I DON’T GOT NOTHING. I DON’T GOT NOTHING

a collaborative poem 

by Amaré Fields and Ron Riekki

“I gotta run at eight.”  “So we got seventeen minutes to write this.”

“He gotta a gun and hate.”  “He’s seventeen years old bleeding to death.”

He was a kid. He could’ve been mine as me could have been yours.

We don’t have that kinda lingo in Seattle.  We have everywhere a battle.

With 9mm ruler sticks measuring out your lifespan.  Kadir Skinner,

19-years-old.  “We have a warning.  This video is difficult to watch.”

Have you seen Sinners?

Fourteen shots, 2 blocks ran. He was running.

How does someone defend themselves with their back turned?

Grey hoodie turned red with hate.  How does someone hear

Black words?  I’m not talking about the good cops.  We’re

talking about the bad cops.  We’re talking about black ops.

We’re talking about being hooded, dropped. “He was clearly

running away.” He has a gun he had a gun. The only gun

to his head pointed by the one with the blue

thread.  “I gotta run at eight.”  “So we got eleven minutes to write

this poem.” Cops protecting a land they not even

from. Drum bomb, Iran with a gun. 14 shots

10 blocks from the sun. You motherfucks

ain’t want this son. Honey bloody money

call for your mum.  We’re not talking about the Black cops,

we’re talking about the bad cops.  Bad cops

ain’t far from the good cops. 10 blocks

running from the blue opps.  Black bodies not far from

their homes.  Shot. Glock 19 MOS pistol

whipped car with lights too

bright. I can’t see.  Pissed writing this.  Resist.

I can’t see I can’t see. I. Can’t. See.

He was clearly running away.  Unarmed.

Unharmed?  Hell no.  Fuck the politicing

the hall of pity, shit ain’t witty.  Fuck the politicing

coming straight from the underground, a young brother

got it bad ‘cause he’s dead. Dead, honey. Dead,

you hear that. Dead.

You better start running now, motherfucker

We not talking about the Black cops,

the bad cops; shoot you down

front of your dad cops.

“Where’s your cousin?”

“He’s deceased.”

Body camera video of deadly police shooting released.

“I gotta run at eight.”  “We got three minutes to write this fucking poem.”

Ain’t bout the poem no more.

Words on a page

can’t hold this rage.

Please, don’t shoot.

I can’t see. Blood in my eyes

I can’t see.

I can’t sleep.

He can’t do anything except sleep.

If you held a microphone up to this brother

What would he say? 

Amaré, we got one more minute to write this poem:

what you got to say to the world?

Fuck the politicking this is real life.

Klu klux hold the world to a real knife.

Amaré Fields is a young Black and Japanese poet and scholar currently attending Yale University.

Ron Riekki co-edited Undocumented: Great Lakes Poets Laureate on Social Justice. 

BEING NEIGHBOURLY

by Brydon Caldwell

As humanity expands to

fill the globe, so too

does density as we are

stacked one on top of

another on top of another.

Neighbours, who used to be

a friendly wave across a 

field, are now as close as

thin sheetrock, plaster, 

and some studs.

In our proximity, our

capacity has not changed;

we are no more magically

tolerant of others than before.

We share a space that is

subject to the elements,

acts of God, even fire, water,

and air. Accept or deny

climate change, we all live

on the same globe with

common conditions. We can

turn on the kitchen fan when

the smell of curry gets too

strong, but none of us have

control over Mother Nature.

Still, it is easier to blame

someone nearby for those

things that are beyond our

dominion, rather than face

the shared responsibility for

dealing with those outcomes.

What, then, is the

neighbourly response?

Brydon Caldwell is a long time teacher and emerging writer from the western edge of the Canadian Shield. A lifetime of creativity and flirtation with the written word has finally coalesced into writing that he’s proud to put out into the world. His writing can be found in The Ekphrastic Review, The Fib Review, and the upcoming Fear Dealer, Opolis 2026, and Still From Somewhere anthologies.

SMALLEST AREA COMPATIBLE

by Pepper Trail

Valley of the Gods in Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument. Dreamstime Photo by Paul Brady.

 

The President is to reserve "the smallest area compatible with the proper care and management of the objects to be protected." —The Antiquities Act of 1906

President Trump on Monday reduced the size of two national monuments in Utah by nearly 3 million acres, teeing up a legal battle over whether presidents have the power to shrink such sites in the first place. Mr. Trump signed two executive orders to sharply cut the Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monuments to less than 10 percent of their current size. Both sites are known for their sandstone canyons and vast mesas, which are rich in wildlife habitat as well as archaeological sites of importance to Native American tribes. —The New York Times, July 13, 2026

• A body, small, feverish with measles, crying into the hospital dark?
• An automobile, pinned to the curb, bullet-holed, its driver dead inside?
• The dancing-ground of desert grouse, scraped bare and sold for the oil beneath?

No, stick to this case:

A landscape unbroken but for the lines we draw

Canyons, plateaus, water and the channels it makes

Sagebrush and juniper, birds and lizards and deer

Marks etched on sandstone cliffs, testimony to other ways of being

 

A National Monument, “Bears Ears”

   named by the peoples who shared this land

Hoon’Naqvut, 

Shash Jaa’, 

Kwiyagatu Nukavachi, 

Ansh An Lashokdiwe

delineated by thousands of years of indigenous knowledge

thousands of pages of scientific analysis

thousands of voices raised for protection

 

or

 

slashed overnight by 90%

ignorance glorified

harnessed to political calculation and greed

 

The smallest area compatible with proper care and management?

• Our society, torn apart by division and violence?
• Our nation, sinking into a morass of corruption and tyranny?
• Our planet, hurtling toward unchecked climate chaos?

