STOPPING

by Gus Peterson

after “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost

 

Whose will this was I think I know. 

Their city high, on a high hill though. 

So I do not expect they as yet fear

what’s swept beneath the snow. 

Their little minds must think it queer, 

our talk of stopping death before death nears. 

Between lacquered lane, a slice of pie

October’s moon shone, darkest of the year. 

Can we deafen profit’s jingled, quarterly ring? 

Make ourselves anew? Cease blood’s sing?  

However passing’s bullet passes us by…  

one way, one path to changing things.

Step into these woods, lonely and deep.

Promises unkept, promises to keep. 

Oh, how many rounds before sleep?

Too much snow for me to sleep. 

Gus Peterson lives in Maine.

NOTES ON LEAVING A HOUSE AFTER 50 YEARS

by Earl J. Wilcox

“Puff of Wind,” painting by Tonya Schultz.

By some ancients’ reckonings

Five decades are a puff in the wind

A tick in the tock of time.

Summing up by comparison needs

Too many tropes to catalogue—

As Milton or Whitman might—

A few more than Miz Dickinson

Did nearing the end of her years

In the same house, rooms familiar

To her as butterflies or gentle poots.

My leaving this house feels more

Like Frost traveling to Florida

Near wintertime or south to Boston

On occasion—journeys which

Beckon or intrigue may satisfy

The urge to know what lies

Ahead more than gone before.

 

 

While it is not true that Earl Wilcox has been sending poems to The New Verse News for 50 years, he has contributed about two dozen in the past 15 years.

DREAM OR NIGHTMARE

by George Held

1.

 

Is this dream or nightmare

from which we awaken?

 

Do we live still in the age of Frost

or T***p? The answer is debatable,

 

But our destiny is unknown: do we have

the strength to preserve our ever-

 

challenged democracy, the republic

for which "Old Glory" stands?

 

2.

 

The old, glorious words Hemingway

declared dead in The Great War

 

need renewal or replacement,

but how replace “honor,” “integrity,”

 

“truth”—just uttering that word

in the Senate after the Insurrection

 

earned Romney applause— when “disgrace,”

“fake,” and “disaster” still ring in our ears

 

and lesser poets fill Inauguration Day

with shibboleth and cliché?

3.

 

“The Gift Outright,” while not the poet’s best,

still provides us food for thought—

 

“The land was ours before we were the land’s…”—

 

as we waken from the four-year dream

or nightmare.

George Held is a longtime contributor to TheNewVerse.News.

THINKING OF FROST, WALLS, AND THE PANDEMIC LONELINESS OF THE OLD

by Darrell Petska

Neighbor, on his side, calls over
to the scratchings of my rake:
“How are you faring?”

“We’re managing.” My voice
clears that slatted wooden fence
neither he nor I erected
nor wished taken down.

Beyond that slender chink:
the most I’ve seen of him for days.
Hale youth to seasoned elder:
“Do you have all you need?”

Opposite that fence a decade,
we’ve seldom spoken—different lives,
yet on this day quite cordially:
“Of goods, yes. Family and friends we miss.”

“Same here,” and “Give a shout
for anything you need. We’ll help.”
Brent. His name I learned
through a postal worker’s error.

“Thank you,” and “Stay well.”
Then back we turn to our private cares,
abiding by a fence unseen, cruel wall
we raise between us as we go.


Darrell Petska, a Wisconsin writer, misses the hugs of his children and grandchildren.

BREACHING WALL

by Gil Hoy

The viability of the Trump administration's border wall has come under fire as all eight prototype structures have failed at least one breach test. The eight border wall prototypes in Otay Mesa, California were assembled in early 2017 after an executive order directed the Department of Homeland Security to build the border wall. The news comes as the administration prepares to potentially declare a national emergency to jumpstart construction of the wall along the U.S.’s southern border. —ArchDaily, January 14, 2019

There is many
a living thing

That doesn’t love
a wall.

Like hunters, rabbits
and yelping dogs

Like the pine trees
and apple orchards

Like human beings—
Who are not cows—

And quirky elves don’t
like them much either.

The frozen-ground-
swells beneath can crack

Even the strongest stone.
And there are many gaps

Between the stones
nonetheless. You can

Rub your fingers rough
and raw by placing
and replacing

The fallen stones.
Mr. President:

I see you walking in the darkness.

An old, rough savage-stone

Firmly grasped in each
armed hand.

Like an aged hypothermic man
who is lost

and cannot find his way

Like your crotchety, stubborn
neighbor beyond the hill.

Mr. President:

Spring is coming.
Let’s walk the lines:

Remove the walls
separating pines
and trees bearing fruit.

