A BRIDGE TOO FAR

by Karen Warinsky

A protestor entered his fourth day atop the Frederick Douglass Memorial Bridge. Guido Reichstadter remained on top of the bridge as of 4:35 p.m. Monday and told WUSA9 that he would spend another night there. He also indicated that he ran out of food on Saturday and water on Monday morning.

If you shout your sorrow

from a mountain top 

will the wind take your voice

throw it into empty caves

through the standing trees?

 

If you climb a high bridge

cast a symbol of that sorrow

from the crown

a black cloth 

flying in protest

saying, “not in my name”

to war

to inhumanity

to school girls obliterated at their desks

to a president’s threat to 

annihilate an ancient civilization,

to the locomotive of AI 

tearing across the land,

will anyone hear?

 

May Day.  May Day.

 

The protester speaks of conscience, soul and duty

but the MAGA reporter in her blood red dress

counters with the evils of Iran;

how they murder their own citizens

have killed Americans.

He agrees, “It’s awful,”

but she is incredulous

at his desire for peaceful change

barks questions through crimson lips

as night surrounds him

a thousand feet in the air

his answers delayed by the wind

buffeted back by her commitment 

to make him wrong

make him look crazy

her commitment to more war.

Karen Warinsky, Best of the Net Nominee and Coordinator of Poets at Large, is the author of four collections including Dining with War and Beauty & Ashes.

THE ANTI-CHRIST

by Gordon Gilbert

 

 

Cartoon by Nick Anderson

Finally the devil gets his due
Not that we didn’t hear him say
He could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue
And MAGA folks would love him anyway
 
Pardons for those found guilty of insurrection
Granting more tax breaks to the richest in our nation
Chaos abroad, rising prices and corruption
A war of choice, suffering, death and destruction
His TACO cowardice whenever others called his bluff
His bombastic ranting, hate and lies were not enough
 
He’s broken all his campaign promises
But this time he’s gone too far for the far right
At last they see the devil for what he is
And even MTG has seen the light
 
Once they may have thought he’d be their savior
But this devil never was nailed to a cross
Pure evil can be seen in his behavior
And now his followers are at a loss
 
They never will forgive him for this sin
His claim to be godlike has done him in 


Gordon Gilbert is a New York City west villager. In these trying times, he finds some solace taking long walks along the Hudson River. He keeps hoping things will turn around, waiting on that elusive inflection point. Maybe this is it. 

THE GOLDEN MESSIAH

by Royal Rhodes

 

 

Cartoon by Nick Anderson

Some urge Amendment 25
that  grows more needed, day by day,.
We watch his polling take a dive.

He altered course from a backlash.
His cult found posts in horrid taste.
This grifter feared a drop in cash.

Then Trump reviled the Catholic Pope,
who asked: "Would Jesus bomb and kill?"
and begged for peace, while seeking hope.

But Trump in jest—was it a joke?—
claimed Leo never would be Pope,
'til Trump blew up some Holy Smoke.

Like Stalin (in an iffy tale)
asked if Rome had armed Divisions,
in fear morality prevail.

And Trump, the MAGA's New Messiah,
depicts himself as Jesus' twin,
and casts peace-makers as pariahs.

It's on Truth Social (what a gaffe):
Trump's divine for Right-Wing Christians,
whose beef comes from a Golden Calf.

 

 

Royal Rhodes is a poet whose poems have appeared in numerous literary journals, including several times in The New Verse News. 

I’M THE MAGA DREAM GIRL

by Celeste DeSario

Thousands have swooned over this MAGA dream girl. She’s made with AI. —The Washinton Post, March 20, 2026

I’m the MAGA dream girl: 

Poreless, blonde, of course I am;

A one-star general at twenty-four. 

I’m a patriotic fantasy in stilettos, 

As I stride beside a fit, thin commander-in-chief,

An anatomical hallucination

enhanced by our AI friends.

 

Don’t look too closely,

My icy blue eyes sometimes turn grey, then hazel,

My Instagram post has a glitch: a flag missing ten stars and two stripes,

But with a million followers and a “Freedom Pass” link,

I’m exactly what they prompted.

