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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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

Monday, December 05, 2022

GREAT MEN

by Kyle Gervais




Consider greatness.
A great man must have a following, and this is true,
as death, of Trump, who pulls like a fear-blind buffalo
the pressed herd onward, downward, over the land’s edge
to an imagined security. Kanye too is great,
is he not, in his crazy rage, and a yearning
turning, centrifuge fast, to an ever darker love?
But Elon’s greatness outpaces even these, demonstrably, incontrovertibly, 
one hundred twenty million 
massed numbers following him where he flutters, of all
such vast images that are not good, but great,
today the greatest.


Kyle Gervais teaches Classical Studies at the University of Western Ontario in London, where he lives with his husband and two cats. He has poems in ArionCanadian Literature, Classical OutlookEunoia Review, The New Verse News, Litbreak MagazinePRISM international, and elsewhere.

Monday, June 21, 2021

FIRE THE NEXT TIME

by George Salamon


“Severe heat and drought the hallmarks of a changing west… Unless people drastically reduce planet-warming emissions, the world faces a future of increasingly frequent and severe environmental disasters: coastal flooding, mass extinctions, deadly hurricanes, uncontrollable wildfires.” —The Washington Post, June 20, 2021. Photo: Boats sit unused in Lake Oroville, Calif., on Tuesday. A severe water level drop in the lake has forced about 130 houseboats to be removed. (Melina Mara / The Washington Post)


The worship of money
and machines made us
vile and ugly, nobility
and beauty live in
inanimate things, in
flowing waters and in
moving clouds, in
animals of the wild
green and blue depth,
we sold our souls to
delusions that kept the
people marching down
to nothing at the end of
their dream.
A poet wrote that he'd
the future." The future
has arrived, and we'll 
burn in its fire.


George Salamon lives and writes in St. Louis, MO.