$5 MILLION CINQUAIN

Supreme Court: The court for a second time refused a request by Mr. Trump to review a $5 million civil judgment against him after a jury found in 2023 that he had sexually abused and defamed the writer E. Jean Carroll. —The New York Times, August 17, 2026

Nicholas De Marino is a neurodivergent rhyparographer.

.

TABOO

by L. Roger Owens

In the evening of the day that negotiations

over the Strait of Hormuz threaten again to collapse

and Russian missiles kill seventeen souls

in Kyiv—we saw seven bodies still lying there, one

reporter says—the same day a progressive democrat

declares victory in a senate primary in Michigan,

the family of my daughter’s boyfriend joins us

for a game night. We’ve made brownies. They bring cookies,

peanut butter ones. Ice cream chills in the freezer.

The whole gang comes: mother, father, sister and her boyfriend

(who went to high school with my boys), younger cousin,

and the boyfriend himself, it goes without saying.

We sit in a circle in the family room like a shape poem,

our names prosodic when spoken,

the consonance of the v’s and m’s, hard g’s beat--

boxing; two r’s waltz together sweetly.

The game is one in which you prompt your teammates

to guess a word, but there are several you can’t say.

My word is banana, and five more are forbidden me:

fruit, peel, yellow, split, and bread. I make

banana bread whenever a family member returns home,

from college, say, or from a trip away

(something dead citizens of Kyiv will never do again).

“Welcome Home Banana Bread,” we’ve named it

in the family cookbook, and three bananas

are browning in the kitchen now, waiting to be smashed

into pancake batter. My teammates know none of this.

I yearn to say peel yellow fruit, and time runs out.

I alone decline crumbed cookie between my brownie

and ice cream, and while we spoon dessert

into our mouths, no one dares to speak

of the widening fiasco in the Middle East or allude

to human remains strewn among the streets of that great city,

its Golden Gate immortalized by Mussorgsky.

No one says, Thank God the centrist lost.

But you don’t mention these things, of course you don’t,

not when your families are gaming together for the first time—

you don’t. More ice cream, anyone?

 

L. Roger Owens teaches spirituality, ministry, and creative writing at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. He is an MFA student at Ashland University.

WE WON

Cartoon by Nick Anderson

“Dwindling Munitions” by Nick Anderson

 a cento of public quotes from President Donald Trump in roughly chronological order

 

"The United States military, together with the wonderful Israeli partners, 

continues to totally demolish the enemy far ahead of schedule 

and at levels that people have never seen before. 

Well, I think we've accomplished more in one week 

than anyone thought possible. We're winning the war by a lot. 

We've decimated their whole evil empire.

 

It'll continue, I'm sure, for a little while.  

Let me tell you, we've won. 

You know, you never like to say too early you won. 

We won. We won the bet. In the first hour, it was over. 

It's an excursion that will keep us out of war.

 

The war is very complete, pretty much. 

If you look, they have nothing left. 

There's nothing left in a military sense.

 

We've essentially defeated Iran. 

Uh, I guess they can have a little bit of fight back, but not much. 

Not much.  

We'll be leaving in pretty much the very near future. 

Iran is close to demolished. The only thing is the strait.

 

We are getting very close to meeting our objectives as we consider winding down. 

We're doing a five-day period. We'll see how that goes. 

And if it goes well, we're going to end up with settling this. 

Otherwise, we'll just keep bombing our little hearts out.

 

Iran is begging to work out a deal. 

I don't know if we'll be able to do that. 

I don't know if we're willing to do that. 

I think we'll make a deal with them. 

Pretty sure. But it's possible we won't.

 

We are on track to complete all of America's military objectives shortly, very shortly. 

We're going to hit them extremely hard over the next two to three weeks. 

We're going to bring them back to the Stone Ages, where they belong.

 

MAKE A DEAL or OPEN UP THE HORMUZ STRAIT. 

Time is running out—48 hours before all Hell will reign down on them. 

Glory be to GOD! 

Open the Fuckin' Strait, you crazy bastards, or you'll be living in Hell. 

JUST WATCH! 

Praise be to Allah. 

A whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again. 

I don't want that to happen, but it probably will.

 

We're going to hit them very hard tonight. 

We're going to hit them hard tomorrow. 

We're going to hit them really hard the night after. 

Next week gets really bad for them 

because next week comes the power plants, 

next week comes the bridges. 

We're going to knock out all their power plants. 

We're going to knock out all their bridges 

unless they get to the table and negotiate.

 

The war in Iran is going along swimmingly. 

We can do whatever we want. 

And it should be, it should be ending pretty soon. 

It was perfect. I mean it's perfect. 

The Strait of Hormuz is completely open and ready for business and full passage. 

We are winning big in Iran, 

and you will see the fruits of that labor very, very shortly."

 

 

I was the only president in modern history who did not have any new wars.

                                                      Donald Trump, 2023

 

I will not send you to fight and die in a foolish, never-ending war.

