Guidelines



Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com. No simultaneous submissions. Use "Verse News Submission" as the subject line. Send a brief bio. No payment. Authors retain all rights after 1st-time appearance here. Scroll down the right sidebar for the fine print.
Showing posts with label Lake Superior. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lake Superior. Show all posts

Sunday, September 13, 2026

AT HIGH FALLS, MINNESOTA

by Maxine Susman



 

I look across the gorge to Ontario—

same wilderness on the other side.

The great Falls plunge, three separate chutes,

over the bowl of ragged basalt cliffs

into the river flowing to Lake Superior.

Pounding roar, wall of spray, impassible—

here the voyageurs, bearing on their backs

more than their weight in beaver pelts,

slung their birch canoes onto their shoulders

and made le grand portage.

 

Wilderness ranges along the gorge

farther than the eye can travel.

United States / Canada / Gichi Onigamiig,

The narrow bed of Pigeon River

now the border between nations

that share the same terrain:

Falls, thick forest, gray cliffs of diabase.

I could almost hurl a rock across—

it would reach another country,

shared bedrock of Laurentian Shield.

 

Wilderness joins both sides together.

My father / myself,

his native land / and mine,

his parents' native land / and his,

our family river flowing over borders

from Belarus to Montreal,

from Ontario to New York.

I won't cross through Customs this time,

I'm close enough to know my father's laugh

inside the space inside the water

same on both sides of the Falls

my father's homeland a stone's throw away.


Maxine Susman, Highland Park, NJ, has published six chapbooks and two full-length books of poetry, most recently Northern Swim (Ragged Sky Press, 2024). Her work concerns the environment and natural world, history, art, people and other creatures. She has been leading poetry workshops for many years and she teaches poetry-writing at the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute of Rutgers University, earning the Distinguished Teaching Award. A Ginsberg Award finalist and multiple Pushcart nominee, her work has appeared in dozens of publications including Paterson Literary Review, Fourth River, Canary, Blueline, Slant, Earth’s Daughters, and Crab Orchard Review.

Wednesday, June 12, 2024

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

by Thomas J. Erickson




In 30 years no one will remember that it snowed here
52 years ago on the 4th of July and that it was so cold
that the high school band had to play in the school bus
with the windows down.

In 30 years tops or whenever the last of my sons
has left this globe, no one will know my father
never swam in Lake Superior when he was growing up
a few hundred yards from Gitcheegumee
because it was so damn cold back then.

Soon enough, no one but me will even think
about how beautifully fucked up this is: To now be able 
to swim in the turquoise water of the Magic Coves
to dive to the shipwreck off Chapel Rock
to do the dead man’s float in the secluded expanse
off Lonesome Point.

So I hope you find this bottle someday on some shore
somewhere if there still are shores somewhere:

There was an August when I swam far enough out
to get to the sand bar and stood there for a while.
I was surprisingly far from shore and when I turned
around it was endlessly blue.


Thomas J. Erickson is an attorney in Milwaukee where he writes poetry while sitting in court waiting for his case to be called. He spends his summers in a little town on the shores of Lake Superior in Upper Michigan where, in recent years, it's been warm enough to swim come August.

Wednesday, August 17, 2022

LEGAL AND SAFE IN DULUTH MN

by Jess Morgan


DULUTH, Minn. (AP) — On the top floor of a modest two-story brick building near the shore of Lake Superior, the executive director of northern Minnesota’s only abortion clinic flits from room to room, checking in patients, fielding phone calls from people seeking appointments and handling billing questions from those struggling to pay. In the waiting room at WE Health Clinic in Duluth, patients from Wisconsin and Texas sit among Minnesotans — the leading edge of an expected uptick in out-of-state patients following the Supreme Court’s removal of the federal right to abortion. Photo: A clinic escort outside WE Health Clinic in Duluth, Minn., awaits the arrival of patients, Thursday, July 7, 2022. The clinic escorts protect patients from protesters as they approach and enter the clinic. (AP Photo/Derek Montgomery)


We mosh to punk in a shower of bubbles
and beer at house shows on Saturday
in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

Decked out in tin foil and wearing fish heads,
we flail and wail in the annual Smelt Parade
in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

Our earrings are handmade, we drink coffee
brewed downtown and our music is Homegrown
in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

An underground art collective hauls a piano
onto Lake Superior for improvisation opera
in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

We plow out each other’s cars in negative
thirty-degree temperature snow storms
in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

Our lake is as big as the sea. She is grounding,
healing and as comforting as living 
within a city where abortion is legal and safe.

Pro-choice protestors sing the child I babysit 
happy birthday and feed him cupcakes
in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

Indigenous land protectors chant and bring 
their drums when we rally for choice
in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

A surprising amount of us are queer or trans,
and my non-binary heart feels right at home
in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

I’d like to own goats on the outskirts of town,
and will only raise a family or give birth
in a city where abortion is legal and safe.

My co-workers and I work together to provide
patients with gender-affirming healthcare
in my city’s clinic where abortion is legal and safe.

Patients kiss my hand after a suction abortion,
thanking me for holding theirs during their procedure
in my city’s clinic where abortion is legal and safe.

Too many Duluthians make a poverty wage and rent 
isn’t cheap in my city where abortion is legal and safe.

And each day we must keep fighting for the culture,
clinic and city where abortion is legal and safe.


Jess Morgan is a nonbinary poet in Duluth, Minnesota where they juggle many hats. Their jobs include (but are not limited to) working as a wedding DJ, sound technician, patient educator for abortion services at WE Health clinic, hobby photographer, and occasional goat-sitter. They are a fiscal year 2022 recipient of a Creative Support for Individuals grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board. Poems they've written have been included (or are soon to be included) in The Nemadji Review, Prøve Art Gallery's Zine titled Emerge, and the Wisconsin Review. Jess shares a Tik Tok account with their partner called @ColdLakeHotPoets to capture their poetry adventures around Duluth.