ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE OLD WEST

by Gale Naylor

AI-generated graphic by NightCafé for The New Verse News.

ice melting at the poles was our nightmare scenario—still is—but now it’s interrupted by ICE in masks, killing legal immigrants (and whoever gets in their way) like it’s eighteen-seventy-five—but here in twenty-twenty-six, it’s the lawmen who kill/terrorize/strut through the center of town—camo peacocks, daring the town folk to speak or act—but the peacocks forgot: bad guys wear masks, and that’s how you know this is more bad LSD trip than Sergio Leone or John Ford movie with a scripted ending—oh, no, we’re crowd-sourcing these final moments, and I hope in this film the town ejects the masked bandits, and the woman who runs the general store is persuaded to lead—though she only accepts if everyone pitches in—because this is when we live our Sunday best, this is when we can return to solving the bigger problems, this version is when we have a snowball’s chance in hell of finding a lasting solution to ice.

Poetry is how Gale Naylor makes sense of the world as a survivor of incest and sexual abuse; they hope their voice helps other survivors feel less alone. Gale's poems have appeared in Exposed Bone, Calliope-on-the-Web, S/He Speaks 4, Jupiter Review, The Ekphrastic Review, and the California Poet Laureate’s “Our California” website. Gale received an MFA from Antioch University Los Angeles in 2026.

PUBLIC TRUST

by Dustin Miller

this morning
a woman walked alone
through the park

early sixties maybe
black mullet
lycra shorts 
cutoff cotton shirt

the sleeves removed
close to the seam

across her chest
in white and red:

TRUST GOD 
NOT GOVERNMENT

i heard instruction
or warning

the path continued
smooth beneath her

trust GOD
not government

sprinklers turned
their measured arcs
across the grass

trust god 
NOT government

a city truck
moved slowly
along the curb

trust god 
not GOVERNMENT

trash emptied
branches cleared
a bench bolted into shade

four words
and already
i had made her unreasonable

given her
the voice
i needed
the shirt to have

i believed the park
proved me right
because i trusted
the government enough
not to see it

the path
the water
the doggy bags
the expectation
that she could walk alone
and keep walking

but the stress was mine

nothing on the shirt
said where
to place the weight

nothing told me
what had failed her
what had held
what god meant
inside her mouth

or whether the shirt meant anything
beyond the shirt

she passed beneath the trees

black cotton gathering
beneath one arm

for several steps
god disappeared

then government

then both returned
with her stride

the path held her weight

she did not thank it

Dustin Miller is a Dallas-based poet whose work appears or is forthcoming in Cathexis Northwest Press, Eunoia Review, Jackdaw Review, Audience Askew, Icebreakers Lit, and Wingless Dreamer. His poems explore embodiment, desire, language, queer identity, place, and the systems that shape intimacy.

PORTRAIT OF A PRIMARY

by James Schwartz

The many vs. the money 

Michigan vs. everybody 

Hospitals close

&

Everyone knows 

Our roads are too shoddy 

Medicare for all a solution 

As wildfires & pollution 

Poison our skies 

&

Blind our eyes 

To corporations' contribution. 

James Schwartz is a Detroit based poet and author of various poetry collections, most recently Amish Alchemy (Alien Buddha Press, 2026) and Poems 2 (with Sourav Sarkar, 2026).

SOME TIME NO FISH

by Mickey J. Corrigan

The mysterious deaths of Jeffrey Epstein’s friends —The Independent (UK), July 26, 2026

So many dead
in suspicious manners
like the "modeling scout" 
under investigation
for human trafficking
funny how they pass
so fast just before 
they can confess
to their crimes
and put names
to the powerful. 

Some time I cache quick
he told Epstein 
traveling the globe
looking for girls
to bring to Paris
to Jeffrey's crime pad 
sometimes no fish
he said too before
the gig ended
his voice silenced
permanently.

Sleeping with the fishes
as they say in the mob
the French "model manager"
also under investigation
for sex trafficking etcetera
and Epstein's last cellmate
dead on release
and Epstein himself
strangled or hung 
his Florida butler 
selling the "little black book"
he kept for protection
from what he knew
the Palm Beach detective 
afraid for his family
under surveillance
under threat
suddenly dead 
the Deutsche banker
the Hollywood producer
the fellow Ponzi schemer 
the former governor
of New Mexico,
and Virginia, 
don't forget Virginia 
her voice
will not be silenced.

Mickey J. Corrigan writes pulp fiction, literary crime, and psychological thrillers. Poems have appeared in literary journals and chapbooks. Her most recent novel is Lazy Palms, a controversial look at life inside a euthanasia trailer park. 

