THE MAD HATER’S TEA PARTY

by Lisa Shulman

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

“I’m throwing a Party,” the Mad Hater decreed,

“And it’s only for those of Certain High Breed.

The workers and riff-raff will not be allowed

We’ll clear this Great Land of such unwanted crowds.

We’ll send them all packing to back where they came

And build big border walls in Liberty’s name.”

 

He wanted the people meek and afraid,

Instead they came chanting and dancing, they prayed.

They flocked to the aid of their neighbors and friends,

They poured through the streets, angry crowds without end.

 

“Criminals!” the Mad Hater shouted with venom,

“Violent assassins, we’re going to get ‘em!”

He called out his proud boys, his goons and his gnome,

Said, “Smash their car windows, crash into their homes.

You’re breaking no laws if you do what I say,

My Words are the only Law you must obey.

But these people with cameras and signs in their hands

Are the worst of the worst, destroying our Land.

Arresting them all is how we stay Free,

Anyone is a traitor who doesn’t agree!”

 

The people still came with their banners and songs,

Would not be defeated, they knew right from wrong.

 

Then, “Off with their masks!” the large crowd declared,

“Let’s see why these big men are so terribly scared

Of children and mothers and men holding phones,

It makes them all trembly right down to their bones.

Their pepper and guns are no match for such threats

As inflatable frogs and knitters in sweats,

And pink dancing sharks and sweet unicorns,

And kids banging drums and blowing on horns!”

 

With all this distraction, this hullaballoo,

The Hater was pleased by something he knew.

He rubbed his small hands and gave a sly smile,

“At least they’ve forgotten about those damn Files!”

 

 

Lisa Shulman is a poet, children’s book author, and teacher. Her poetry has appeared in Sheila-na-gig, About Place, Anacapa Review, Inkfish, Kitchen Table Quarterly, ONE ART, The New Verse News, and elsewhere. She is the author of the poetry chapbook Fragile Bones, Fierce Heart. A Pushcart nominee, Lisa teaches poetry with California Poets in the Schools, and workshops for women in recovery.

DID YOU SEE AN INFANTILE, JUVENILE FLIGHT OF FANCY?

by Raymond Nat Turner

"The List Is Long" by Nick Anderson

Did you see signs by victims of 

One Big Beautiful Bank Job

Showing up in mighty millions, 

Flexing Power Of The People?

Did you see frightened juvenile, AI-generated content—

In response?

Did you see the fecal Führer’s fascist flight of fancy—the

Diapered dictator dropping dreck, Making America Grate Again?

Did you see them go from Government Shutdown 

To government shit-down—lousy, loose stool 

Luftwaffe flooding the Zone with elephant excrement—

Making America Grate Again?

Did you see power of the numerically mighty People

Scare fascists shitless—into fertilizing

New crops of activists, militants and revolutionaries

Growing robust—exponentially and urgently!

Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet; Black Agenda Report's Poet-in-Residence; and founder/co-leader of the jazz-poetry ensemble UpSurge!NYC.

NO KINGS ALLOWED

by DJ Benhaim

Cartoon by Omar Al Abdallat.

I.

In the beginning was asphalt.
And the word was protest.
And the word was pixelated,
buffering between freedom and feed.

A crowd of imperfect citizens
chants like a country relearning its name.
The chorus is improvised:
No kings allowed—no crowns, no conquerors,
no saviors in tailor-made sympathy.

Their voices ripple through barricades,
become algorithm, become echo—
a national heartbeat with a stutter.



II.

I have seen democracy drag itself
through a century of luminous slogans,
its reflection flickering in each broken screen.
Still insisting: I am not done.

Once, the Founders gathered by candlelight—
afraid of monarchs, afraid of mobs.
They drafted compromise as scripture,
named it law and order,
muttered prayers to Reason
as though Reason were a god inclined to listen.

Some nights I wonder:
who will amend the amendments,
who will serve the servants,
who will remind us that equality
was never intended to mimic sameness?



III.

—No Kings Allowed—
the maxim mutates through the crowd.
Each repetition, a revision:

No Kings (but maybe a firm hand).
No Kings (but someone must decide).
No Kings (unless it’s my kind).

