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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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 NATO. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NATO. Show all posts

Thursday, April 10, 2025

THE DEAL

by Pepper Trail


Art by Terry Graff at Michael Moore Substack


No word is savored with such relish
by those infantile, strangely moist lips
forever yearning, reaching for the teat
of unconditional love, with the infant’s
single-minded greed, the belief that
he alone is the center of the world
his demands alone must be met and
whenever he cries and always and now
 
Such a different word, in his mouth
than “agreement” or “treaty” and with
no implication of cooperation or respect
but only the self-satisfied smirk of the
bully standing over his helpless victim
surrounded by worshipful sycophants
among whom, you can be sure, stands
his next choice for public humiliation
 
For him, the art of the deal is deceit
the goal of the deal is domination
the result of the deal is not some benefit
some lasting accomplishment or legacy
– see his casinos, his hotels, his “university” –
but only the “win,” his claim of victory
and the wreckage he leaves behind
is just what’s coming to suckers
 
To those who took his deal somehow again
who chose to join the bilked investors, the
ex-wives, the abandoned students, the unpaid
lawyers, the discarded loyalists and now the
NATO nations, the Ukrainian people, the career
scientists, the medical researchers, the firefighters
and park rangers and the entire world economy
this is what you get: you must lose so he can win
 
That’s the deal.



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.

Friday, November 15, 2024

ODE TO A MAGA FUTURE

by Peter Witt


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



I don't care if 
Ukraine ends up a satellite of Russia
Israel annexes all Palestinian lands
Poland goes the way of Ukraine
NATO goes defunct

as long as egg prices go down.

I don't care if 
all judges are Trump appointees
gay marriage is outlawed
trans individuals are discriminated against
raped women must still have their babies

as long as bread prices go down

I don't care if
rich people get huge tax breaks
oil and gas wells are drilled on pristine national lands
regulations allow polluting rivers and waterways
steps to reduce climate change are abandoned

as long as the cost of a gallon of gas goes down

I don't care if
things I buy that are made in China become more expensive
illegal immigrants are rounded up and sent home
people to harvest the nation's crops become scarce
workers who build housing and infrastructure disappear

as long as Christian nationalism becomes the law of the land


Peter Witt is a Texas poet, a frequent contributor to The New Verse News and other online poetry web-based publications.

Tuesday, March 08, 2022

ONCE UPON

a triptych for Ukraine, March 2022

by Lana Hechtman Ayers



I. Shush! Don’t Wake Her
 
See her now,
home from
the cancer ward,
in her own bed
in her own room,
curled around the fuzzy
brown teddy bear nearly
as big as she is at four,
fur of its right ear matted
down from sucking,
emerald neck ribbon frayed,
glossy hazel eyes shining
in the toadstool nightlight’s
amber glow. She sleeps atop the sky
blue coverlet hand embroidered
with sunflowers by her grandmother,
The white nightgown with flourishes
of willow leaves tangles around
her too-thin legs, and one chubby
thumb presses against her lips
that are as rosy as imported
cherries from her last birthday
celebration she dreams of
tasting again. From elsewhere
a clang wakes her and she
reaches for the waning
crescent moon that hangs
in the bedroom window
like one of her mother’s
dangly gold earrings
just as the bombs
begin to fall.
 
 
II. Once Upon a Time
 
Swallow the clatters of war tanks, bullet ratatat's, crashes of broken glass.
Hear to the red smoke as it shrieks down chimneys,
 
around drafty windows into the house, down the hall to the bedrooms.
Inhale the atonal black fire as it incinerates the fairy kingdoms of childhood to ash.
 
This is not the bedtime story any parent hopes to tell their children.
Look out your window.
 
If the night is clear and calm, or
if all that rains down from the sky is water,
 
ask yourself, how can I help parents in far off lands
find a happily ever after for their children
 
this one night
to the next?
 
 
III. Elegy for War
 
After the last bombs exploded,
silence deafened
the world for several decades.
People took to speaking
in gestures,
holding arms out in front
of themselves, wide open,
which led to stepping forward
into more hugs,
led to extravagant foraging
for wild berries.
Vehicles of insurgence
morphed into homes for bats
and rats and only grouchy bears
ever ventured near.
NATO transformed into
a travel agency,
with free week-night stays
across Greenwich Mean.
Everyone everywhere
shared recipes for soup.


Lana Hechtman Ayers has shepherded over eighty poetry collections into the world in her role as managing editor at three small presses. Her poems have appeared online at Rattle, Escape Into Life, Verse Daily, and The Poet’s Café, as well as in print journals and her nine published collections.

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

HE SAID, HE SAID

by Edmund Conti
Image source: Shapeways


Did I say would, well I meant wouldn’t.
Did I say could, well I meant couldn’t.
Did I say should, you know I shouldn’t.
You heard right, but I meant left.
You heard daft, but I meant deft.
Did I say NATO was a joke.
Of course you know that I misspoke.
Did I just praise the sickle and hammer.
No I didn’t.  Just bad grammar.
Did I just give away Alaska.
You heard wrong, it was Nebraska.
I’m sorry for the things I said.
Perhaps  I should have stood in bed.


Edmund Conti's poetry may be meaningless, but he means what he says.

Thursday, June 01, 2017

COVFEFE

by Jonel Abellanosa


Image source: Joey Mancuso


If you want to wag the dog, covfefe!
If you want people to take their eyes
            off your hands, covfefe!
If you want to distract the FBI, covfefe!
If you want to distract the media, covfefe!
If you want to calm yourself, covfefe!
If you want anger management, covfefe!
If you want to enrich yourself from
            the environment’s degradation
            without people noticing, covfefe!
If you are just simply dumb, covfefe!
If you are faker than the news you peddle,
            covfefe!
If you are corrupt as hell, covfefe!

If you want to covfefe the planet, enjoy!
If you want to covfefe NATO, enjoy!
If you want to covfefe yourself,
            don’t bring the rest of us
                        with you!
Just covfefe yourself !

We don’t give a covfefe!


Jonel Abellanosa resides in Cebu City, the Philippines.  His poetry has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies including Marsh Hawk Review, Anglican Theological Review, Star*Line,  Poetry Kanto, Spirit Fire Review, Carbon Culture Review, The McNeese Review, GNU Journal and Dark Matter Literary Journal.  He has two chapbooks, Pictures of the Floating World (Kind of a Hurricane Press) and The Freeflowing All (Black Poppy Review).  He is a Pushcart Prize and Dwarf Stars Award nominee.