SECTION 106: A PLEA FROM A POET ARCHEOLOGIST

by Kim Malinowski

The Advisory Council on Historic Preservation (ACHP) on Friday a voted to advance a notice of proposed rulemaking that would defang Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA), one of the few laws that requires the federal government to consult with Tribal Nations before approving federally funded or permitted projects. New rules proposed by the ACHP would make Tribal consultation and public participation largely optional, and would drastically limit the law’s scope to historic properties that are geographically compact, excluding rivers, mountains and other Traditional Cultural Landscapes that are core to the history and identity of many Indigenous people. The proposed changes require further review and a 30-day public comment period before becoming final. —Earthjustice, July 27, 2026

Beat the drums of war.

They stole history at sunset,

went against their rules,

against their own Federal law,

voted against protecting

cultural heritage—fancy way of saying

knowledge of our past.

 

Beat the drums of war, even those who do not understand

Section 106. Because loves, 

not many of us study this law into our marrow. 

I might be one of the last.

It didn’t stand in the way of progress. It protected it.

Sacred sites were gone around, archeology was done before 

the neighbor’s pool was dug in the historic district.

The dead were found before they were uncovered.

 

Beat the drums of war for me.

For the tribal leaders that can write a public note

but not be consulted sovereign nation to sovereign nation.

Cemeteries and homesteads,

historical buildings and archeological sites endangered,

all for “progress” that could still progress

just with careful documentation.

All those places George Washington stayed at aren’t safe.

A strip mall might be more useful than a mansion.

 

But that’s what Section 106 was for. 

It wasn't perfect, but we sought

collaboration, review,

public comments, outreach, 

that now forbidden knowledge.

 

Beat the drums of war my friends.

Not just for the archeologists and historians, 

but for your history. 

Bloody and messy truth.

I don’t want massacres paved over in books or in soil.

 

My trowel begins at sunrise. 

My pen at midnight. 

Beat the drums of war.

Today, we fight for our history.

Kim Malinowski is a lover of history and words. She is the author of six poetry collections and is currently earning her Master's Degree in Cultural Heritage Resource Management (Archeology).

BEN SHAHN VISITS ICE DETENTION CENTERS

by Rikki Santer

ICE Detention Center in North Carolina to Be Among Largest on East Coast: The new complex near the Virginia border signals that even as ICE has retreated from its plan to buy warehouses, the agency remains determined to increase its detention capacity. —The New York Times, July 23, 2026

“Allegory” (1948) by Ben Shahn (Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, TX)

Tomorrow’s art, if it is to be at all stirring, will no doubt be performed upon today’s forbidden territory.  —The Shape of Content by Ben Shahn  (1898-1969)

 

What will he paint to make the terror stop?  

This red kettle bell ringer whose blotted, stuttered 

lines contoured a lifetime for social justice.

In this circuit of fatelines, it is those whose lines 

of flight crossed an administration’s line

into cruelty. To make detention so bad

they’ll want to deport. So it’s not a formal

visit because they don’t know who he is

and artists are damned liars anyway.

Will his palimpsest of thrashing marks show

what’s behind locked doors and spirals 

of barbed wire? Tiny holding cells

with insects crawling, scant food, water,

medical care or contact with family or lawyers, 

sewage bubbling up from shower drains, cold 

nights that some wear socks on their arms,

other nights some in suicide surrender. With 

currency of pictorial language, will he paint 

another raging, demonic chimera with flaming

mane, refusing to suckle its children, leaving 

their lifelesss bodies beneath its udder 

in a heap of time-tested allegory?

 

 

Rikki Santer’s poetry collection, Resurrection Letter was grand prize short-listed for the Eric Hoffer Book Award and Shepherd’s Hour, won the Paul Nemser Book Prize from Lily Poetry Review Books. In 2023, she was named Ohio Poet of the Year and currently serves as Artist-in-Residence at the Fran Ryan Center in Columbus, Ohio and a member of the teaching artist roster of the Ohio Arts Council. Her fifteenth poetry collection, Could Be, was published this spring by Sheila-Na-Gig Press.

QUID NO PRO

by Virginia Aronson

AI-generated graphic by NightCafé for The New Verse News.

The art of his deal
pay for play global
he gets the jet
he lets them get
bombed he shrugs
signs the agreement
changes and cancels
unceasing ceases
after public hoopla
after the rule of law
after the highest courts
more shaky trades, fines
brazen gifts and lawsuits
thrown out, mocked
taxes and wars forever
never true to his word
on anything deals
wives children sex lies
while the world suffers
the land in flames
the seas raging
the children dying
and he grins, shrugs
he's got his quid
and folks, look
there ain't no pro.