                                                      Donald Trump, 2024

 

                                    I didn't guarantee no war.

                                                                                          Donald Trump, 2026

Ed Gold has three chapbooks including Sundown (2023) and Loveship (2025) from Finishing Line Press. His poems have appeared in The New Verse News, Think, In These Times, Passager, Kakalak, and others. He lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with my wife Amy and  dog Edie, and he coordinates the Skylark poetry contest for SC high school students. Ed is lucky to be working with Richard Garcia and the Long Table Poets.

I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW

by Sally Mills

That if I ever need to be flown out

of Turkey, under threat of attack

by Iran in response to a war

that I started, I may hide

in an airport catering container

if that is what I need to do, but

what I will not do, I promise, is

leave you on the old Air Force One

as a decoy. That is the depth

of affection I have for you

and you can take that to the bank.

xoxo

Sally Mills is a poet and attorney from Downeast Maine.  She studied the Russian Silver Age poets and holds an MPhil on the works of Anna Akhmatova.  Her work has appeared in The New Verse News and is forthcoming in Rat’s Ass Review.  When not writing poetry or practicing law, Sally performs with The Damn, Girls! — Hancock County’s premier country-western girl band.

PRIVATE ALTAR TRUMPS

by J. Alan Nelson

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

 

You can buy one for the mantel
or the corner of the kitchen table
where the bills used to go.

 

A golden Trump, small enough
to fit in the palm,
heavy enough to feel like something
earned.

 

For those who have decided
science is a rumor
and most other people
are an inconvenience,
except the ones who write checks
large enough to keep the foundries running,
the molds poured, the gilt applied.

 

Facts are only obstacles
on the way to the next order.
Denmark is a minor interruption
between here and Greenland.
Democracy is a temporary arrangement
that can be redirected,
like a pension check,
toward the manufacture of more golden figures
for the home altar, the office shrine.

 

Iran will be humiliated
in the proper sequence,
and a prize for peace
will follow as naturally
as the next shipment arrives.

 

Women and children may speak,
but their voices do not alter
the shine on the hair,
the tilt of the chin,
the fixed, triumphant gaze.

 

Place him where the light hits.
He does not require belief,
only space.

J. Alan Nelson is a poet, journalist, lawyer, actor, and nominee for a Pushcart Prize, Best of Net and Best Microfiction. He played the lead in the viral video “Does This Cake Make Me Look Gay,” the verbose “Silent Al” in HBO’s Emmy-winning SXSWestworld, and narrated New York Times videos on AIDS programs in Africa.

QUID NO PRO

by Virginia Aronson

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

The art of his deal
pay for play global
he gets the jet
he lets them get
bombed he shrugs
signs the agreement
changes and cancels
unceasing ceases
after public hoopla
after the rule of law
after the highest courts
more shaky trades, fines
brazen gifts and lawsuits
thrown out, mocked
taxes and wars forever
never true to his word
on anything deals
wives children sex lies
while the world suffers
the land in flames
the seas raging
the children dying
and he grins, shrugs
he's got his quid
and folks, look
there ain't no pro.

Virginia Aronson is the author of many published books. New poetry collections include Collateral Damage (Clare Songbirds Publishing), Whiskey Islandand Whiskey Straight Women (Cyberwit Press).

$100 A BARREL

by Hassan Ismail Adekunle 

The market celebrates first.

Screens bloom green
while somewhere
another mother counts
the hours between explosions.

A barrel crosses
an invisible number
and suddenly
every analyst has a sentence,
every politician
a target,
every headline
a price.

No ticker records
the cost of a fisherman
who does not sail,
a child who learns
the grammar of sirens
before multiplication,
or the cashier
watching gasoline
rewrite this week’s grocery list.

They tell us
energy is security.

Yet the lamps
burn brightest
in boardrooms
far from the sea
where ships move
like nervous prayers
through narrowed water.

History has learned
to invoice grief.

It sends the bill
to those who never voted
for missiles,
never traded futures,
never owned
a single share
of tomorrow.

The market closes.

The sea
does not.

Hassan Ismail Adekunle is a Nigerian poet whose work explores contemporary life, politics, memory, and identity. His poems have appeared in Willy-Wash and other literary magazines. He lives in Nigeria.

MISDEAL

by W. Barrett Munn

Cartoon by Clay Jones

Once there was a leader who wasn’t ready

for the effects his warring caused.

He tried to create an army out of blather,

and ordered his followers to blather, too.

He’d drawn a line in the sand

and crossed it off his to-Bi list,

having placed his faith in himself

to prevent missteps—

The people got pissed.

Terrified of losing control, the man in charge

sold his soul to the same devil

he’d been embellishing as a threat.

The leader swore

on a gold bar that sat on top a Bible

that his soul had always been hidden

inside a sack full of cash. A deal was struck—

The enemy got to win the war,

got all the cash, and all the rockets

as long as they promised—which they did—

while keeping their fingers crossed.

