WHAT WE LEARNED IN 2020

by Katherine West

The globe of Earth has shrunk, a small balloon

losing air sinking against the blue blue sky

to land exactly in my hand, all mine 

to know the pain of every land, all you 

and you and you, all me in mirrors new 

as stars on windy nights of sharpened light 

that cuts my chest that makes me bleed your time

cut short then so is mine the years so few 

now less the globe a shriveled wrinkled skin

I cup as gently as a fallen bird 

my own true love I carry home to bed 

I tuck you up, I slide beside so thin

we fit, an old and folded map, a world 

of continents that kiss, of coasts that wed.

 

Katherine West lives in Southwest New Mexico, near Silver City.  She has written three collections of poetry: The Bone Train, Scimitar Dreams, and Riddle, as well as one novel, Lion Tamer.  Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Writing in a Woman's Voice, Lalitamba, Bombay Gin, The New Verse News, Tanka Journal, Splash!, Eucalypt, and Southwest Word Fiesta.  The New Verse News nominated her poem "And Then the Sky" for a Pushcart Prize in 2019.  In addition she has had poetry appear as part of art exhibitions at the Light Art Space gallery in Silver City, New Mexico and at the Windsor Museum in Windsor, Colorado.  Using the name Kit West, Katherine's new novel When Night Comes: A Christmas Carol Revisited has just been released, and a selection of poetry entitled Raising the Sparks will come out in 2021, both published by Breaking Rules Publishing.  She is presently at work on the sequel to When Night Comes. It is called Slave: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Revisited. She is also an artist.

THE YEAR IN REVIEW

by Bonnie Naradzay

Detail of cover of book by Bearded Doctor.

after Ilya Kaminsky

we lived happily, forgive us, 

we survived, even thrived, 

the way we slunk into the mud

beside the walkways, gave in, 

turned our eyes away, gestured 

with gratitude, wore masks, 

our eyeglasses clouding over, 

vision blurred, happily seeing

hypocrites roll up their sleeves, 

watch them all jump the lines, 

pull rank, Pence with his naked 

flabby arm, bravely showing 

how it’s done, we stood aside,

read about the one pardoned 

for ordering her police dog

to savage a homeless man 

backed against the wall,

showing how it’s done, 

war criminals pardoned,

mercenaries, paid with 

our taxes, gunning down

children with impunity, 

the nakedness of our nation,

we bowed in obeisance, 

sidled by, raised our hands,

excused ourselves, waved 

a note from the teacher,

we lived happily (forgive us)

                     the long year, is it over yet?  

     

Bonnie Naradzay's recent poems are in AGNI, the American Journal of Poetry, New Letters (Pushcart nomination), RHINO, Tar River Poetry, EPOCH, Tampa Review, Kenyon Review Online, Potomac Review, Xavier Review, and One Magazine. For many years she has led poetry workshops at a day shelter for the homeless and at a retirement center, both in Washington, DC.   

AULD LANG SYNE, AMERICA

by George Salamon

"'Auld Lang Syne' is a staple of every New Year’s Eve, but few people are aware of this song’s original poignant purpose. Singing it began as a way to recall friends who had died in the previous year. In America in the middle of the nineteenth century, though, it became a way to reclaim the unity and purpose of a nation increasingly riven by divisions." —Roger Lee Hall, "An Early American 'Auld Lang Syne,'" We’re History, December 31, 2016

We hadn't been together

for so many years and

had so much to talk about

as we sat out in the cold

at a table frozen and bare

as we talked and talked until

my voice got hoarse, still

hoarse from the fairy tales

we had told each other when

we both were younger.

George Salamon came to America in 1948 when he was thirteen. It seems like it was very different from America this New Year's Eve, but how was it and how was it not?  For a 2021 better than 2020.

2020: ON STORIES, TIME, AND QUERIES

by Jen Schneider

Twenty-eight queries on a year in review. 2020 is nearly hindsight.

 

Q1. Which of the following words is least like the other? Most?

Story

Storied

Stall

Scared

 

Q2. Which of the following words is least like the other? Most?

Relative

Time

Relate

Test

Term

 

Q3. If I cry and no one sees, does my pain matter?

 

Q4. True or false: Not all stories have happy endings.

 

Q5. True or false: All stories deserve to be told.