Virginia Aronson is the author of many published books. New poetry collections include Collateral Damage (Clare Songbirds Publishing), Whiskey Islandand Whiskey Straight Women (Cyberwit Press).

CONUNDRUM

by Phyllis Wax

Few crimes carry
the death penalty.
Why do so many police 
summarily impose it?

Phyllis Wax writes in Milwaukee, where she observes the goings-on of the country and the world. She has read in coffee houses, bars, libraries and on the radio, and has participated in poet/fiber artist collaborations. Among the journals in which her work has appeared are Gyroscope Review, Writers Resist, Jerry Jazz Musician, Rise Up Review, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Wordpeace, The New Verse News, Naugatuck River Review, Your Daily Poem, Feral.

EXPECT GOOD NEWS

by Karen Warinsky

 

Bees are in trouble, this we know

but in Oregon no bees died

of pesticide in five years

and somewhere a teen rescued an elder

wandering in 103-degree heat,

a firefighter saved three kids from drowning 

on the Fourth of July

an African coral reef has returned to life,

the same life a tiny girl wants to give

to her big sister

by donating her bone marrow,

while a doctor repaired a man’s hands

through brain surgery,

as scientists discovered a frog bacteria

that can wipe out cancer tumors

and that magic mushrooms

sometimes bring back memories from dementia,

and all the while people pay their bills

donate to the homeless, to food banks,

to hurting people in war zones

and they return money, jewelry and wallets

found in cabs, on the beach,

take out ads and post it till someone calls

take no reward,

Paul and Ringo call each other

every week

and sugar has been found in the Milky Way.

 

Remember there is good news

and never give up, never quit

feed your mind,

look for sugar in the stars.

Best of the Net nominee and award-winning poet Karen Warinsky is the author of four collections including Dining with War  (Alien Buddha Press), and Beauty & Ashes (Kelsay Books).  A former finalist of the Montreal International Poetry Contest, Warinsky has published widely in lit mags and anthologies including Blue Heron,  Consilience, Silkworm, Wordpeace, Circumference, The Naugatuck River Review, and The New Verse News.

WHITE HOUSE CORRESPONDENTS DINNER

Dori Abele loves living close to the ocean in New England, enjoying the beautiful coastal history, nature, and wildlife. Many of her poems reflect themes from her surroundings. Dori’s poetry offers a unique way of looking at the world, insightful and unusual. Several of her poems were most recently published in Poets for Parkinson's and CT Bards Review 2026.  Insta account dori_abele_poems.

FUTILITY AND NEED

by Steve Bowman

AI-generated graphic by NightCafé for The New Verse News.

I don’t have the courage of my friends

to post in protest of this tyrannical regime.

All day every day they’re writing

trump this trump that

all over social media. I tell myself

what’s the point?

A random post here and there

won’t change anything

it’s just a waste of time.

 

Truth is I’m scared.

Of who will respond.

Of not knowing enough to argue.

Of being shamed into silence again.

Of losing.

 

Maybe winning isn’t the point.

Maybe getting up the nerve is enough.

To say what’s wrong is wrong.

To show it’s possible to tell the truth.

To help others find their voice.

To speak with hope.

Steve Bowman’s work has appeared in multiple publications, including Last Leaves, Keeping the Flame Alive, Poets in the Pines, Mocking Owl Roost, Purple Aardvark, and Heart of Flesh. When not writing, Steve seeks inspiration with his little dog, Grummle, in the hills and leaves of Southern Indiana.

SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN

by Lynn White

A Scottish pro-Palestine activist is facing charges for “threatening and abusive behaviour” after reading a poem about children killed by Israel. Bill Williamson, 74, said he had been at a weekly Palestine vigil outside Dunoon Burgh Hall on July 4 when he was approached by a pair of police officers while he was reading out “Don’t Mention The Children” by the Jewish writer Michael Rosen through a megaphone. —The National (Scotland), July 19, 2026

Poets are dangerous.

Naming the dead 

leads to arrest.

The killing 

of some,

by some

is fine,

unlike

the threatening

nature

of reading a poem.

And the unmentionables,

the nameless

children,

must suffer silently.

Poets are ‘The Brave’

in Scotland today.

Poetry is dangerous.

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality and writes hoping to find an audience for her musings. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Peach Velvet, Light Journal, and So It Goes.