PROVE THAT YOU MATTER

by Paul Burgess 

Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services Administrator Mehmet Oz defended President Trump’s “big, beautiful bill” over criticism that millions of people could lose health coverage, saying those who would face new work requirements should “prove that you matter.”… Close to 11 million people would lose health insurance coverage if the House Republican tax bill passes in the Senate, mainly due to cuts to Medicaid and the Affordable Care Act, according to analysis from the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office. —The Hill, June 5, 2025

To prove how much you truly matter, folks,

You might attempt the art of sneaky sales 

And master phrases used to slyly coax

The world to buy a "cure" that always fails.

Perhaps you'll never get a cabinet post 

By selling useless pills on sketchy shows,

But every friendly ratings-chasing host 

Ensures your market value swiftly grows.

So, get to work and earn your Medicaid

By hawking tonics made from oil of snakes 

And pills containing rhino horns and jade

Or tiger kidney anti-aging shakes.

You've been so useless from your journey's start, 

But here's your chance to really do your part. 

Paul Burgess, an emerging poet, is the sole proprietor of a business in Lexington, Kentucky 

that offers ESL classes in addition to English, Japanese, and Spanish-language translation and 

interpretation services. He has recently contributed work to Blue Unicorn, Light, The Orchards, 

The Ekphrastic Review, Pulsebeat, The New Verse News, Lighten Up Online, The Asses of 

Parnassus, and several other publications.

AFTER SEEING “THE CRUCIBLE” PERFORMED BY STUDENTS OF SAN FRANCISCO CITY COLLEGE

by Lynne Barnes

I felt challenged at first

by the language of the play.

I came to it weary, exhausted really,

no fault of the author or actors.

 

It is just so troubling now, out here

in humanity’s sad tilt toward cruelty.

This weighs on us all,

whether we recognize it or not,

like a season of dreary weather.

 

Arthur Miller’s complex word tapestry,

and the actors embodying his characters,

took our minds deep inside the insanity

of the Salem Witch Trials

echoing McCarthy’s time, and

reflecting our present moment

in a stunning mirror of art.

 

My mask muffled an involuntary

keening sound as the curtain fell.

 

Oh, dear playwright, dear actors,

dear visual, verbal musicians,

you struck soul-deep,

vibrating our collective psyche

as your high notes of sorrow’s music

hit like a fist to our chests.

 

Afterward, as we mingle with the cast,

bees of gratitude fly from our lips,

swarm our senses, pollinate

our newly watered, unfolding,

buds of resilience.

Author’s Note: This poem came first, followed several weeks later by this news article out of my home state of Georgia. Since this is graduation month, I decided to send along my poem and the link to this article about the disappointed students, ironically victims of the kind of witch hunt mentality Arthur Miller depicted so enduringly in "The Crucible."

Silencing the Witches in Georgia High School ‘Crucible’: And so it seems that the play about witch hunts, about the persecution of people out of hysteria, despite being an acknowledged American classic widely taught in high school classrooms and performed frequently on high school stages, had provoked the same moral persecution it portrayed as unjust. —Howard Sherman, May 22, 2025

Lynne Barnes is a retired psychiatric nurse and librarian living in San Francisco. She is especially honored that two of her poems have appeared in the past in The New Verse News. Her poetry memoir, Falling into Flowers (Blue Light Press, 2017) was a finalist for the 2018 Eric Hoffer Book Award.

GAZA'S CHILDREN

by Rakibul Hasan Khan

 

Gaza’s children are as childish as 
the children of anywhere else—
they’re full of joy,
singing, dancing, jumping,
and playing with extraordinary toys.
 
They’ve plenty to eat and drink,
and beautiful dresses to wear.
They live in luxurious houses
and are always loved and cared.
 
These cheerful children of Gaza
have no memories of Earth,
and no one is a bit sad,
even the cutest ones
who’d just left the warmth of wombs.
 
The happy children of Gaza 
have grown in number 
in such a short time,
and their number is increasing still.
 
Should Heaven—
keep a separate gate for Gaza’s children? 

 
Rakibul Hasan Khan is a Bangladeshi academic, poet, and writer based in New Zealand. He holds a PhD in English from the University of Otago, where he remains affiliated. His scholarly and creative works have been published in internationally recognized platforms.

MY FRIEND TEXTS

by Ron Riekki

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

“my typewriter is

tombstone”

—Charles Bukowski,

“8 count”

 

for S. and H.