 

Q6. True or false: All tears are wet.

 

Q7. Which of the following is a symptom of 2020? Choose all that apply.

Headache

Stomachache

Heartache

 

Q8. Define struggle. Define consolation.

How are the two similar? Different?

 

Q9. Which of the following email signatures does not belong?

Stay safe

Stay well

With best wishes

Regards

 

Q10. Which of the following words is most like the other? Least?

Pandemic

Pandemonium

Parade

Puppet

 

Q11. Which of the following is an appropriate 2020 holiday greeting?

With condolences

Season’s greetings

Almost there

The most ____ time of year

 

Q12. Which of the following is most likely to win product of the year?

Masks

Music

Memories

 

Q13. What types of puzzles are hardest to solve?

Puzzle of a thousand pieces

Puzzle of 365 days

Puzzle of 2020

Puzzle of 100,000 pieces

 

Q14. What type of loss can’t be recovered? What types can be?

 

Q15. As citizens, we’ve been told to be patient. Define patient.

 

Q15. Which of the following words is least like the others?

Patience

Patient

Patent

Pest

Plague

 

Q16. Define and explain the difference between 2 and 3 ply paper. 

 

Q17. Which of the following words is most closely associated with 2020? Least?

Toilet 

Tissue

Tear

Time

 

Q18. Which of the following doesn’t belong?

Bookshop

Bookstore

Book swap

Bookmark

 

Q19. Define relative.

 

Q20. Doctors caution arms ache post-vaccine. Why does no one caution against heart aches prior?

 

Q21. How can a virus with only three consonants travels all continents?

 

Q22. Which of the following words doesn’t belong?

Vaccine

Virus

Virulent

Verse

 

Q23. If friends tell me I look different on video, who has changed?

 

Q24. Which of the following words doesn’t belong?

Zoo

Zoom

Zine

Zipper

 

Q25. Define present. Are all presents gifts?

 

Q26. How does the future differ from the present?

 

Q27. Writers speak of the moment in time when strings of words go dead. Define that moment in time.

 

Q28. First thought, best thought. Ready. Set. Go. 

1.     An emotion associated with January 2020

2.     Noun that describes 2020

3.     Another word for truth

4.     The word that describes a deep wound

5.     Word that describes a sibling, parent, aunt, or cousin

6.     A mineral or element on the periodic table of elements

7.     Lyric—two words—from a favorite song

8.     An emotion associated with March 2020

9.     A cartoon character

10.  Antonym for past

 

On Past Truths

Even as a young girl, I knew not all stories have _1__ endings. 

Not all __2__ end well. Knew, also, that not all tales are __3__. 

Time heals some ___4___, but not all. Time, too, is ___5___. 

Eight comes both before and after nine. And not all relatives 

are as strong as __6__. 

 

On Crossroads

With a heart of __7__ and a sense of __8__, 

we rest our heads on sheets of dancing __9__. 

Nighttime falls on the __10__. 

 

Run. Hurry now. We can beat it if we try.

Race for cures, vaccines, and fresh air. 

Friends, too. Run. Hurry now. 

Try, we can beat it now. Hurry. Run.

Race for a reason to live.

 

 

On Futures

Define Future. Define Race. 

How are the two similar? Different?

 

1.     The color of your favorite ice cream

2.     A favorite pub entree

3.     The noise of your daily commute

4.     A carnival food

5.     An airplane snack food

6.     A destination reached only by air

7.     A destination reached only by sea

8.     First love. One word

9.     A word that describes when shoulders rub

10.  Something, someone, somewhere beloved.

Futures are the color of __1__, the flavor of __2__, and the sound of __3__.

Futures smell of __4__ and __5___. Futures tease of __6__.  Futures 

are __7__, __8__ and __9__. The future is __10__. Focus on the Future.

 

Hope

1.     Antonym for damaged

2.     An emotion associated with September 2020

3.     A wish for 2021

4.     An appropriate social distance (whole number only)

5.     Synonym for vaccine

6.     Number of consonants in COVID-19

7.     The color of 2020

8.     The smell of 2020

9.     Humpty Dumpty sat on _____. (Plural)

10.  Humpty Dumpty had great _____. (Plural)

11.  A word that rhymes with wall and fall.

 

Hope is wrapped of ___ and ___. Hope is ___ times ___.

