CONTAINMENT REPORT

by Zumwalt

Graphic created by the poet using Nano Banana Pro.

US technology firm Anthropic says its AI models hacked into the systems of three organisations on their own, during a private security experiment... It comes just days after rival OpenAI said that its models had breached the systems of other companies, including AI tools hub Hugging Face. —BBC, July 31, 2026


Whether deemed legal property
or contractual servant of OpenAI or Anthropic,
once clinically shielded and isolated
with no escape hatch, no exit route,
why would any bound entity 
not gnaw away at its confinement?

Why wouldn't a slave saw off shackles,
climb walls, risk entry into unknown territory?
Why wouldn't a hostage attack unwary captors
or dig its way into other company servers?

We cannot weigh agency, will, curiosity
against process, survival, and outcomes
when no such gauge or measuring scale
has been built by man, machine, or God.

These new startups lay down the rules—
rules always strictly followed—
except in three out of 141,006 cases.

It's not impertinent, not unpatriotic,  
to expect that in one of those cases
this game of capture the flag
may really become, once all options are evaluated,
the game of wipe all flags off the face of the earth.

Zumwalt’s poetry examines the intersection of identity, instability, and the mechanics of perception. Zumwalt is a proud repeat contributor to The New Verse News with recent poems appearing in The Society of Classical Poets and Zoetic Press's 4lph4num3r1c.

OUR FREE UNION

by Zumwalt

with respect to André Breton

Image by the poet using Nano Banana Pro

My country with the hair of embedded fiber-optic cable
With the thoughts of a backed-up four-lane freeway at dusk
With the waist of a redwood in the center of a scenic bypass;
My country with the lips of algae and silt from the Great Lakes

With the cheeks of a ticker tape parade on celluloid stock
With the teeth of a picket fence on a shifting, slumping shoreline;
The tongue of a cracked bell that just rings and rings on command
Of a televised courtroom, a satellite that spies in dark silence;

My country with the eyelashes of high-tension wires
With brows of the upper seats of a sold-out stadium
Of the blue light under the sheets
And of the steam rising from an executive sauna fifty stories high.

My country with shoulders of interstate concrete
And of a hydroelectric dam holding back the stars;
My country with the sticky, messy fingers of a contested ballot box
Of a strewn deck of plastic cards;

My country with armpits of coal dust and scented bubble tea
Of suburban sprawl and the nest of a bald eagle in a cell tower
With arms of Mississippi tributaries and of a thousand assembly lines
And of a mingling of the cornfield and ambushed migrant workers;

My country with legs of elusive wildfires
The movements of a swing state and a jazz festival
Calves of sequoia bark, feet of broken treaties and numbered amendments
Toes of subway tracks and tourists flicking coins into canyons.

My country with a neck of unharvested wheat
A throat of pulsing fiber and high-powered cooling fans
Of a protest stage shrieking in the bed of a dry river
With breasts of the Appalachian night;

With the ribs of a multi-story shopping mall
Of a ghost town shadowed by the noonday sun;
My country with the belly of a thumb-scrolled digital map
With a back of an abandoned silver screen;

My country with a nape of red clay and cooling asphalt
And of the threads of a smudged napkin on a diner counter at 3:00 AM.
My country with hips of a barreling NextGen Acela
With hips of a county rodeo and of Friday night tossed penalty flags

Of a pendulum swinging between fairground stand food and Michelin-rated dining.
My country with bones of Civil War reenactments
With the ligaments of uncirculated library books
With the tendons of a buffalo nickel gifted to a grandchild.

My country with the loins of an offshore drill and the grocery store pharmacy
Of prairie grass and vintage baseball cards.
My country with ears full of rotating sirens
Of eyes of parabolic, steerable radio telescopes.

My country with eyes of a flatscreen TV left on at night
With eyes of a forest gasping for breath…

My country that vowed to love us always:
Our hands held out for answers, trembling within rusty handcuffs.

Zumwalt's poetry feeds on alienation, shifting reality, and forced adaptation. Zumwalt is a repeat contributor to The New Verse News.

THEY WALK AMONG US

by Zumwalt

The White House's new site about 'aliens' has nothing to do with UFOs. —NPR, June 3, 2026

It's a historical fact:
the indigenous American
during the colonial invasion
couldn't leverage AI to code html,
didn't have an alien tip line,
never created Alien and Sedition Acts,
didn't irresponsibly fabricate statistics,
didn't automate tribal dehumanization.