 
            My friend texts:
 
It was great.  But today I
got a terrible news from
Ukraine. My best best
friend was killed by
Russian soldiers. So, all
my good memories
about graduating just
disappeared
 
I call her.  She says she
doesn’t want to talk.
I call her the next day,
she says she still doesn’t
want to talk.  I don’t know
how to write a poem
right now.  Another friend
calls.  She was a refugee
 
from Iraq.  Her house was
burned down there.  She
says it’s hard to talk about,
that forever she’s felt
silenced.  I feel the need to
write poetry.  I cannot handle
history.  I don’t know how
to cope other than through
 
poetry.  I had a meeting
recently where I talked
about what happened
to us in the military.
I told the woman
sitting in front of me
that I couldn’t talk
about it for decades
 
I’d get aphasia.  I
couldn’t speak.  I’d
want to speak, but I
couldn’t speak.  During
those decades, I wrote
poems.  Not enough
people read poems.
Poems sometimes
 
are the silenced
trying to speak
when their voice
is being choked,
when their words
are being taken
by history.
Like now.

Ron Riekki co-edited Undocumented: Great Lakes Poets Laureate on Social Justice (Michigan State University Press).

PRESIDENTIAL, THE SCOWL SAYS IT ALL

by Peter A. Witt

The White House released a new version of President Trump's official portrait on June 2, 2025. 

Ah yes, the look of a leader—
if your idea of leadership
comes from reality TV reruns
and late-night Twitter storms.

Behold, the squint of gravitas,
or maybe just squinting
because truth is blinding.

The hair—a masterpiece of engineering,
suspended like disbelief,
defying physics and sincerity alike.

That suit? Tailored to say “power,”
but mostly says,
“Does this blue make me look important?”

The flag pin, a delicate touch—
as if it might distract from the fact
that this is more wax museum
than White House.

He stares, not with wisdom,
but with the intensity of someone
trying to remember
where he left his talking points.

Yes, this is a portrait of a man
who believes looking serious
is the same as being serious.

Presidential?
Sure, in the same way
wearing a goofy hat 
makes you royalty.

Peter A. Witt lives in Texas. His work has appeared in The New Verse News, other online publications, and several print volumes.

BOULDER

by Jeremy Nathan Marks

Sunrise over the Flatiron Range near Boulder, Colorado.

A man has been charged with a federal hate crime and multiple other felonies after he allegedly used a makeshift flamethrower and incendiary devices to attack a crowd of people who were raising awareness for Israeli hostages in Gaza, injuring 12 victims. Mohamed Sabry Soliman, 45, is alleged to have shouted “Free Palestine” as he attacked the crowd on Sunday. The FBI said Soliman told police he planned the attack for a year and had specifically targeted what he described as the “Zionist group”, the Associated Press reported. —The Guardian, June 3, 2025

The Boulder mountains began as fire

perhaps that’s why they are known

as the Flatiron Range

 

If you look into their hearts you will find

fossils from the sea. Simple single cellular

creatures. Who by fire and Who by water.

 

In America, many folks like to say our story

will end in flame. I’ve seen John 3:16 signs

at Coors Field and when Mel Gibson made 

his film about Jesus, some pastor hung 

a billboard above I-25 saying the Jews 

Killed Christ. Jews kill Jews. Who gets to 

say.

 

A man throwing Molotov cocktails 

at people who want Israeli hostages freed, 

is he the authority on Jews Israel’s 

ambassador and foreign minister believe 

him to be.

 

The pressure which births mountains is 

hard to imagine. What it takes to sustain 

foundational myths across time, rebuild

temples, dream of olive trees is a pressure 

of perhaps equal force in human terms 

and very hard to fathom.

As I write this, someone would have 

you believe Jews possess a divine power 

to solve or cause all the worst excesses 

in the world. They might also think all

Palestinians want an eye for an eye. 

What is a Mashiac. Who are the prophets. 

Should we ask the mountains over Boulder.

 

The work of the Flatirons is not malevolent.

Moses didn’t receive tablets from Sinai 

but on it. Universes come and go with each 

blink of the high peaks.

Brahma sits on his lotus. 

Generals confer in bunkers.

The Earth’s crust floats on lava. 

Hashem has many names that depict 

His moods.

Not everyone says He is merely a He.

Christians speak of trinities.

 

Today, free speech invites a fire fight. 

We assemble in our mortar formations. 