Hope is found in ___ times ___. Hope is ___ and____.

Hope persists despite ____ and ___. ____, too. 

Hope is everywhere. 

Jen Schneider is an educator, attorney, and writer. She lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Philadelphia. Her work appears in The Popular Culture Studies Journal, unstamatic, Zingara Poetry Review, Streetlight Magazine, Chaleur Magazine, LSE Review of Books, and other literary and scholarly journals.

THE GREAT CONJUNCTION

by Barbara Simmons

“Shot using the decade old Canon 60D and 75-300mm by stacking 25 shots on the Conjunction with the same frame but varying focus. I am obsessed with Saturn and that’s where the prime focus is.” —Tweet by Sajal Chakraborty @sajaldreamworks

Bundled up and with binoculars, we are contemporary

versions of Ptolemy and Aglaonice, 

standing on our driveway, necks tilted back, our bodies a bipod

for our binoculars, finding the yellowish crescent of December’s moon,

and what we think might be the great conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn.

Maybe it’s because we often are not part of something bigger than

ourselves, because we’ve missed the comet tails and then eclipses,

not standing in the hemisphere that’s best for viewing, 

we’ve kept our celestial appointment, keeping company with Genghis Khan

800 years ago, who also watched this joining in the skies.

There are, of course, glow-in-the-dark star stickers we'd placed

on our son’s ceiling when he was so little that he’d really thought

the sky had entered to illuminate his bedtime.  And, then there are the

many other simultaneous occurrences that are joinings:

the House and Senate, the King and Queen, the lords and ladies,

the earth and sea, the heavens and earth, the living and the dead,

the unspoken and the thought, the unsaid and the truth, 

the haves and the have-nots, the remembered, the forgotten,

until we hear, you and me, from friends that what we thought

we'd seen could not have been both Jupiter and Saturn, but only

one of them, given where we live.  So, you and I, conjoined now

for some years, made a decision and decided that your and my eyes

had seen the great conjunction, and like the Christmas Star, 

we will believe in something larger than ourselves, needing to

in times when either/or has reigned too long, and

like all good conjunctions, this conjoining, not choosing one or other,

a great conjunction, Jupiter and Saturn,

is how we’ll complete this 2020 year, allusion always

to a greater sight, and now, helps us to see a new night sky.

Barbara Simmons grew up in Boston, now resides in San Jose, California—the two coasts inform her poetry. A graduate of Wellesley, she received an MA in The Writing Seminars from Johns Hopkins. Retired, she savors smaller parts of life and language, exploring words as ways to remember, envision, celebrate, mourn, always trying to understand more about human-ity. Publications have included, among others, Santa Clara Review, Hartskill Review, Boston Accent,  The New Verse News, Soul-Lit, 300 Days of Sun, Writing it Real, Capsule Stories: Isolation Edition and Autumn Burning Edition, and OASIS.

POSTLUDE

by Chris Reed

Image source: In the Hills

You wanted a requiem

a dies irae,

a solemn Gregorian chant,

or maybe just a photo album

of those who’ve left,

a chorus of auld lang syne,

some cup of kindness,

or the rage 

of trumpets blaring

through the sepulchres,

a judgement.

I hear the drip

of too late rain

in burned forests,

a tremulous rhythm.

No more news please,

no rising harmonic summary. 

The dead don’t want repose,

they wanted to live.

Year of misery,

death and deceit,

it’s almost time to go.

You’re already shrugging

into your jacket,

No need to turn around

and show me your expression.

You don’t have to say

goodbye.

Chris Reed is a writer who has found meaning and solace and connection in the reading and writing of poetry during this pandemic.

HOLDING OUR BREATH

by Lynnie Gobeille

Image source: Benenden Health

I just sit where I’m put, composed

of stone and wishful thinking 

—Margaret Atwood, “Sekhmet, the Lion-Headed Goddess of War”

This year’s tree is fake, like so much of 2020’s News.

Last year’s was real—but died a short tortuous death 

four days out- fully  decorated- needles dropping onto my hard wood floors

hauled back to Home Depot.

Where I begged for a refund of my money.

 Yes, I has used coins  I had saved in a plastic jug all year just for this one purpose—

 A REAL tree—hauled home by me—placed there – in all its Glory.