The chant becomes confession.
The confession becomes commerce.
Every democracy finds its vendors.

A man sells T-shirts beside a food truck:
LIMITED EDITION FREEDOM.
The poet buys one—
because irony, still, is cheaper than hope.



IV.

O Republic,
child of contradiction—
you legislate mercy
and enforce it with tear gas.
You proclaim all men,
then redact the margins.
Your pledge is a mirror:
every mouth repeats it—
none can see its cracks.

Still,
you endure—
awkward and miraculous,
a choir harmonizing
in seventeen unresolved keys.



V.

Night closes in.
The crowd separates into numbers.
The flag waves like a faulty signal.

Somewhere, a migrant waits at the checkpoint,
a senator rehearses his talking points,
a teacher grades an essay on liberty
with a trembling red pen.

And the poet—our witness,
our reluctant chorus—
writes in the margin of his notebook:

We are not failing,
we are rehearsing.

He closes the book,
steps into the dark,
and feels the fragile promise
of a nation still deciding
whether freedom needs a throne—
or simply
a place to sit down and listen.

DJ Benhaim is an emerging poet from the Windy City—Chicago, Illinois, whose work explores current events, global awareness as well as Afro American culture and the preservation of its stories, history, and legacy. An avid supporter of the city’s spoken word and poetry community, he can often be found cycling along the lakefront, soaking up the sounds of local jazz and blues, or experimenting with a camera in hand. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Sheila-Na-Gig’s AMPLIFY Anthology, Kinsman Quarterly, and African Writer Magazine.

ENDANGERED

by Penelope Moffet

AI-generated image by NightCafé for The New Verse News

A large orange butterfly

flits through a break in traffic

from one side of the street

to the median, one line of

sign-holding people chanting

"No monarchs! No kings!"

to another. No, goddammit, no.

Don't be such a fucking poet.

Don't focus on the butterfly.

The handmade poster the poet will be carrying at today's march.

Penelope Moffet is the author of three chapbooks, most recently Cauldron of Hisses (Arroyo Seco Press, 2022). Her poems appear in Eclectica, ONE ART, Calyx and other literary journals. A full-length collection of her poetry will be published by Sheila-Na-Gig Editions in 2026. A Pushcart Prize nominee, she lives in Southern California.

DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’VE GOT TILL IT’S GONE

by Debra Orben

A fierce wind blew, background music played,
the crowd flowed along Sellersville’s Main Street,
signs and banners streamed high and low 
as young and old joined in the chant NO KINGS.
 
Conversations swirled around me, as I tried
to steady my handmade sign buffeted 
by gusts of variable winds, changing rules
and alliances, an ongoing litany of losses.
 
Gone in a gale, diversity, equity, inclusion,
swept away in the squall, federal workers
who protected our health, welfare, and security,
anyone who dared mention The Gulf of Mexico.
 
We protested as one, the storm of cruel changes,
the orders of self-proclaimed kings and billionaires
proclamations cutting aid to the poor, new rules
attacking differences and our environment.
 
Grabbed by uncertainty, sensing the agony 
of the poor, undocumented, unrecognized,
I no longer understand my country of birth
our supposed democracy of red, white, and blue. 
 
Our flag appears fragile and tattered
as the federal government turns its back 
on ordinary people, rules, laws, and precedents,
does an about-face on foreign policy.
 
But then I look around me, at banners 
and signs, at wrinkled faces and bent backs,
at young mothers with children in tow,
at men and women who dare say no.

Democracy is here, not only in this small town.
Look for it in schools, libraries, voting booths.
Listen for it in houses of worship,
messages to Congress, letters to the editor.

We won’t know what we’ve lost till it’s gone.
My sign printed on recycled cardboard 
states Diversity, Honesty, Justice Matter.
Like me, keep holding your signs high.
It’s not all gone yet.

Debra Orben is a retired elementary teacher who cares deeply about the world we are leaving for our children. She is grateful to live in a beautiful part of Bucks County, PA and strive to protect the natural world that she is a part of. As a Quaker, she values truth, peace, and integrity. As an aspiring writer, she is mindful of the words she uses and grateful for the power of the words we share.