I pumped gas this morning 

and it’s all I can taste.

Jeremy Nathan Marks is a former Colorado resident who lives and writes in Canada.

WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE

by Pamela Kenley-Meschino

Story at NPR, May 31, 2025

“For heaven’s sake…”
it’s true, we are all going to die.
But how and why, under what circumstances?
Accidental death has its own brand of horror
for those left behind in the aftermath.
Diseases can ravage, destroy in torturous chronologies
of lifetimes, or swoop in all teeth and talons at birth,
suffering without boundaries or lines of defense.

We say, For heaven’s sake, let’s help! 
Let’s not walk among the dead and say
we’ve all got it coming. Let’s renounce cruelty,
callous equations by riffraff imposters
who spew bilious indifference toward the sick,
whose stone hearts will someday be erased
on the site of an unmarked grave in the canon of history.

   
 
Pamela Kenley-Meschino is originally from the UK, where she developed a love of nature, poetry, and music, thanks in part to the influence of her Irish mother. She is an educator whose classes explore the connection between writing and healing and the importance of shared stories.

TRAVEL ADVISORY

by Shalmi Barman

"A visa is not a right. It's a privilege," [US Secretary of State Marco] Rubio said on Tuesday. Trump administration officials have said student visa and green card holders are subject to deportation over their support for Palestinians and criticism of Israel's conduct in the war on Gaza, calling their actions a threat to U.S. foreign policy and accusing them of being pro-Hamas. —Reuters, May 21, 2025

The State Department has told U.S. consulates and embassies to immediately begin reviewing the social media accounts of Harvard’s student visa applicants for antisemitism in what it called a pilot program that could be rolled out for colleges nationwide. —Politico, May 30, 2025

Counselors who work with foreign students eager to attend college in the U.S. are advising them to purge their social media accounts of posts that could attract the attention of U.S. State Department officials. —CBS News, May 39, 2025

To demonstrate that I don’t pose a threat,
I strip the stickers from my laptop case,
purge the Kindle reader, ctrl-shift-del
my browsing history as if the past
two, ten, eighty years had never been.
 
We’re experts here at inoffensiveness,
smalltalk savants, the brightest and the best
arriving on these shores to earn our keep,
inflate the GDP and pay our dues—
the price of entry to the winners’ club—
in labor, taxes, learned neutrality.
 
A privilege, not a right. In Khan Younis
the going rate for a sack of gritty rice
exceeds my weekly wage. Faucets frothing
overrun my glass. A legless child
plucks maggots from his wounds. I sink a knife
deep in the turkey, utter ritual thanks
for innocence far from the blasted plains
of Gaza, Yemen, Iraq, Lebanon…
 
Purpose of visit? To become just like you,
I want to tell the agent matching my name
against a neutered profile. To shop at Target
on the Fourth of July, pledging allegiance
like a marriage vow. For this I stand in line,
bereft of fluids, jacket, shoes, and shame,
not-thinking of checkpoints a world away,
asking smilingly how much? how high?


Shalmi Barman is a South Asian national, a holder of a student visa, and a newly minted PhD. She spent several years at the University of Virginia writing a dissertation on class and labor in Victorian fiction, and doing other things that would likely be deportable offenses today. Her poetry has previously appeared in The New Verse News and also recently in Boudin, Blue Unicorn, EcoTheo Review, Gyroscope Review, and elsewhere.

NEWCOMER BUMMER

by Felicia Nimue Ackerman

— The New York Times, May 9, 2025

If you're African and white,

Trump is keen to ease your plight.

If you lack this racial clout,

Trump is keen to keep you out.

Felicia Nimue Ackerman is a professor of philosophy at Brown University and has around 340 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, The Los Angeles Times, The New York Daily News, and The New York Times. She has also had twelve previous poems in The New Verse News.

FOR NOW

by Pepper Trail

—The New York Times, May 30, 2025

For now, strip a half-million refugees of any illusion of safety or mercy

Allow honorably-serving transgender troops to be expelled from the military, for now

For now, okay the use of the 1798 Alien Enemies Act against Venezulean immigrants

Condone the termination of awarded grants that promote diversity and tolerance, for now

 

Do not get excited.

This is not the end of democracy.

This is “for now.”

Someday, we, the Justices of the Supreme Court, might stand up.

Might defend the Constitution, could uphold the separation of powers.

May act, at last, as a check upon an utterly lawless and corrupt regime.