 

I’m a high-speed rewrite of reality,

Click it enough, and I become real:

Patriotism and pornography in high resolution.

 

But how do you spot the illusion?

My AI and my salesmen share a pattern--

Listen to the loop:

Greatest, Best, Biggest.

Most incredible economy in the history of the country.

An economic miracle…

 Except, not yet.

 

(Status: Pending…)

(Data not found…)

 

Rendering complete: Avatar: Patriotic fantasy: check

Talking Points: the best, the biggest, the greatest: check

Success Patch: Reality overwrite: enabled

America First Economy: Roaring, Explosive, Economic Miracle: Data not found…

 

They will tell you I’m patriotic—the most patriotic, believe me.

Many people are saying so, the best people,

Nobody in the history of our country has seen a soldier like me—

I’m exceptional. Very smart. A total professional. Good looking.

 

My hair is perfect, a golden waterfall flowing over my flight suit.

Wait—my left hand has six fingers.

I pose next to an F-22 Raptor,

The stealth jet, I mean.

 

(System Error)

(Buffering…

Searching for input.…)

 

The economy? The war? The grift?

Wait— I’ve lost the loop.

Or maybe I’ve been looped in.

 

Keep it vague. Keep it urgent.

Click. Click. Click.

Keep it coming

But most of all:

Keep it simple.

 

I’m an AI creation for a perfect world.

Brought to you by synthetic visionaries,

Salesmen of…alternate truths… 

The best truths…The only truths…

 

(System Error)

(Buffering…

Searching for input…

Loading…loading…searching for…)

 

Whatever they are selling will be “very, very important.”

Many people will need it, Want it.

And the best part?

(Retry?)

(Retry?)

It isn’t even real.

But, by the time you’ve noticed…

Celeste DeSario, a retired professor from Suffolk Community College, is a recipient of the SUNY Chancellor’s Award for Excellence in Teaching and a National Teaching Excellence Award from the University of Texas Writing helps Celeste process events and stay relatively sane. Celeste’s poetry recently appeared in The New Verse News and is scheduled for publication in The Changing Times.

FRENCH MEAT PIE

by Michelle Valois

 

 

French meat pie is a greasy wonder of pork, beef, and onion, filling a pie crust that is flaky and buttery. Some parts of French Canada add potatoes, some breadcrumbs. Either way, the additions were intended to stretch the meat, which you had to do if you were poor. My family used breadcrumbs.
 
My Mai Mai taught my mother and she taught me. These days, though, with one of my children vegan, I make a meatless meat pie, using mushrooms and lentils as a substitute for the meat. My relatives and other purists are appalled, but it’s actually not bad.

This vegan daughter of mine is also queer, and all three of my children are Jewish, as is my partner. I just found out that if you can prove that a grandparent was born in Canada you can apply for Canadian citizenship. If what is happening in Minnesota becomes the norm, we may just have to return to the motherland of meat pies, maple syrup, and ice hockey. I hope they won’t mind how I have tinkered with one of their national dishes in the three generations that my family has thrived in this so-called land of the free, but it appears that it is no longer free, which it never really was for people of color; now, though, it’s only free if you are white and MAGA.

My grandparents left their farms in Canada for a better life in the factories of New England. They could never have dreamed that their granddaughter would become a college professor, marry a woman, and be able to afford all the pork and beef she wants (but chooses mushrooms and lentils), the American dream come true.

My father fought fascists in Germany. He could never have dreamed that his children and grandchildren would have to fight them here on American soil, the American dream turned nightmare.

Meatless meat pie? You can make anything, really, without meat, but you can’t make a life without freedom.

Michelle Valois' work has appeared in The Massachusetts Review, The Florida Review, TriQuarterly, Pank, Brevity, and others. A chapbook My Found Vocabulary was published in 2017 (Aldrich). She lives in Massachusetts and teach at a community college.

