NO JOKES

by Peter Witt

Tee shirt detail

The White House Correspondents' Association announced Saturday that its annual dinner will not feature comedian Amber Ruffin, nearly two months after it announced her as its selection. In fact, this year's show won't have any comedic performances at all. —ABC News, March 30, 2025

There’ll be no humor at this year’s
White House Correspondents Dinner,
no jokes to remind the trumpster that 
sometimes he seems more buffoonish
than presidential, no attempts to rib 
the VP for discovering
that Greenland is f’ing cold, 
 
no jokes about butt letting the editor
of the Atlantic into a war plan call
while he sat astonished in a Safeway
parking lot,
 
no jokes about the hint of musk
in the white house, and efforts
to unplug Tesla sales, and no hint
that the president has spent
more money on golfing weekends
than the dogers have saved
through their court contested dismissals. 
 
There’ll be no jokes about Jan 6th
invaders getting pardons, or 
failed efforts to settle the wars
in Gaza and Ukraine on the promised
first day in office, or how Canada
has scored a hat trick as the
president can’t remember
if today he raised or lowered tariffs.
 
The newspeople will gather, eat
drink their cocktails, eat their shrimp,
talk about who will be banned
from next week’s press conference,
listen while the master of ceremonies
talks longingly about freedom of the press,
as the crowd whispers what the jokes
might have been if their leadership
hadn’t cowed to the jokester in chief
who is still out there somewhere 
on the 18th green.

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

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.

A WHACK FOR THE AGES

by Peter Witt

Just once I want to stand at home plate in the bottom of the ninth,
game tied, bat in my hand, staring at the pitcher, waiting,
breath still, for a 95 MPH fastball, hung out over the plate—
like a lion waiting for its prey to make a move.

Pitcher would wind up, just beating the 20 second clock,
as I uncoil and smash the ball off the barrel of my bat—
thunder cracking from the heavens--take two steps forward,
flip the bat, as the ball soars, a comet slicing through the sky—
as I begin a slow dance down the first base line, hands over head
like a conquering hero, as the thankful fans stand and cheer.

Rounding third I'd low-five the coach, then trot home
where after jumping on the plate I'd be engulfed in the joy
and comradery of my teammates, who'd slap my helmet,
my butt, my back, while our catcher sprayed a bottle
of water over my head.

The mob of players would whisk me away, like a gust of wind,
to the dugout where the cape of honor would be bestowed
around my shoulders, more slaps to the helmet administered,
as our first baseman pushes me back up the steps
to take a curtain call from the grateful fans.

I'd wink at my wife in the stands, like a conquering hero,
wipe the mist from my eyes, pause a minute, survey
the entire stadium, the weight of the moment settling in,
knowing that this was a lifetime dream made real.

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

JUST ANOTHER DAY AT SCHOOL

by Peter Witt

At least four people were killed and multiple people injured after a shooting Wednesday at a Barrow County high school, near Atlanta, the Georgia Bureau of Investigation announced, adding that a suspect was in custody. Photo: Women embrace following the shooting. (Elijah Nouvelage/Reuters)—The Washington Post, September 4, 2024

A fourteen year old killed two innocent children Wednesday,
along with two teachers, somebody's sons or daughters,
partners or parents, people who will be saddened,
no devasted, as the police call asking
a relative to come to the morgue, the death house,
to identify the body of a child or an adult who rose this morning,
dressed, said goodbye to their loved ones, forever,
and headed out the door to school, where they waited 
for a 14 year old with access to a gun to shoot them, 
dead, dead, dead. dead.

And the best we'll be able to do is thoughts and prayers,
as the gun lobby mounts another round of efforts
to suppress any reasonable action, as talking heads
are paraded across the TV screen with the same tired
rhetoric, while anti-reform legislators collect 1000s
of dollars to stand pat, do nothing 
again, and again, and again, and again.

Soon there will be funerals, with tearful parents,
loved ones, a community of people holding candles,
perhaps a politician speaking truth about killing machines 
in the hands of children, young people hugging each other, 
while hallways and classrooms are cleaned,
students and community members are offered counseling, 
so in a short period of time school can resume,
funds can be raised for a permanent memorial,
and the issue can disappear from the news
until the next young person gains access to a gun,
access to a school and puts out the light
again and again and again and again
in another group of young people
and dedicated teachers’ eyes.

Peter Witt is a Texas poet who is repulsed by the argument that people kill people not guns...it's obviously both...he has published his poetry in a wide-variety of outlets.  When he's not writing he's out birding and reinforcing his understanding of the human connection to the natural world. He and his wife also travel extensively, having just returned from Iceland/Greenland, where the witnessed first hand the impacts of climate change.

