crossed that the funding continues to keep the doors open.

THREE HAIKU FOR A WEEKEND RALLY

by Renée M. Schell

Cherry blossoms sing
Potholes, sticks, and stoplights chant
Make Lying Wrong Again

I wear a sandwich
Front and back bloom violet
Not My DicKtator

Pussy willows whip
Forget-me-nots spread like words
Hands Off Our Bodies


Renée M. Schell’s debut collection, Overtones, was published in 2022 by Tourane Poetry Press. Her poetry appears in New Verse NewsCatamaran Literary Reader, and many other journals. She was lead editor for the anthology (AFTER)life: Poems and Stories of the Dead. A Best of the Net nominee, she holds a Ph.D. in German Studies and also taught at a Title I school in San José.

Friday, April 18, 2025

ON CRUELTY: RILEY MOORE AT CECOT

by Jennifer Browne




What makes human hands unique? The human opposable thumb is longer, compared to finger length, than any other primate thumb. This long thumb and its ability to easily touch the other fingers allow humans to firmly grasp and manipulate objects of many different shapes. —American Museum of Natural History 



1. 

The hand can wield a weapon. The hand can soothe the lost, can smooth a tear-streaked cheek. The hand can navigate a loving body. The hand can pull an infant from a blood-smeared body. The hand can make a meal for a child, can feed a child. The hand can lead a person away from his home by the arm. The hand can pull a hood over a head. The hand can dig a grave in which to place a body. The hand can join in prayer. The hand can hold the grey-painted bar of a cell. The hand can close and lock the door of a grey-painted cell. There is so much to carry, to hold, to grasp. The hand can hold the reins and lead a clattering cart speeding into a ditch. The hand can hold a marker, can scrawl and sign a document. The hand can hold a tool. The hand can hold the tools that crack and crumble what felt sure. The hand can shape itself into a fist. The hand can shape itself into a fist and shake out its futility.


2. 

thumb (n.)—“shortest and thickest digit of the human hand, next the index finger and opposable to the others," Middle English thoume, from Old English þuma, from Proto-Germanic *thūman- (source also of Old Frisian thuma, Old Saxon, Old High German thumo, German Daumen, Dutch duim "thumb," Old Norse þumall "thumb of a glove"), etymologically "the stout or thick (finger)," from PIE *tum- "swell," from root *teue- "to swell" (source of tumortuber).


3. 

"Rep. Riley Moore posted photos of himself giving a thumbs up in front of imprisoned people at CECOT, an El Salvador prison notorious for human rights violations. The Trump administration has deported hundreds of immigrants without due process to CECOT, some by mistake. Moore also praised President Trump's handling of immigration in the post." —“Rep. Riley Moore Does Not Belong in Congress,” ACLU West Virginia


4. 

In its base state, the hand is empty.  


5. 

thumb (n.), ctd.—The figure of being under (someone's) thumb "controlled by that person's power or influence" is from late 14c.


6.

Look into the palm of any human hand, any primate hand, and see your own, see yourself. Interlace your fingers and feel the wealth of nerves that let you feel. Think of holding hands, holding faces, your beloved, the innocents within your care. Think of any of the harms you’ve wrought. The speed with which those harms happen, the carelessness.


7. 

We have stood at this door before, this terrifying new.


8.

"The photographs tell it all. In one, Private England, a cigarette dangling from her mouth, is giving a jaunty thumbs-up sign and pointing at the genitals of a young Iraqi, who is naked except for a sandbag over his head…In another, England stands arm in arm with Specialist Graner; both are grinning and giving the thumbs-up behind a cluster of perhaps seven naked Iraqis, knees bent, piled clumsily on top of each other in a pyramid." —Seymour M. Hersh, “Torture at Abu Ghraib,” The New Yorker, April 30, 2004


9.

Look into these photographs. Into whose ears do you want to speak some solace? Whose shoulders do you want to wrap with care? 


10. 

I cannot hold the want of wrath that rises from a place I have no name for in my body. 


11. 

thumb (n.), ctd.—Thumbs up (1887) and thumbs down (1906) were said to be from expressions of approval or the opposite in ancient amphitheaters, especially gladiator shows, where the gesture decided whether a defeated combatant was spared or slain. But the Roman gesture was merely one of hiding the thumb in the hand or extending it. Perhaps the modern gesture is from the usual coachmen's way of greeting while the hands are occupied with the reins.


12. 

There is something that I need to say, need to sing, need to scream into the ears of any who would listen, but the ones who would listen also want to scream. I have no words. There is something I need to say about power, about influence. There is something I need to say about how power swells. There is something I need to say about bloodsport, about the merciless. There is something I need to say about what can be manipulated even out of reach of a thumb, a finger, a hand. Look into these photographs. There are so many who are also raising thumbs, who are saying good, good, who are saying they are monsters. They are monsters. 


13. 

I have too many words. I have no words.



Author's noteMy grandmother was born in 1906 in Elkins, WV, a city in West Virginia's 2nd congressional district, currently represented by Riley Moore. 



Jennifer Browne falls in love easily with other people’s dogs. She is the author of American Crow (Beltway Editions, 2024) and the poetry chapbooks Before: After (Pure Sleeze Press, 2025), In a Period of Absence, a Lake (Origami Poems Project, 2025), whisper song (tiny wren publishing, 2023) and The Salt of the Geologic World (Bottlecap Press, 2023).

Thursday, April 17, 2025

THE WORLD ACCORDING TO ANDREW CARLOS

by Joanne Kennedy Frazer



Cartoon by Nick Anderson


I am American

adopted 24 years ago

from Peten.

 

I am Guatemalan 

proud of my 

Mayan heritage.

 

I am American 

in a large family that I love 

(mom, dad, sisters, aunts, 

uncles, cousins, grandparents).

 

I am Guatemalan 

Some Americans are angry

that I am here 

in their country. 

 

I am American

work fulltime, 

attend university,

pay taxes, vote.

 

I am Guatemalan  

many who look like me

are torn from their

American lives

sent to detention centers

no due process. 

.

I am an American 

whose family 

is gravely concerned

for my welfare 

in these times.

 

I am a Guatemalan-American citizen.



Author's note: This is my grandson's life right now...I feel it needs to be shared.  



Joanne Kennedy Frazer, a retired peace and justice director and educator for faith-based organizations, began writing poetry in her third stage of life, and has now been published more than 80 times in a variety of literary venues. Five poems were turned into a song cycle, Resistance, by composer Steven Luksan, and performed in Seattle and Durham. Her last chapbook, Seasonings (Kelsay Books), was nominated for the Eric Hoffer Book Award. She lives in Raleigh, NC.