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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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

Wednesday, December 31, 2025

HOW TO WATCH A BALL DROP

by Jennifer Schneider



while listening to cutlery chatter / trading pennies for minutes / fielding
runaways / phoning an estranged neighbor / one shoe on / shoulder
to bolder with strangers / atop mystery mountains / beneath bleachers /
beside unnamed gas station signs / pumping the backstroke / sipping
tea on ice / scaling questions / smoking turkey legs / whispering
strong verbs / dropping pennies into juke boxes / on hands wrapped
around childhood's knee / chins up / guards down / of lemon slices
in sugary drinks / punches spiked of dragon fruit and butterfly
wings / belting bird song / stitching hummingbird hashtags / in flannel
evening gowns / streaming Beethoven’s fifth / taking the fifth /
consuming reality TV / no artificial sweeteners / watching Coke
wrestle Pepsi in a boxing ring / no rings in fingers / rings on lobes /
dressed in layers of recycled bloomers / pressing remote-controlled
buttons / unbuttoned / unaddressed / in torn silks and
unadulterated silence

of Alka Seltzer fizz and Cheeze wonder whiz / with cherry
marmalade on Wonder / flanked of generational flannels / clothed
in piranhas playing tubas and elephant truths / naked / dressed in naked
wishes / layered of love sewn of leather and knee-high boots / of lavender
scented kisses / broken, sipping soup from floral dishes / with fish
out of water / swimming butterflies in shallow ponds / in deep
/ deep in love’s rebus / before a judge of saints / wet of purple rain /
in wrinkle-resistant tiaras / of organ chords and tenor runs / on the run /
on a corduroy sofa / fashioned of plaid patches on elbows / fastened
of polka-dot bows / tied to no one / tired / fascinated / no hatred /
beside ghosts who dare to breath / beneath a sky dusted

of backdoor smoke and bathroom mirrors / sharpening
second chances / calculating time’s dimensions / wandering
through Alice’s wonderland / with a pocket full of honesty /
trading retired coins that are still official currency / drinking books
like medicine’s bounty / playing poker with pirates / vaccinating bites
and bouts of dishonesty / of freedom to toss wishes into egg soufflés /
of heads, we win, tails, no one loses games / of champagne
in flute-stemmed glasses / weighted of wisdom / consuming
curiosity / inhale  / beholden to memory’s fortune /  long enough /

long enough to remember /
the joy of being human / of freedom /
of the currency of a revolution / again / again / again

            the ball drops--
beside me, the dog’s ears
twitch then settle, a new year,

the same routine


Jennifer Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. Recent works include A Collection of RecollectionsInvisible InkOn Habits & Habitats, and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups.

Monday, December 31, 2018

ANOTHER NEW YEAR'S EVE

by Buff Whitman-Bradley


A flock of migrating Canada geese take flight from Colorado in 2014. Credit: Amanda Sutherland, Reporter-Herald.

On a chilly December afternoon
A paper-white gibbous moon
Hauls itself over the eastern hills
Up through the seasonal haze
Into a sky crowded with pale, nondescript clouds
Shuffling between horizons.
A single winter sparrow pecks for seeds
On the ground beneath the grape arbor.
We open the doors and windows
To the cold air
And not without trepidation
Face those far hills
Where the new year will first reveal itself.
The future has twisted out of our grasp
And belongs now
To our children and grandchildren
To whom we must apologize
For leaving them to struggle
Against the tempests we might have prevented
But did not.
We cannot know if they will succeed or fail,
Cannot know if migrating geese and cranes and swans
Will someday not return
To the ponds and marshes
Where they have wintered for ten thousand thousand years,
Cannot know if the Great Mother
Will finally disown, disinherit and evict all her offspring,
The righteous and the not,
While this infinitesimal blue bubble once called Home
Goes on wobbling and spinning
Through the oceanic darkness
Of the undivided now.


Buff Whitman-Bradley's poems have appeared in many print and online journals. His most recent books are To Get Our Bearings in this Wheeling World and Cancer Cantata. With his wife Cynthia, he produced the award-winning documentary film Outside In and, with the MIRC film collective, made the film Por Que Venimos. His interviews with soldiers refusing to fight in Iraq and Afghanistan were made into the book About Face: Military Resisters Turn Against War. He lives in northern California.