THE MOURNING AFTER 11/13/15

by Don Hogle

Image source: The Hip Paris Blog by Carin Olsson

On the bus to Lambertville this morning,
and the sadness and anger at 129 dead in Paris
hang over a stunning fall day
like the last note of the piano
concerto I heard last night,
Trifonov's delicate finger
barely grazing the key,
the lightest vibration, and then
the lingering silence…

What does it sound like
when a life dissolves?

Boucler Votre Ceinture
Abroche Su Cinturón de Seguridad
Fasten Your Seatbelt
the seat in front of me advises.

Bataclan, Charlie Hebdo
Atocha Station
Tower One Tower Two

No strap of nylon web will protect
us against the Promise of Paradise
and a Kalishnikov, the explosive
strapped to the heart, the Pilot
of the Terrible Belief.

What to do
is not a question
but a dilemma
set down in an open field
not for contemplation
nor consideration
nor inspection
but for interrogation.

For now,
three pieces of construction paper
one blue one white one red
taped to the window
of my living room
facing out onto our world,
and a black rectangle
posted on Facebook
pour la France,
for all of us,
but only
for three days.

Most of the trees are already stripped
here, but the green grass of central Jersey
rolls on, as the bus proceeds
toward Frenchtown.


Don Hogle is a poet, blogger and brand and communications strategist living in Manhattan.  Poems have appeared recently in Mud Season Review, Minetta Review, Blast Furnace, Shooter, Bethlehem Writers Roundtable and TheNewVerse.News among others.  He was a finalist in the Northern Colorado Writers’ 2015 Poetry Contest. 

NOTE TO THE SELF-RIGHTEOUS ONES

by LaWanda Walters

                              After James Merrill’s “Casual Wear”

We can see through your disguises.
It is nothing new to use the name of goodness
like it’s your accessory from Kate Spade.
These days you are young.  You follow a fad.

It is nothing new to use some name for goodness
as you end or maim someone’s being here.
So many of you are young.  This killing is a fad.
You chew and smack Muhammad’s name like a cud.

You end or maim someone who exists
while yelling some word that meant rain, forgiveness.
In your mouth that name's pink bubble gum,
is sugar, spit, preservative and dye.

You do not refer to kindness or rain.
What you mean is you are cool and in style,
blowing bubbles made of sugar and spit, blowing brains out.
There are others like you--other mobs and crowds--

who would hate my poem as much as you do.
You fit right in with those Americans
mouthing names like “Jesus” and “Christmas”
while they vote against those who can’t afford Kate Spade.


LaWanda Walters has had poems in Antioch Review, Georgia Review, Shenandoah, Ploughshares, Southern Poetry Review, Cincinnati Review, North American Review, Laurel Review, The New Verse News, Sou'wester, and other periodicals.  She lives in Cincinnati.

NOT OBLIGED

by Michelle Marie

New Yorker cartoon by Michael Shaw, 2006

with hell to pay
   there was a rallying bray
i am charlie of hebdo !
   precious defiant minstrel show !

spirit grew robust
   wings light pen impaled
rose with a gust
   on which liberté sailed

but grief is a moment
   in that series to say
of violence that went
   the other ruthless way: 

algérie, irak, syrie

a flood of violence
   silting the hills with righteous license

imagination of power
   who fits in a world always ours more
lives drawn'n ink sour
   by martyrs right to offend, therefore

not obliged am i
   to repeat the offender's cry


Michelle Marie has written for Infita7 and Bluestockings Magazine.

INK

by Alejandro Escudé

Cyprien @MonsieurDream

I draw 

a cartoon of a god.

The god encircled 

by wolves.

The wolves 

with the faces of politicians.

I am a politician

sitting at my desk.

I hold my gonads 

tight under it,

here comes the myrrh, 

here comes

the frankincense. 

Where to draw the line?

I keep it simple 

and I fry. I make 

it complicated 

and I am incarcerated. 

Where to draw the line?

I said what I said. 

I’d say it atop 

the Eiffel Tower, too. 

I’d scream it  

from within 

the Bridge of Sighs.

Orphan. 

Poor. 

Alone. 

God-crazy. 

Where to draw, 

what to draw,

how to draw it 

fairly, plainly, lovingly.

The blood in my body 

was not ink.

Alejandro Escudé published his first full-length collection of poems, My Earthbound Eye, in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches high school English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.

ZERO IN THE CEMETERY

by Carolyn Gregory 

Nocturnal Sunrise by Alison Strange-Green

The angels at Pere Lachaise Cemetery
weep this morning,
tears glued frozen to classic features,
wings unable to fly.

They are mourning the dead journalists
who were too saucy with cartoons,
lambasting the prophet
when thousands die under drones
in trenched caverns in Syria.

One man's religion is not
another man's feast to roast and ride
when children and women drop
at weddings and in small cells.

The angels light the graves
of Oscar Wilde and the French Resistance,
stones shining above snow

and then they retreat
to melancholy for this season of violence,
wings bent down with grief.


Carolyn Gregory's poems and essays on music have been published in American Poetry Review, Main Street Rag, Bellowing Ark, Seattle Review, and Stylus. She was featured in For Lovers and Other Losses. She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize for poetry in 2011 and is a past recipient of a Massachusetts Cultural Council award. Her book, Open Letters, was published by Windmill Editions in 2009 and her next, Facing the Music, in 2012. She has been working on a series about the history of guns in America for several years now.

IS PARIS BLEEDING?

by Bill Costley

A million parisiens stand
facing the Tour Eiffel
shutting down quickly
on a massive film noir,

minus tourists,
minus frivolity.
What's amusant about
Charlie Hebdo now ?

Rien. (Nothing) Rien.
Millions of its
next edition will absorb
its dry editorial sang.

Paris is media-sanglant
The world, sympathique.


Bill Costley, among the earliest regular contributors to The New Verse News, served on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco Bay area chapter of the National Writers Union. He lives in Santa Clara, CA.

MARCHONS!

by George Held

   To the indelible spirit of “La Marseillaise”                                                          

Though assassins dealt a death blow                                                                        
To cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo,
Now the free world joins to say “Non!”
To terrorists who trade in woe:
“Vive la satire!” “À bas” the foes
Of liberty, equality, fraternity,
Those magnificent words English
And French and their multicultural
Societies share and now renew
Their commitment to.


George Held, a regular contributor to The New Verse News, has a new book out from Poets Wear Prada, Culling: New & Selected Nature Poems.