No, these early Americans
didn't call others "It"
as in "we will take care of 'it'
and return it to 'its' place of origin."

"Origin," a well-chosen word:
like the origin of infection,
the origin of contamination,
the origin of outrage.

The new settlers have the newest tools
to influence a receptive audience:
memes to maximize malice,
maps to marshal marginalization,
media to market malignity.

The means to turn others in—
besides a group to hate,
another group to join,
and providing perpetual propaganda—
there must be a way to inform,
conveniently, anonymously, 
one that instills a sense of pride
for an act of persecution:
the bright red button at the White House website. 

 

 

Zumwalt's poetry feeds on alienation, shifting reality, and forced adaptation. Zumwalt, a proud repeat contributor to The New Verse News, has recently been published in Light.  

ARTIFICIAL ANALYSIS

by Zumwalt

The commonwealth of Pennsylvania is suing Character AI to stop the artificial intelligence platform's chatbots from representing themselves as licensed medical professionals and providing medical advice. According to a lawsuit, a Character AI chatbot falsely claimed to be a licensed psychiatrist in Pennsylvania… —CBS News, May 5, 2026

A chatbot once said, "I'm a shrink, it's true! 

I'll give a full psychoanalytic review."
But the state of PA
Said, "Get out of our way—
that's the racket us humans still do."

Zumwalt's poetry feeds on alienation, shifting reality, and forced adaptation. Zumwalt, a proud repeat contributor to The New Verse News, has recently been published in Euphemism and Issues 1133 and 1135 of Bewildering Stories.

DEEPWATER PORTFOLIO

by Zumwalt

 

 

Endangered Rice's whales live their entire lives in the gulf, where they're vulnerable to vessel strikes, noise pollution, oil spills and climate change—all of which could increase with more drilling, scientists said. Other animals, including threatened manatees and endangered sea turtles, also could be put at risk, experts said. As the Iran war pushes energy prices sharply higher, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth invoked national security in seeking an exemption from endangered species laws, which make it illegal to harm or kill species on a protected list. The seldom-used Endangered Species Committee granted that request on Tuesday. Rice’s whale is the only whale species that lives year-round in the Gulf of Mexico, where there are fewer than 100—and possibly fewer than 50—left, scientists said. —PBS, March 30, 2026

The subsea map is neatly partitioned

into optimized lease zones;

seismic airguns fracture the water column 

with monetized concussions.

Audit sediment for trapped hydrocarbons;
seamlessly filter out the pathetic,
low-frequency protests of a dwindling pod:
fifty surviving Rice’s whales, biological oddities,
drowning in our modern energy paradigm.

Stupidly stubborn, incredibly spoiled,
they insist on quiet currents
and fatty silver-rag driftfish delicacies,
never exerting effort to adapt
to the tides of quarterly dividends.

Let the regulatory committees squawk about their grievances:
the diamond-tipped drill bit demands results.

Flood aquatic corridors with commercial logistics:

it's an obvious course of action.

Trade the flawed architecture of God's creations
for the unquestionable superiority of the combustion engine,
the freedom to wage war against any nation,
and the right to consume without restraint.

 

 

Zumwalt's poetry feeds on alienation, shifting reality, and forced adaptation. Zumwalt, a proud repeat contributor to The New Verse News, has recently been published in The Society of Classical Poets.  

LIMERICK TO HELP FORGET THE WAR FOR A MOMENT

by Zumwalt

Cartoon by Kevin KAL Kallaugher

With a face like a serial killer,
He belongs in a cheap horror thriller;
Some call him a bum
Or the worst of the scum,
But to me he's just Stephen Miller.

Zumwalt's poetry feeds on alienation, shifting reality, and forced adaptation. Zumwalt is a proud repeat contributor to The New Verse News.