Pull up the stakes,
fill in the ditch, until
not a trace remains.

Mr. President:        
Forget your father

He was so very wrong.

Good walls, like selfish men,
make bad neighbors.


Gil Hoy is a Boston poet and semi-retired trial lawyer who studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. Hoy’s poetry has appeared most recently in Chiron Review, TheNewVerse.News, Ariel Chart, Social Justice Poetry, Poetry24, Right Hand Pointing/One Sentence Poems, I am not a silent poet, The Potomac, Clark Street Review and the penmen review.

DIRECTING WALLS

by Gil Hoy

Image source: Banksy FB Revolution

Someone there is who loves a wall,
Setting stones on top of stones,

To keep invading wetbacks out,
To keep glass pearls secure.

He lets our Southern neighbors know--
In blaring braggadocio--

That they must pay to build his wall,
To keep it working as they go.

“But the world’s seen far too many walls,”
Says the frozen-ground-swell beneath,

Says the giggling confusing elf---
Who sees a wall,

No more a wall---
On a farm, no more a farm,

In a country, no more a country.
Someone there is who doesn't love a wall.


Gil Hoy is a Boston trial lawyer who is currently studying poetry at Boston University, through its Evergreen program, where he previously received a BA in Philosophy and Political Science. Hoy received an MA in Government from Georgetown University and a JD from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. Hoy started writing poetry two years ago. Since then, his work has appeared in Third Wednesday, The Write Room, The Eclectic Muse, Clark Street Review, TheNewVerse.News , Harbinger Asylum, Soul Fountain, The Story Teller Magazine, Eye on Life Magazine, Stepping Stones Magazine, The Penmen Review, To Hold A Moment Still, Harbinger Asylum’s 2014 Holidays Anthology, The Zodiac Review, Earl of Plaid Literary Journal, The Potomac, Antarctica Journal, The Montucky Review and elsewhere.

ICE AND FIRE

by James Penha

after Frost . . . after Francis . . . after Charleston

Some see America destroyed by hate;
others forecast a torrid flood as its fate.

I feel its glacial faults cracking 'long lines
      blue and red and black and white,
thence to implode and dissolve, O Columbia!
      into the ocean, a gem out of sight.


James Penha edits The New Verse News.

TWO ROADS

by Judith Terzi

“You don’t have to read Robert Frost to know. You have to live life to know that the difficult path is usually the one less traveled, but it will make all the difference for the future of my country, the security of the Middle East and the peace of the world, the peace, we all desire.” --Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s address to the United States Congress, March 3, 2015

after Robert Frost

Two roads diverged on a snowy morning
on Congress' floor. The travelers could not
journey together along each path, one trodden
with storm of angst & warrior remains.
The other looked about the same, but hope
was sprinkled along the edges of the trail,
& sunlight could be seen streaming through
the fabric of oak & pine & fir. The travelers
listened to the vibes of each path, cupped
seasoned hands to ears to hear the trials
of trees, the brag of wind, the bend of earth.
Now some preferred the leitmotif that emerged
from one––a lighter tune they heard, say
a Mozart flute. They chose that road, skipped
stones into a mountain lake, while Spanish
broom stretched yellow necks toward
rain-swept sky. And two hummingbirds
tangoed overhead as if to say: "You've taken
this road, & it will make all the difference."


Judith Terzi is a poet and educator living in Southern California. She is the author of Sharing Tabouli, Ghazal for a Chambermaid, and most recently, If You Spot Your Brother Floating By (Kattywompus). Her poems appear widely in online and print journals and are included in anthologies such as Forgetting Home: Poems about Alzheimer's (Barefoot Muse), Times They Were A-Changing: Women Remember the 60s & 70s (She Writes), and Wide Awake: The Poets of Los Angeles and Beyond (Beyond Baroque). 

ROBERT FROST POSTS ON FACEBOOK

by Earl J. Wilcox

Sat down on back porch
This morning after feeding
Chickens, like yesterday.
Watched morning mist
Circle round apple orchard,
Listened long to lonesome
Dove coo its mate. Two lines
Of new poem came to me
During a long night. “Whose
Woods these are I think I know,”
But next line does not seem right,
Still I post it here for interest
To see if anyone likes it.
“His house is in the village
Though.” Now if only I had
A few more lines to go with
These two I might make a poem.
Probably won’t come to much,
Yet the Rhode Island Red Rooster
Liked the lines when I said them
To him. What do you think?
I will see if I can get more
Started while I walk around farm.
Cloudy and cold here in Vermont
Today. Could even snow. Rob.


Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.