Winston Munn writes as W. Barrett Munn because initially he thought that sounded cooler and he had been named after Elizabeth Barrett, later Browning, his mother's favorite poet. He's been fortunate to have been selected before for The New Verse News along with a number of other publications. He lives in Oklahoma and rarely comes up for air as in Oklahoma it's always open season on progressives.

I, SYCOPHANT

by Pepper Trail

Cartoon by JD Crowe

You ask “How can you?”

You ask “Have you no pride?”

 

That just shows your ignorance, and you don’t even know it.

The first rule, of course, is never to ask a question.

 

The name and face of Our President deserves to be on every government building and document.

 

A Mixed Martial Arts cage fight on the White House lawn is a beautiful celebration of America.

 

A gilded triumphal arch is the perfect expression of our nation’s democratic ideals.

 

President Trump is the greatest peacemaker this nation has ever known.

 

There are those, maybe, who say these things but don’t believe them.

They are beneath contempt.

 

I do believe. Every day, more.  

Every day, I forget more that embarassment, my former self.

 

I was never the best.

Now, in His eyes, I am.  Or, I can be.

 

No one but President Trump could have saved us from the invasion of immigrant rapists.

                                                                                             from transgender girls playing sports.

                                                                            from electric cars.

                                                                         from Iran.

 

The perfection we see everywhere around us is all due to You and your wise leadership.

Everything I say is just a way of saying, God bless you, Mr. President.

Without You, I am only what I was before.  

Nothing.

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.

…BUT ‘TWAS A FAMOUS VICTORY

by Philip Kitcher

Cartoon by Nick Anderson

"Our excursion delivered a world-changing win!"—

will it also uncover the limits of spin,

as the faithful besotted are forced to conclude

they've been conned for too long, and their emperor's nude?

Philip Kitcher has written too many books about philosophy, a subject which he taught at Columbia for many years. His new book The Rich and the Poor (Polity Press) is all about the costs of abandoning morality in politics and public life. His poems have appeared online in Light, Lighten Up Online, Politics/Letters, Snakeskin, and The Dirigible Balloon; and in print in the Hudson Review.

AND THEN

by Debbie Benson

The New York Times

then came bees the sizev cats- they

overtook the sky

2put a stop2 our, wherever it was we 

were going? 

they told us we’d failed 2 really see 

our world, 

dizzying us w/eyes like sharded glass.

they dove & purred, unruly w/ yellow, 

nonpoisonous 

if fearsome, aghast but all unwarring,

& w/ them hopes we’d been ignoring 

were dipping also soaring

Debbie Benson’s recent poems appear (or are forthcoming) in Indiana Review, Passages North, Bennington Review, Ninth Letter, and The Penn Review. Past awards include the Ann Stanford Poetry Prize, Vern Cowles Prize, an International Merit Award from Atlanta Review, inclusion in Best New Poets, and a “Best of the Net” nomination. She is a prior contributor at The New Verse News. She works as a clinical psychologist in NYC.

WHO'S GOT THE CARDS?

by Paul A. Freeman

 

 

“My hand,” Donald boasted, “is great!

Two pairs, kings and aces. That’s fate.”

And while he did holler,

the sly Ayatollah

said, “Too bad, coz I hold a Strait.”

Cartoon by Nick Anderson

Paul A. Freeman is the author of The Movement, a dystopia-Americana novel set in a future United States of America. The book is available from Amazon as an ebook download and as a paperback. His first book, Rumours of Ophir, a crime novel taught at ‘O’ level in Zimbabwean high schools, was also translated into German. In addition to having two novels, a children’s book and an 18,000-word narrative poem (Robin Hood and Friar Tuck: Zombie Killers!) commercially published, Paul Freeman is the author of numerous published short stories, poems, plays and articles. He works and resides in Mauritania, Africa.

WISHING WARS HAD SOMETHING LIKE REGULATION TIME TO DECIDE THE OUTCOME

 by Steve Rodriguez

 

 

They’re so easy to start, plenty hard to end.

That’s why we prefer baseball’s nine inning rule. 

Hate it when bad guys bleed, but refuse to bend. 

 

Football’s fixed finite four quarters also send

the age old message for any war-like fool.

They’re so easy to start, plenty hard to end. 

 

Even a marathon contest will depend

on a set distance to score a runners’ duel.   

Hate it when bad guys bleed, but refuse to bend.  

 

Like a delicious shock and awe milkshake blend,

we now crave a shot of Desert Storm old school

form. So easy to bomb, plenty hard to end.

 

Were sudden death overtime gods to descend, 

we’d rush to strike a deal, discount enriched fuel

possession. Good guys would plead… bad guys, please bend.   

 

Narrow strait’s closure reflects a nagging trend—

warrior patience is a requisite tool 

when stuck in a stalemate that just won’t end.

Such a drag when bad guys bleed, but do not bend.  

 

 

Steve Rodriguez resides in San Diego, CA. He is a retired U.S. Marine Corps officer and a retired high school English teacher.