CLUB Q

by Peter Witt

A vigil was held at All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church. Credit: Daniel Brenner for The New York Times, November 20, 2022

Patrons Subdued Gunman Who Killed at Least 5 at Colorado Club: The authorities credited people inside the gay nightclub in Colorado Springs with stopping the gunman, who police say opened fire with a long rifle just before midnight. More than two dozen were injured.  —The New York Times, November 20, 2022

Club Q, a supposed safe space

where people can let their hair down

or wig it up, where go-go dancers

and drag queens rule, where bartenders

in scanty attired serve tame and not

so tame drinks to similarly minded

customers, a place rife for hate

by people threatened by the idea of

individuality, where people

go to hang out, to feel secure,

without the fear of physical harm,

where in an instant, all changed

when harm walked through the door.

 

Now Sunday festivities are off,

no planned drag brunch, with drink specials

and drag show followed by an evening

Transgender Day of Remembrance

for all those killed or attacked in the U.S.

and around the world…an irony considering

Saturday’s murderous events.

 

Instead, sometime in the days ahead,

the LGBTQA+ community and their supporters

will gather to add the names of all the victims

of a wanton shooter in Colorado Springs.

Some politicians will tweet and send notes

of support, while some will remain silent

and in the days ahead whip up more fear

and loathing with statements about

the biblical repulsiveness of gay marriage,

how drag queens are polluting the minds

of young children during library readings,

and books about LGBTQA+ identity

should be removed from school libraries.

 

On Thursday Club Q planned a Friendsgiving

Dinner, which if held, will turn into

an evening of tears, stories, and hugs

to celebrate those lost and wounded.

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

EARTHLINGS

by Peter Witt

If earth was my father, he’d sit me down

for the talk, about how the birds and bees

are under threat, how humankind has polluted

its nest, and how our actions may doom us

to the inevitably of a rage of forest fires,

hurricanes, tornadoes and other

devastating weather events.

 

If earth was my mother, she’d send me

to my room, cut off my social media

for a month, make me eat green vegetables

and fresh fruit instead of junk food

that comes in non-degradable packaging.

 

If earth was my mentor, he’d tutor me in ways

to live a life that respects the planet, take on

advocacy roles that can reverse the holocaust

of degradation that human greed has wrought.

 

If earth was my lover, she’d touch me in ways

that reach deep in my being, hold me close,

look into my eyes and beg me to love

her forever for the sake of every rock, ocean,

mountain, turtle, rabbit, snake, and ladybug.

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

PRAYERS OF WAR

by Peter Witt

On May 20, Dmytro Kozatskyi, a soldier of the #Azov Regiment posted his photos of the defenders of #Mariupol, calling on the world media and those who can help to distribute them. "Well, that's all. Thank you for the shelter; Azovstal is the place of my death and life. See you".

I.

I hear the drums of war banging

as recruits shoulder their weapons,

while merchants of arms pray

half-heartedly for peace knowing

money is to be made

off the mayhem and suffering.

II.

Somewhere safe and hidden,

a barely 19 year old guides

a drone capturing images

of hospitals, schools, that

will soon smolder with

the aftermath of airborne

mechanized chaos...silently

he offers a prayer for the living

and soon to be dead.

III.

Mother with teething child,

walker propelled grandparent,

and shivering family dog

board a train that chugs

its way to the western border,

rails singing "pray with me,

pray with me."

IV.

Someday, when bodies

are counted, refugees

and soldiers hobble home,

there'll be an annual day

of remembrance of victory

and defeat, speeches made,

loved ones honored,

as the priest asks

the assembled to bow

their heads and pray.

Peter Witt lives in Texas.  His poetry has appeared in a variety of online and print publications.

BREATHLESS

by Peter Witt

A judicial inquiry into city officials’ role in the police chokehold death of Eric Garner—and what his family has described as a subsequent cover-up—is slated to begin in mid-July, a Manhattan judge said Tuesday… Gwen Carr and Elisha Flagg-Garner, Garner’s mother and sister, joined by a group of racial justice advocates, filed a petition in 2019 seeking a judicial inquiry into Garner’s death. —The New York Daily News, April 20, 2021. 

We reap what we sow,

more than we know,

breathe in the wonder

of all things that grow,

from children to forests,

from hummingbirds to toads.

In an instant of feckless harm

we raise the alarm that all

things, even mighty or small,

can be recklessly snuffed out,

trampled in the woods,

destroyed by human hands,

ignored by an uncaring heart.

Eric dared to sell cigarettes

on the street, when a cop

on his beat, took him down

off his feet, his life incomplete,

a gentleman who once

planted flowers that

he no longer can smell,

no longer can breathe,

no longer can breathe.

Author's Note: Eric Garner was a horticulturist at the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation before quitting for health reasons.

Peter Witt is a retired university professor living in Texas.

