The New Verse News presents politically progressive poetry on current events and topical issues.
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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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.
“Territory” by David Chorlton Published August 12, 2022 “New Fossils” by Dustin Michael Published September 23, 2022 “Crystal Ball” by Laura Rodley Published November 11, 2022
Tanks roll in again, wheels oiled by the slick substances
of nightmare. Across the street, thousands of miles away,
the flower stall opens this morning, spreads its wares
all the way to the curb. Yellow tulips, blue hydrangea.
The flower seller, Ukrainian, must know her business,
as she knows her politics. Once I thought she was
Russian. I’ve eaten my mistake again and again, buying
her flowers in all seasons: poinsettia, Easter lilies—
expensive but they survive beyond the supermarket brand.
Around her shop the stores have been looted of jewels,
of toothbrushes and toilet paper, but no one has stolen
her orchids, their cat mouths yawning, or the tiny cacti
in small clay vessels a child might hold up, beg for,
as if she could carry home a star. I don’t have words
for the shopkeeper. I want to bury my face in her shoulder
and weep or cry out. Instead, we talk about how dried
protea blooms can last. You string the fresh ones upside
down. Like bodies of tyrants, I think, in the marketplace.
Susan Gubernat's most recent book The Zoo at Nightwon the Prairie Schooner prize and was published by the University of Nebraska Press. She lives in San Francisco.
Lead that grazes the mouth of a child, bloodies her.
Lead she drinks down from her little cup of water.
Lead spewed at one another instead of spit
(though the spit too finds its target).
Lead they load, reload, load, reload
Lead soaring like an earthbound bird emboldened
by flight. Lead sinking to the bottom of a pan
boiling away on a kitchen fire. But can
a mother ever make the bath safe again?
As lead rains hard, can she throw her body in
the path of the boy being eyed by lead,
stalked by lead, prey to the beast of lead?
The lead in the man’s pockets weighs him
down like coins he thinks he must spend
to grow lighter. He pans the river for lead,
curses crowds with his shower of lead.
Underground, the dark pipes groan with lead.
Above, the air clamps shut with a seam of lead.
O lead, where is thy sting? There
and there and there. Here.
Susan Gubernat’s latest book The Zoo at Nightwon the Prairie Schooner Book Award from the University of Nebraska Press. Her work has appeared in many publications. She lives and works in the SF Bay Area.