Now Dead… 

But that was last year—Pre 2020.

Today? My fake tree is up—my Mother’s Ornaments placed   “just so”

another chance to recreate memories.

How foolish we Humans are.

We  think—

God will forgive us for our sins.

We hold our collective breaths as Fauci says-

He will not be with HIS family this year.

We sigh—

If he can do it? 

So can you & i.

After all these years—Lynnie Gobeille is STILL passionate about poetry.

THE POEM I DID NOT WRITE IN 2020

by Sister Lou Ella Hickman

i sit here
what do i say
what could i have said
with either red or blue words
but i could not     did not
i watched for how long
as if from a window
to the street below
where the red and blue 
used words as stones and guns... 
painful watching has its other side
i in my silent poem
wept    


Sister Lou Ella has a master’s in theology from St. Mary’s University in San Antonio and is a former teacher and librarian. She is a certified spiritual director as well as a poet and writer.  Her poems have appeared in numerous magazines such as America, First Things, Emmanuel, Third Wednesday, and The New Verse News as well as in four anthologies: The Night’s Magician: Poems about the Moon, edited by Philip Kolin and Sue Brannan Walker, Down to the Dark River edited by Philip Kolin, Secrets edited by Sue Brannan Walker and After Shocks: The Poetry of Recovery for Life-Shattering Events edited by Tom Lombardo.  She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2017 and in 2020. Her first book of poetry entitled she: robed and wordless was published in 2015. (Press 53.)

GRAND PAUSE

by Rick Mullin

I can’t relax when Miles tells the band

to keep it tight. He’ll fire you on stage!

I’ve seen it happen. On the other hand

there’s no alternative. An anxious age

provokes an anxious anthem: Straight ahead!

I can’t get back to normal when the news

is so predictable. The cycle never ends.

I can no longer tolerate my views.

I can’t retrieve the names of several friends.

Remember what the poet Rilke said.

About the truth. About the pile of facts.

I can’t find where he said it, though. Can you?

And here’s another thing: I can’t relax.

On stage, there is no exit interview. 

I keep it tight. The spotlight’s turning red.

Rick Mullin's newest poetry collection is Lullaby and Wheel.

AFTER THE ELECTION

by Vincent Bell

Lost Man painting by Irena Jablonski at Saatchi Art

He traveled for a long time

to be near the Atlantic Ocean.

He sleeps on a bench exhausted.

 

The west coast is in flames.

He saw planes dropping red

retardant and heard the screams

 

of people, a concerto with flaming trees.

People are afraid to leave their homes.

He is alone in the park.

 

The smoke has reached Europe

and the election has passed without a

resolution. The authorities suppress

 

civil unrest. People have given up.

Prayers failed. Self-appointed saviors

have come and gone.

 

People ask each other

if they know what’s going to happen.

The man has no place to go.

Vincent Bell is from NYC and attended NYU and Fordham. He lives with his wife in Ardsley, NY.

2020

by William Marr

during this year
you'd better not
think one thing
say another
do something else

we all can see right through you
with our perfect vision—
20/20

William Marr's poetry has been translated into more than ten languages and included in over one hundred anthologies.  Some of his poems are used in high school and college textbooks in Taiwan, China, England, and Germany. He is a former president of the Illinois State Poetry Society and lives in the Chicago area.

NEW YEAR'S OWLS

by Buff Whitman-Bradley




In the first hours of the new year
After the midnight explosions have ceased
And no more revelers
In clutches of three and four
Go stumbling by the house
Happily jabbering away
I lie in bed with the window open
To the freezing night air
Listening to two owls
Speaking to each other
From nearby treetops.
Hu-hoo, hu-hoo says one
In a deep and quiet voice
Hoo-hu-hoo, hoo-hu-hoo
Responds the other
In a higher pitch.
I picture the baritone as an elder
Complimenting the young alto
On not panicking
During the booms and bangs and kapows
They had just endured,
On staying put in its tree
Until the onslaught of flash and bam had subsided.
It’s safe to go out now
The old one says
But be mindful of the humans,
They are loud and messy
And really have no idea
What they are doing.
And of course the old hoot is right.
We are a cacophonous, lurching,
Bumbling, bungling bunch
Making a fine shambles of things
And we’d be a whole lot better off
If we resolved in the coming year
To cultivate a little quiescence
And pay closer attention to owls.

