GOLDENING

by Ilene Millman

He of the golden hair wished it

out of all the wishes he might have wished.

Feast your eyes on this, he crowed:

 

gold trim along the ceiling, the fireplace,

the sculptured cherubim Midas-ed

like the doorframe itself,

 

gold trophies, urns and vases multiply

on the mantle, monogramed gold coasters

gold paperweights weighting the tables,

 

gold carvings and palm-sized medallions sprinkling

the walls even

in the bathroom, even in the shower.

 

Twenty former presidents, history gilded

by his touch

hang in this hall of mirrors

 

but I wish to enter the myth

at the rarely told part here

where Apollo plays his silver lyre

 

which the no-king fails to hear

Ears like those of a beast. 

So appraised, so it was

 

the long furry ears of a donkey

sprouted either side of his head.

 

Ilene Millman lives in Hillsborough, NJ. She has three children, nine grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. Millman is a Speech/Language therapist who worked more than 35 years at a  nonprofit school for students who learn differently. She published two games designed to help children with delayed language development. Millman writes poems about memories, mud, music, anything her abiding curiosity grabs onto. Her first poetry book, Adjust Speed to Weather, was published in 2018, and A Jar of Moths, in March, 2024 (Ragged Sky Press). She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2022 and 2024.

TRANS BALLOT REFERENDA

by Julia Hatch

They're called the Know-it-alls
angry red-faced know-it-alls
bubble-heads filling in bubbles
on paper to restrict the lives of others
based on some version of 
tabloid moral panic that triggers
loaded guns wielded 
by pixel screen 
content providers with
bobbing headed 
faces on luscious blond 
Victoria Secret models
square jawed hunky guys with
sex appeal with flapping lips
and tongues babbling
into big square-screened
condenser microphones; the bigger 
the more convincing to viewers
they use words that trigger them 
into mass destruction of
other people's lives as outsiders
targeted for their vulnerability. 

Julia Hatch is a queer writer and visual artist. She graduated from the University of Utah and has a masters in social work from The University of Michigan. She has worked as a social worker and has written and performed electronic music with dancers, rock musicians, and performance artists. Her art photography has been shown in galleries in Colorado and California. She now writes poetry in Longmont, Colorado. Her work has appeared in As It Ought To Be, Rez Magazine, and The Blue Angel Landing Poetry Review.

UNDER FALLEN PILLARS

by Margaret DeRitter

 

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

 

Margaret DeRitter is the author of the poetry collection Singing Back to the Sirens (Unsolicited Press, 2020), which has been described by Pulitzer-winning poet Diane Seuss as a collection of "achingly beautiful and gutsy poems" that "represent an autobiography of love." DeRitter also co-won the 2018 Celery City Chapbook Contest) for Fly Me to Heaven by Way of New Jersey. Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies and has received a Pushcart Prize nomination. She lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and serves as copy editor and poetry editor of Encore magazine.

YOU CAN’T PUT A PRICE ON HEALTH

by Zumwalt

Sung to the tune of the United States Preventive Services Task Force March:

Four dudes on the task force hold Lilly and Merck,
So a handful of waivers changed how the rules work:
Own millions in drug stocks? That's totally fine!
Go and buy a bunch more, since justice is blind.

Why bother with doctors or waivers at all
When big Pharma's boardrooms are straight down the hall?
Just hand the top CEOs badges today
And let them start running our damn FDA.

Zumwalt’s poetry examines the intersection of identity, instability, and the mechanics of perception. Recent work has appeared in The New Verse News, Silver Birch Press, Bronze Bird Review, The Opiate, Fib Review, The Edge of Humanity, and additional journals. 

THE WARMING

by Royal Rhodes

Scientists confirm global warming is accelerating faster than ever recorded —Science Daily, October 29, 2026

There is nothing menacing

here, at this moment,

even if the birdsong expected

does not begin

and the helicoptering bees

are heaped in the quiet
cenotaph of their hive.