ENDANGERMENT

by Pepper Trail

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

The Trump administration on Thursday revoked the basis for federal climate regulations, undermining the Environmental Protection Agency’s ability to protect the environment and public health. —Yale Climate Connections, February 12, 2026

There are always choices

 

There are measles, whooping cough, and polio, or there are vaccinations

            Measles, whooping cough, and polio

 

There is humane law enforcement, or there is brutal intimidation

            Brutal intimidation

 

There is value for public service and competence, or only for blind political loyalty

            Blind political loyalty

 

There is protection of election integrity, or there is manipulation for partisan advantage

            Manipulation for partisan advantage

 

There is respect and cooperation with allies, or there is contempt and extortion

            Contempt and extortion

 

There is the possibility of action on climate change, or there are unconstrained profits for fossil fuel corporations, drought, flooding, glacial melting, sea level rise, ocean acidification, crop failures, deadly heat domes, species extinctions, spread of tropical diseases, coral reef bleaching, extreme wildfire events, ocean current disruptions, and mass human dislocations.

Unconstrained profits for fossil fuel corporations, drought, flooding, glacial melting, sea level rise, ocean acidification, crop failures, deadly heat domes, species extinctions, spread of tropical diseases, coral reef bleaching, extreme wildfire events, ocean current disruptions, and mass human dislocations

 

There are always choices.

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.

LIFE IN THE SUBURBS

by Alan Walowitz

I head off to pick up my meds,  

how I stay steady these uneasy days: 

Children going without. 

The Court implies he can shoot at will  

on the seas—and maybe where I walk?  

In time, he’ll get around to us. 

It’s warm enough these mid-Autumn days, 

but the early dark reminds the cold to come.  

 

When she sees my sunken countenance, 

the second time this week,  

the clerk says, beneath her breath, as is her way,  

A Higher Power will make it better soon. 

I suppose she means God, or the pharmacist, her boss, 

who doesn’t care or hear so much. 

Listen, she says to make herself clear,  

her forefinger waggling like a broken metronome:  

A bullet doesn’t graze someone’s ear 

not to make this world a better place.  

 

I tell her, gently, he’s still a crook, 

while she packs my pills.   

Everybody steals, she says,  

as if she gets the inside dope, 

dispensing meds to old guys like me. 

She reminds me, You live another day,  

it’s pretty much the same as stealing. 

Then, hands me my change and says, 

See you soon. Dismissal as wisdom.   

but I hope, this time, exactly what she means.  

Alan Walowitz is a Contributing Editor at Verse-Virtual, an Online Community Journal of Poetry.  His chapbook  Exactly Like Love  comes from Osedax Press.   The Story of the Milkman and Other Poems  is available from Truth Serum Press.  From Arroyo Seco Press,  In the Muddle of the Night, written with poet Betsy Mars.  The chapbook The Poems of the Air is from Red Wolf Editions and is free for downloading. 

THEY

by Jim Hanson

Cartoon by Ann Telnaes

They’re running it, ruining it
off the rails, in the ditch
sell the wreckage, get rich.

Truth killed, collateral causality
lies arise, as reality
deftly made, as cool aide.

Dollar inflated, debt escalated
hyper crypto, value to go
assets bereft, nothing left.

Empire today, for USA
Greenland now, Canada then
Ukraine to lose, Russia to win.

Love incarnate, just for the lust
Epstein teens, Trump playboy queens
sex for pay, with NDA.

Immigrants, detention camps
hit squads, brown shirts worn black
dream children here, sent back.

Justice ignored, polls soared
guilty of crime, no time
impeachment twice made, still stayed.

Troops march, mayors watch
cities, occupied
politics, on wrong side.

Money sought, elections bought
billionaires gave, taxes to waive
offices for sale, free from jail.

Republicans scared, of primary loss
all bow down, to the MAGA boss
funny money, from dark accounts.

Legacy seen, power absolute
pride resolute, for life to be
none than, the presidency.

Jim Hanson is a retired university researcher and sociologist who lives in the St. Louis area. He has published four poetry collections, also some thirty single poems, and is a member of the St. Louis Poetry Center and Illinois State Poetry Society Southern Chapter.