Decide

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.

ROWING NORSE

by Craig Crowden

The Cup is ours for the taking.

Our lads are bent on brand building as

we row into the hearts of the world

heading for our colony of Vinland.

Our lads are bent on brand building as

we sail from a Fiord clad in Viking garb.

Heading for our colony of Vinland,

we score iconic team photos.

We sail from a Fiord clad in Viking garb

striking fear into football defenses,

we score iconic team goals

charming even those we sack.

Striking fear into football defenses,

we show Brazil a beautiful game

charming even those we sack,

turning vanquished foes into fans.

We showed Brazil a beautiful game.

We gave England all it could take

turning victorious foes into fans

Off we row home to a parade.

We gave England all it could take

leaving with class and respect.

Off we row home to a parade

while cleverly conquering Instagram.

Leaving with class and respect,

we row into the hearts of the world

while cleverly conquering Instagram.

The Cup is ours for the taking!

*

We row back home to

one hundred-fifty thousand

Norse fans—triumphant!

Hidden in Haaland’s raccoon

lies the heart of the World Cup.

Craig Cowden: As a Norwegian and a fan of the beautiful game, I was very excited when Norway made the World Cup field. Then they put on a master class in marketing starting with an extraordinary photo shoot from a Fjord in Norway. They backed this up with outstanding play reaching the quarterfinals earning respect across the world. They did it with class and lots of fun. I am very proud to be Norwegian.   

FROM THE HIDEOUSLY SMOKY MIDWEST

by Elizabeth Kerlikowske

I love my Canadian neighbors but…

 

At least during Covid we could step outside.

I resurrect my masks and wear them now

to water the puzzled garden, get the mail,

drag in the dumpster. Ash on squash leaves

ages them as surely as gray hair. My throat hurts.

Eyes sting and I’m breathing filtered air.

Exhausted squirrels lay in bird baths.

Deer stagger through the yard.

We keep water out for them,

not to breed mosquitos, nosy neighbor!

Sun a muffled peach pit in both skies.

Moon, overcome with particulate matter,

hides her face, throws scarves of stars

over her mouth to filter pernicious smoke.

Just guessing, since we no longer see her.

Elizabeth Kerlikowske’s latest chapbook is Falling Women, with painter Mary Hatch.

HALF-STAFF

by W. Luther Jett

W. Luther Jett's  poetry has been published in numerous journals, as well as several anthologies. Luther is the author of six poetry chapbooks — his most recent is  The Colour Wars, (Kelsay Books, 2024). His full-length collection, Flying to America was released by Broadstone Books in 2024. Luther is also a singer-songwriter who performs sporadically in wine-bars and cafes. He has released two singles and is in the process of recording an album of original material.

NIGHT STALKERS

by Kathyrn Ridall

The New York Times, July 16, 2026

2 AM,

loneliness a siren’s song,

a vampire’s kiss. I try

to remember how it felt

to be loved steadfastly

by my husband from the

moment we met until

he left this world.

A shiver in the night

and our 47th president appears—

a six-foot lizard, upright

with orange hair and a red

necktie, his tail a relentless

scythe that levels fields,

each day slashes the fragile

fruits of freedom.

My small dog senses

something outside

the house and launches

from the bed we share,

her barking a spray of bullets.

She wants to protect us

from creatures that bare

their teeth and stalk us

in the night.

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

Kathyrn Ridall is a poet and non-fiction writer. She is the author of the recent poetry collection The  Living Waters Between Us and of the award-winning Dreaming at the Gates: How Dreams Guide Us. She lives in Ventura, CA where she works as a psychotherapist.

AN UNDESIRABLE SILENCE

by Katy Z. Allen

I first noticed it early in the morning, isolated orange rays of light passing between the trees, the unusual color catching my eye, and so I went looking for the Sun, hidden from sight, and stopped abruptly when I saw it, not far above the horizon, a deep orange disc in the foggy, hazy, cloudy sky. Later, stepping outside for a second time, the light was so strange and eerie it gave me the shivers. I thought a storm was coming, maybe even a tornado, for the feel of the air was foreboding, so I checked all three weather apps on my phone, but none said anything about rain. The unease remained with me as I journeyed from errand to errand, wondering why I had heard nothing, although to be honest I hadn’t gone searching beyond my weather apps, but each time I stepped out of the car I felt that unease and when at last I arrived home and checked my email I saw a subject line, “The sky looks ominous and the air quality is bad. When will it end?” and that was when I learned—perhaps having had my head in the sand for longer than I should have—about the latest wildfires across Canada and Minnesota and the smoke from those fires arriving on our doorstep, so to speak, here in New England, and at last I understood, but all day I’d been feeling the silence of an explanation and only when it was so bad that everyone would notice did some brief and insufficient explanation arrive. I don’t have my head so far into the sand to be fully unaware that as long as we’re not seeing it, we’re not hearing it, we’re not experiencing it, the fact that the world is on fire is greeted with silence, even though it is a deep, dark  heaviness that breaks our hearts and weighs us down, no matter what the color of the Sun as it rises above the horizon in the morning.

Katy Z. Allen is a lover of the more-than-human world, poet, retired rabbi of an outdoor congregation, former healthcare chaplain, and co-founder of a Jewish climate organization. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in print and online in such places as The New Verse News, Amethyst Review, The Bluebird Word, Cosmic Daffodil, The Soliloquist Journal and Art on the Trails: Number 9. She was awarded Honorable Mention in The Prose Poem’s 2025 Prose Poetry Competition, and her book, A Tree of Life: A Story in Word, Image, and Text was published by Strong Voices Publishing.