Friends have started

to note reports of phantom

leg pain, rising respiratory

distress, an increase

in strokes, but no one

can think of any

cause or condition.

We live on a hill

of sand and gravel,

broken rock and shale

that was once a sea

where mixed forests stand

and meadowland breathes.

There are no extremes.

Local trends become

markers for global

change. What had been

stories of hardship

conditions we survived

now loom increasingly

as unsurvivable oracles.

The aftertaste of drought

and the hundred-year floods

alternate quicker,

once so distant from

the far ice-floes

and melting glaciers
collapsing in Greenland.

The gradual rise

transforming Siberia

into a year-round orchard;

deserts blossom in constant,

heavy inundations,

while on the coast they cry:

"The sea is coming in."

Why think of it,

or pack our dreams

with it, if not likewise

shattered, at least yet?

Unbearable stories of grief,
they say, are otherwise

good for you, they say.

If we must face

loss on this scale,

how do we shift

our old narratives?

What model exists

to shape it? Only look—

the landscape never forgets.

Royal Rhodes retired in 2018 as the Donald L. Rogan Professor of Religious Studies at Kenyon College. Alongside a number of academic works, his poetry has appeared in many literary journals, in an earlier art/poetry collaboration with Claudia Esslinger, Specimens and Reflections, and  in several works with The Catbird [on the Yadkin] Press. He also served as Editorial Consultant for the Visionaire Bible 2000.

THE AUTHOR OF THIS POEM IS A TEACHER

by Skye

Because I can’t breathe—

Crammed with my knees 

Pressed to my chest, 

Hiding in a closet. 

I have to leave teaching 

Because I can’t breathe—

With the tables and desks 

Stacked and pushed against 

The walls of my lungs. 

Every shadow, sliding underneath 

The tip of my tongue 

Is a flinch–a clenched jaw. 

I can’t breathe 

Through the announcements, 

Through the text messages, 

The ‘I love you’s, 

The ‘We’re on lockdown’s, 

The ‘Is this a drill?’s. 

Does anyone know if this is a drill? 

I can’t breathe because 

Whispering pulls the air tight—

Stay quiet.

Get down, 

Away from the door.

If they come in the room, 

Be prepared to fight. 

I have to leave teaching because 

the desks have become barricades,

The books act as bullet proof vests, 

And in the hallways, 

There are monsters 

That steal away my breath.

Author's note: I wrote this poem after a lockdown drill we had last week, in contemplation of reactions, our teacher group messages, and my messages to my loved ones, along with, unfortunately, the many other drills and scares that I have been involved in as a teacher. When I was in high school, I facilitated a protest against gun violence and have now found myself a decade older as a teacher and still very much afraid of and resisting the same things. 

Skye has been a public school, secondary ELA teacher in North Carolina for the past four years. She recently graduated with a Master of Arts in Teaching Secondary ELA and was named her university's Student Teacher of the Year for 2025-2026. 

BEGINNING WITH THE WISDOM OF MY FATHER

by J.D. Smith

Cartoon by Nick Anderson

Sometimes you’ve got to kick the bully in the balls.

He started—but you’ll end—his little war

Of body-checking you in high school halls

Or calling you a cunt on bathroom stalls.

Keep kicking till he doubles up and falls,

And he won’t be a problem anymore.

Sometimes you’ve got to kick the bully in the balls.

He started—but you’ll end—his little war. 

J.D. Smith’s seventh collection of poetry, The Place That Is Coming to Us, is now available from Broadstone Books. His first fiction collection, Transit, was published in 2022 by Unsolicited Press. His other books include the formal verse collection The Killing Tree, the light verse collection Catalogs for Food Lovers, and the essay collection Dowsing and Science. Individual poems have appeared in publications including The Awl, Harvard Review Online, Nimrod, and Tar River Poetry.  