 

Not today.

But perhaps, someday.

Pepper Trail is a poet and naturalist based in Ashland, Oregon. His poetry has appeared in Rattle, Atlanta Review, Spillway, Kyoto Journal, Cascadia Review, and other publications, and has been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net awards. His collection Cascade-Siskiyou was a finalist for the 2016 Oregon Book Award in Poetry.

THE DAY I FOUND OUT TIMOTHY SNYDER MOVED TO CANADA

by Nan Ottenritter

after “The Day Lady Died,” a lunch poem by Frank O'Hara

It is 12:20 pm in Richmond, VA a Monday

several days after Saturday Night Live’s skit

featuring James Austin Johnson 

portraying President Trump airs.

I will watch more TV news tonight.

Yes, perhaps not a great idea.

 

Dinner is served on TV table trays, 

7:00 pm sharp to see if Amna will join Geoff

on the PBS News Hour, and learn about 

what they consider important 

                                     

    I scroll, remote in hand,

to my YouTube library, search TCM for a 

movie I might have saved, and do what I

swear I wouldn’t – start watching recorded 

segments of Rachel and Lawrence and 

Amanpour (I like her the best. What’s not

to like about Walter Issacson interviewing

Ron Chernow about Mark Twain?)

Holy cow! Life in TV-media-land is good

 

so I opt out and switch to another streaming 

service to pick up an interview with one of my

favorite authors on fascism—Timothy Snyder.

The interviewer asks about his living in 

Canada now—what’s it like? The food in my 

stomach curdles 

 

and I learn that his academic inquiry resulted

in a move to Canada. He said the move had nothing 

to do with Trump. But for a moment I paused and 

imagine many, along with me, stopped breathing

Nan Ottenritter has published chapbooks Eleanor, Speak (Finishing Line Press, 2021) and My Year 2023 (2024).  She co-edited Discovery, Recovery: A Journey with Veterans (2023) and has been published in Artemis, Still Points Quarterly, Poetry Society of Virginia Anthologies, Dissent: an anthology to end war and capitalism (2023), and Writing the Land: Virginia (NatureCulture LLC, 2024). Her concern about American democracy has prompted her to read and understand the books of contemporary historians and host informal Citizens' Salons with friends, neighbors, and strangers in informal settings. 

THIS POEM ISN'T GOING TO SOLVE THE MIDDLE EAST PEACE CRISIS

by Shannon Frost Greenstein

Death and suffering in Gaza. Cartoon by Marilena Nardi.

I believe in a Free Palestine. 

 

Wait, hold on… that wasn’t how I wanted to start at all. 

 

This poem isn’t going to solve the Middle East peace crisis. 

 

Well, that’s hardly any better, but what I’m really trying to say is,

I love my Jewish husband. 

 

I love my sweet, supportive, circumcised Jewish husband,

and I love his family, 

and I love their families, 

all of whom accepted a shiksa who adores Christmas

right into their homes; right into their tribe. 

 

But I believe in a Free Palestine. 

 

And I am the first to acknowledge that I know absolutely nothing

about the epigenetic trauma of being Jewish; 

after all, my people have always tended to do more of the oppressing.

I cannot speak to the experience of a Holocaust 

or to the damage that comes from being hated and hunted

for 3,000 years in a row. 

 

But I believe in a Free Palestine. 

 

So when my husband and I sit down

to discuss Gaza and the Nova Festival and all of the starving babies—

the horror and the suffering and all of the fear—we do not always see eye to eye. 

 

And if we have issues discussing human rights and geopolitics and the existence of war crimes, 

you can just imagine how family dinners at my in-laws’ get.

 

I am a mother and a pacifist, at the end of the day, 

with too much empathy 

and an unfinished Ph.D. regarding the philosophical nature of ethics;

I like it best when everyone just gets along.

But I also believe in a Free Palestine

while simultaneously attempting to respect my Jewish husband’s heritage 

and that is apparently an untenable position in which to be.

 

This poem isn’t going to solve the Middle East peace crisis. 

 

But maybe it will alleviate some tension in my marriage. 

Shannon Frost Greenstein (She/They) is the author of Through the Lens of Time, a forthcoming fiction collection with Thirty West Publishing. She is a former Ph.D. candidate in Continental Philosophy and a multi-time Pushcart Prize nominee. Follow Shannon on Twitter at @ShannonFrostGre. Insta: @zarathustra_speaks