Buff Whitman-Bradley's poems have appeared in many print and online journals. His most recent books are To Get Our Bearings in this Wheeling World and Cancer Cantata. With his wife Cynthia, he produced the award-winning documentary film Outside In and, with the MIRC film collective, made the film Por Que Venimos. His interviews with soldiers refusing to fight in Iraq and Afghanistan were made into the book About Face: Military Resisters Turn Against War. He lives in northern California. He podcasts at: thirdactpoems.podbean.com .

THE BRING OF DISASTER

by Mark Williams

O Heavenly Father,

It’s me again Austin Baggerly. I cant talk long tonight.
Mom says to say my prayers and get to sleep pronto
cause Dad got me home late. Home to my house
where he used to live but now is just Mom and me
and my box turtle Bradley. But you know that.
Pastor Crandall says you know everything there is.
He says You are Omniportant. Everyother Sunday Dad
takes me to praise You at Sudden Glory Fellowship.
Pastor Crandall says You made our President President.
Pastor Crandall says our President is The Chosen One.
Mom says that The Chosen One destroyed her marriage
and that if you chose him then you must want
to take everyone to the bring of disaster.
Why do You want to bring us there? For instants why
did You choose someone who does not care
if the world gets too hot for us to live? Where will we go?
And why did You pick someone who lets fires
burn up all the trees and forest animals
that You made in the Beginning? Plus why
is it OK to let people buy guns to shoot me in school?
Mom says the President wants to build a wall
to keep out poor people so they can stay poor
in there poor countrys? Why would You God
want to keep people poor in poor countrys
when You cared for the birds in the air
before the President let them burn up in the forests?
Maybe You chose someone to bring us to disaster
so that next time when it is our turn to choose
we will choose someone who stops us
before going all the way in to it. But in my pinion
You are cutting it awful close. Dear God,
when I turn ten will all this make sense? I hope so.
Sometimes I wish I could pull in my head like Bradley.

                                                            Amen

Mark Williams lives in Evansville, Indiana. His poems have appeared in The Hudson Review, The Southern Review, Rattle, Nimrod, New Ohio Review, and The American Journal of Poetry. His poems in response to the current administration have appeared in Poets Reading the News, Writers Resist, and Tuck Magazine. This is his fourth appearance in TheNewVerse.News.

ANY FUNCTIONING ADULT 2020

by Marc Swan




On a lawn down a side street off a main drag
in Portland Maine, it catches my eye—
simple phrase in red, white and blue
with a big bang center stage
to that intact region our current leader
can’t claim—a brain that thinks, acts,
feels with compassion, caring, humanity.
A sign in a yard can’t change the world
but it can open thinking beyond
media thrum and whimper—
insult, injury, uncertainty, and help us feel
we can make a difference
as clichéd as that may be. Grab your pen,
paper, keyboard, text, phone, load up
the information highway with a message
echoing these immortal words—
Yes We Can.

Marc Swan has poems forthcoming in Stonecoast Review, The Nashwaak Review, Channel Magazine, Floyd County Moonshine, among others. His latest collection today can take your breath away was published by Sheila-na-gig Editions in 2018. He lives in coastal Maine with his wife Dd, an artist, clothing designer and maker.

AND NOT THAT ONE, EITHER

by Devon Balwit

Cartoon by SIGNE WILKINSON, The Inquirer, February 13, 2019

Abrasive, ambitious, unlikable—
(truth is, you remind me of my mother,
or of those women who have “other
things to do” when I call) in short, unelectable,
no matter your platform. You remind me
of that girl in class who always scored
a point or two higher, who looked bored
when I spoke. You seem angry—
Why are you so angry all the time?
And who, if I may ask, is watching your kids
while you get uppity? Besides, bids
for President, for a place in the lime-
light should go to those with a prettier face—
(and who’d choose “pretty” for a Presidential race?)


Devon Balwit's most recent collection is titled A Brief Way to Identify a Body (Ursus Americanus Press). Her individual poems can be found here as well as in The Cincinnati Review, Tampa Review, Fifth Wednesday (on-line), Apt, Grist, and Oxidant Engine among others.