BLUE BLUE BLUE

11/03/2026

by K. Alma Peterson

while the vote is closing closing 
closing close to the hearts of those 
opposing where the country has been 
going going going down and gone 
the clock keeps counting counting 
its second-hand sticking jammed sticking 
glue and moss holding democracy 
together scissor scissor while the pleas 
for money money many finally stop 
the text invasion email cramming cramming
claiming to need every dollar measured 
treasure tethered to the winners blue 
wave or bloody foam seeping weeping 
creeping while one’s loss is another’s 
colossal victory      while the vote has 
closed the outcome isn’t over over over 
where dividing lines keep deepening 
skip the silk and drink the poison


K. Alma Peterson is a poet and visual artist living in Florida. She is a graduate of Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers. Two books of her poetry are published by Blaze Vox Books and one by Finishing Line Press.

WE CAN CHANGE THE STORY

by Elizabeth P. Glixman 

AI-generated graphic by NightCafé for The New Verse News

First there was a war

than another war
There is always a war somewhere

even if it is in your mind
against he she they them we us

who
Once there were concentration camps
mass migration from Europe
to Europe the Middle East
Once there were bombs
and ships
once a blast Hiroshima
then there were parades and applause
then there were boomers
and Vietnam
conscientious objectors
people hanging out in the country there

was Jane Fonda
and Easy Rider 
Than there was ICE
It is like a movie where
one thing happens and another

They may all seem to be out of sequence
it is hard to keep
track of of dates and time and decades and epochs

It is hard to keep track of hate
Now there is the Donald  
the world keeps shaking 
he wants to interior decorate the world
We are in a snow globe of his making
everything moving
Obliterate demolish
like you've never seen before

The globe is shaking vigorously

Some world leaders shake the globe
every day every hour
they take a nap or golf 
or write posts
on social media
They shake shake shake the globe

shake it again
Stop shaking people plead
We need kindness and Gaza needs food
The world crumbles like a stale cupcake
and there is nothing left to shake
crumbs fleeing into space

Vote November 3rd to stop the shaking

Elizabeth P. Glixman is a poet, writer and artist who like many is hoping for peace on earth.

THE CIRCUS: A MUSING

by Howard Richard Debs

“You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.”

            —common quotation widely attributed to Abraham Lincoln

 

In Florida of all places there is a circus museum, I’ve been there, many times. I don’t know why, I’ve always thought the famous “fooling some” quote was from “P. T.” Barnum, that is, Phineas Taylor “P. T.” Barnum aka “the Greatest Showman”—I’ve seen the movie by the way and highly recommend it, well worth the time, I didn’t know Barnum was a newspaper man, a publisher in fact, a politician too, who knew?! Anyway, I digress. What’s so attractive about the circus, and I don’t mean Cirque du Soleil? I know it came to be a spectacle of distain, it was dispatched became a relic of the past, a society bent on being better voted “no” but for generations “The Big Top” had appeal. Why “the big top?” I looked it up: it occurred to circus promoters they could take their show anywhere, an open field would do, and pitch a tent, and do the show and move on and be gone and as a boy I marveled as I raptly watched as workers like bees changed a barren plot into a field of dreams. Because that’s what it’s all about.

 

Author note: My 83rd “voyage” around the sun was November 1. I have witnessed a lot. I am a news junkie, my inbox is constantly overflowing with headlines like Trump Cancels Weekend Rallies, Plans to Phone in to Other Midterm Campaign Events I studied philosophy back in the day and have puzzled ever since about the good and the bad, the juxtaposition and connection of things, most often the answer depends on the question raised.

Howard Richard Debs is a recipient of the 2015 Anna Davidson Rosenberg Poetry Awards. His essays, fiction, and poetry appear internationally; his art and photography will be found in select publications, including Rattle online as “Ekphrastic Challenge” artist and guest editor. His book Gallery: A Collection of Pictures and Words is a 2017 Best Book Awards and 2018 Book Excellence Awards recipient. His chapbook Political is the 2021 American Writing Awards winner in poetry. He is co-editor of New Voices: Contemporary Writers Confronting the Holocaust, a winner of the 2023 International Book Awards. He is listed in Poets & Writers Directory.