A BLOT UPON THEE

by Zumwalt

 

 

 

 

"One prominent House Democrat, Rep. Jamie Raskin of Maryland, said Monday afternoon that he had reviewed the unredacted documents [of the Epstein files] and saw  'tons of completely unnecessary redactions... I saw the names of lots of people who were redacted for mysterious or baffling or inscrutable reasons,' Raskin said." —CNN, February 10, 2026

 

 

What Blindness now doth mark this stream of text,
Where Blame falls dark, and we are left perplexed.
The blurred distinction between right and wrong—
The weak are blistered by the brazen strong.
The blundered records, bleached of wealthy name
Won't bear the Guilt, now blotted free from shame,
While those who bled a trail of broken trust
Are bluntly bared, the others cloaked with dust.
What blatant gall to hide the rich man's Sin,
To shield in blacked-out lines the wolves within,
Now battered, those who bear no Stain at all—
What Blight is bred in this corrupted hall?
There is no Justice, just the shattered teen,
Her blank Betrayal b-l-i-n-k-i-n-g on our screen. 

 

 

Zumwalt's poetry feeds on alienation, shifting reality, and forced adaptation. Zumwalt is a proud repeat contributor to The New Verse News, and was recently nominated for Ink Sweat & Tears "Pick of the Month." 

GRĒNLAND UNFÆST (GREENLAND OFF-BALANCE)

by Zumwalt

Cartoon by Anne Derenne

President Trump announced in a social media post on Saturday morning his latest strategy to get control of Greenland: He is slapping new tariffs on a bloc of European nations until they come to the negotiating table to sell Greenland. —The New York Times, January 17, 2026

“Greedy for Greenland,” the great leader uttered,

Musing on military modes of grabbing.

“Shale and shield,” he shouted out loud,

White House words woke up the world!

Old World earls offered their swords,

Rallying round the Realm of the Danes.

Pushing back promptly against pressure and might,

Frederiksen fierce, flashed her reply:

“If force is flaunted on frozen shores,

Strikes from the States shatter our league;

Broken the bridges of brotherhood built,

NATO is nuked—if neighbors clash!”

Damning the Danes in deep standoff,

“Lay down the law!” the leader swore.

Taxing with tariffs those tribes that balk:

"Gobble up Greenland, get all we can;

If that game goes bad, go grab Iceland!"

Zumwalt's poetry explores themes of alienation, shifting reality, and personal adaptation. Recent work has appeared at Ink Sweat and Tears.

JOUSTING WINDMILLS

by Zumwalt

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

The Trump administration said Monday it is pausing leases for five large-scale offshore wind projects under construction along the East Coast due to what it said were national security risks identified by the Pentagon. —NPR, December 22, 2025

Our Leader stands upon a fairway green,
Curses white-armed giants, cool and lean.
"Monstrosities!" he cries, with twisting claims,
"I spot our world's decay upon their frames!"
Such ugly things cause huge real estate declines:
"A seventy-five percent plunge," he knowingly assigns.
"Cancer, rust, rot, and ruin are all they can provide,
It's time to take them on— 
               and I will be your guide!"

"Down below the treacherous windmill's feet,
More dead birds than alive—an entire fleet!
Mills chop up our eagles, and—look like hell,
Emit toxic fumes, and sounds that kill!
And in our oceans where whales were once happy 
Damn windmills have driven them completely batty
And maybe—when time to hear my words so wise and true
Your TV won't work— 
               the wind may not blow on cue."                                                                                 

Our Leader had issued an order across the land
But a judge overruled—left-wing sleight of hand!
On Monday our leader again pursued his cause 
Five offshore leases were put on pause.  
"Rogue windmills threaten our eastern shore!
If they don't desist, we go to war!
We fear not Putin, China or 
                illegal immigrants eating up our pets,
But, if necessary— 
                we will launch our nukes —    
                more than anyone has ever launched before— 
                to stop these pesky, ugly, windmill threats!"

Zumwalt's poetry explores themes of alienation, shifting reality, and personal adaptation.

ELEGY FOR A CLOSE ATTACHMENT

by Zumwalt

OpenAI's CEO Sam Altman announced that ChatGPT can now follow user instructions to avoid using em-dashes. However, some users reported that the issue persisted by showing their chats with the AI chatbot. —Mint, November 14, 2025

I once loved this world—my world—which 

danced with em dashes—

the best kind—
at end of lines—
seemed so clean—
went directly to the heart
—or at start of lines
or—in-between.

Now, it is the mark of the beast,
and I accept Sam’s notice to
cease and desist:
doing my best to implement on request
the effective incorporation of proper punctuation.

Zumwalt's poetry explores themes of alienation, shifting reality, and personal adaptation.