SEVEN BACK BITING BULLETS

by Peter Witt

Bullet One—man trying to open a car door
so he can bring comfort to his children

Bullet Two—cell phones record the images
in disbelief

Bullet Three—kids are in the car,
wondering why their daddy
is lying on the ground, not moving

Bullet Four—policemen coordinate their stories
so that what we see with our eyes
are simply alternative facts to truth

Bullet Five—nights of social unrest
turn to violence, Fox news
preaches law and order

Bullet Six—late night hosts mock police
with not so subtle jabs at their
let's wait to see the facts excuses

Bullet Seven—fathers have another discussion
with their black sons about how to survive
another day in a dying while black world


Peter Witt lives in Texas, writes poetry about a variety of topics including issues of social justice.

1+1+1+1+1+3+1...= 120,000 AND COUNTING

by Peter Witt

ADAM ZYGLIS, THE BUFFALO NEWS, NY

120, 000 U.S. deaths
a big number,
about equal to the population of
Norman (OK),
Columbia (SC) or
Odessa (TX)

Does this get your attention?

To understand 120, 000
let's break it down
to 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1...
you get the idea,

with each 1 representing a life,
a real person,
someone from our community,
someone's family member.

1 was Yu Lihua, an important
Chinese American writer -
wrote mainly late at night,
smoked True menthol cigarettes.

1 was Valentina Blackhorse,
administrative assistant
for the Navajo Nation,
dreamed of one day
leading her tribe.
Family now raises her
one year old daughter.

1 was James Mahoney,
ICU doctor in New York,
cared for patients
through the HIV/AIDS epidemic,
9/11, the swine flu.
Due to retire
stayed onto help,
he saw it as his duty.

Another 1 was Judy Wilson-Griffen,
clinical nurse who cared
for nursing black women, helping
bring future generations
into the community of St. Louis.

Peter Bainum was 1,
aerospace engineer, who taught
at Howard university for 30 years.
sending students onto NASA
and the aerospace industry.

3 were Nicky, John, Leslie Leake,
Nicky planning wedding,
John the family cutup,
Leslie, dotting mother,
grandmother, great grandmother -
died within 20 days of each other
in Washington, D.C.

and not least was 1 Paul Cary
lifelong paramedic and firefighter,
drove 27 hours from Colorado
to the New York epicenter.
He was carried home in a succession
of ambulances, before his colleagues said
we have the watch from here.

1+ 1+ 1+1+1+3+1 until we have 100,000,
the count goes on,
...1 + 1 + 1+1...

120, 000 is a big number
made up of little numbers,
each of whom
we should never forget.


Author’s note: Life stories were taken from "Faces of the Dead," The Washington Post, May 28, 2020.

Peter Witt is a retired University Professor and 2020 Poet Laureate for the International Poetics Foundation.  

SAY HER NAME: BREONNA TAYLOR

by Peter Witt

The Painting of Breonna Taylor was done by Linnea Tobias, a Spokane artist. It is used with the permission of the artist.

Eight bullets riddled her young body
in the dead hours of a Louisville night
she didn't have to die that way

When demanding police reform
remember to say her name
she didn't need to die that way

Police refuse to release their files
yet from all we know to date it's clear
she didn't need to die that way

Search revealed no suspected drugs
men police sought were already in jail
she didn't need to die that way

Another mother is left to ask why
a young EMT was killed in a spray of bullets
she didn't need to die that way

Charged boyfriend with shooting at police
thinking they were home invaders
she didn't need to die that way

Now three officers under investigation
charges against boyfriend dropped, police chief fired
she didn't need to die that way

Add Breonna's name to the list we chant
at endless rallies demanding change
she didn't need to die that way

Peter Witt is a retired University Professor and 2020 Poet Laureate for the International Poetics Foundation.

INSIGNIFICANT RAMBLINGS AT MIDNIGHT

by Peter Witt

My rhetoric went a pettifogging
in the wee hours
talking ad nauseam
to tired eyes
drinking milk
to sooth their ulcers
I crafted pettifoggery
which proved inconsequential
some might say piddling
adding nothing to the dialogue
laying unabsorbed
by already made up minds

I baked a trifling roast
of picayune sour grapes
with no-account measures
of over-stuffed plums
oozing with petty wisdom

I poured an elixir
of concocted alternative truths
into two-bit beakers
considered by all
to be fine Italian whine

Until it was finally over
and I could sleep

more hairsplitting
quibbling
nitpicking
pushed off
until tomorrow

Peter Witt lives in Bryan, Texas, a former university professor, writes poetry and research family history in his retirement.

THE COLOR OF LIES

by Peter Witt



via GIPHY


White lies are weak and promote privilege
Black lies darken the history of a proud people
Brown lies hold back migrants
Yellow lies are evil in intent
Red lies abandon truth for power
Orange lies hold back a nation

All lies matter whatever their color
They twist our perceptions
Divide us, create angst and tears
Demean our welfare
Trap us in darkness

Peter Witt is a retired professor who now writes poetry and family history. He is the uthor of numerous articles and books on youth development, and a biography, through the Texas A&M Press, about the WWII Red Cross service and progressive life of his aunt, Edith Witt.