APOPHENIA

by Frank Conahan

We believe in Tarot cards
Because we grew up
Being told we should credit

The expertise of
Meteorologists, their
Predictions aside.

So we did as we'd been told,
Believing them when
They'd call for clear skies (despite 

The subsequent rain).
We generalized our stance 
To fortune tellers,

Horoscopes, election polls,
And clairvoyants 
Across the board, as kids would  ...

The Jesuits bragged,
Give us a kid when he's young,
And we will own the adult. 

The pundits are sure
About Tuesday's election.
They predict clear skies. 

Dr. Frank Conahan lives in reclusive retirement outside of Baltimore, Maryland. He follows current events with trepidation and copes by writing verse. He has recently published poems with "Bards of Maryland." His collection Nothing Is Coming was published in April. 

INCANTATION FOR THE MIDTERM ELECTIONS

Anti-Hex as Duplex, after Jericho Brown

by Kim Harvey

We are a murmuration of starlings.

Millions move as one, alight in a blue wave.

 

A lighted candle’s flame burns blue at its base. 

Yarrow bloom, salt, and rue to bless and protect.

 

Bless the algae bloom in the Reflecting Pool.

Hate reflecting hate becomes its own fate.

 

The Fates awake to rehearse the verse.

Reverse the curse. There’s power in words. 

 

We’ll be heard. There’s power in numbers. We will

be a herd of zebras, a motion-dazzle.

 

Dazzling and transformed. Painted prayers in motion

from house to house, barn stars in the dark. 

 

In the darkness, we will vote them out.

We are a murmuration of starlings. 

Author’s note: Halloween is hanging in the air along with the midterm elections, and we all know which one is scarier this year. The tight Senate races are leading every news story along with a notable number of Republicans accusing Democrats of being witches. Last week, the Kansas Republican gubernatorial candidate accused his Democratic opponent and her daughter of performing demonic spells on TikTok to try to win the governorship. The same week, when talking about how he's scared the polls look bad for Republicans, U.S. Senator Ted Cruz said, "Right now, if you're a left-wing transgender witch, you hate Donald Trump, and you're going to show up. You're energized." It reeks of desperation and made me want to cast my own spell of protection to repel the hateful rhetoric and keep us and our democracy safe. Honestly, I believe the world can use more magic. Witches or not, let's move together as one, like shapeshifting starlings. Let’s all cast our spells, and—most importantly—our votes.

Kim Harvey is a three-time Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. She was Associate Editor at Palette Poetry. You can find her work in Barren Magazine, Black Bough, Cathexis Northwest Press, Poets Reading the News, Rattle, River Mouth Review, SWWIM, The Shore, and elsewhere. She is the 1st Prize winner of the Comstock Review’s 2019 Muriel Craft Bailey Memorial Award and the 3rd Prize winner of the 2019 Barren Press Poetry Contest. She had two microchapbooks published in 2020, Facing Gladstone from Kissing Dynamite Press and They Say in Your Dreams Everyone & Everything is You from Ghost City Press. In 2026, her ekphrastic poem "Sonnet for the Night Shift" was selected for a Best of Rattle Award.

PROGRESS

by Felicia Nimue Ackerman

The Arabs in the Jewish state

Turned out in force to vote.

But Israel's right is mired in hate,

So progress is remote.

Felicia Nimue Ackerman is a professor of philosophy at Brown University and has around 380 poems in places including American Atheist, The American Scholar, Better Than Starbucks, The Boston Globe, The Chronicle of Higher Education, Down in the Dirt, The Emily Dickinson International Society Bulletin, Free Inquiry, Light Poetry Magazine, Lighten Up Online, and Your Daily Poem. She has also had sixteen previous poems in The New Verse News.