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." 

COLOR OF THE YEAR

by Pepper Trail

“A shade of white will be the defining color of the next year.” —The New York Times, December 4, 2025

 

“A lofty white 

whose aerated 

presence acts 

as a whisper 

     of calm 

          and peace 

               in a noisy world.”

 

Let us blank

out all the noise

the alien rhythms

the clashing, chaotic colors

of the needful, striving world

 

The many shades of browns and blacks

(containing all colors, muddled, mongrel)

are too confusing to distinguish

so let them be bleached or thrown away

leaving us uniform, monotone, pure

 

This is our ideal: nothing at all 

no mark upon your page

no disturbance in your minds

the white of the vaporous clouds

of the snow, burying all in stillness

 

Do not call it blindness

it is merely the absence of anything to see

and so this is our choice for the Color of the Year

and the next, and the next, this white

ever more perfect, more perfectly… nothing

Pepper Trail is a poet and naturalist based in Ashland, Oregon. His poetry has appeared in Rattle, Atlanta Review, Spillway, Kyoto Journal, Cascadia Review, and other publications, and has been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net awards. His collection Cascade-Siskiyou was a finalist for the 2016 Oregon Book Award in Poetry.

WHEN FREEDOM'S SAKE IS MUCH THE SAME AS HEAVEN'S

by David L Williams 

after "Sonnet 19: On His Blindness,” by John Milton

“And that one Talent which is death to hide . . .”

Dave Granlund cartoon originally published March 7, 2014!

When I consider how our country’s spent

In darkness by near half its population,

I fear that our once enviable nation,

With lost regard for civil government,

Is now deprived of any common sense

And blindly on the road to self damnation

Unless we find a way to restore reason,

Ceasing to stoke these vain and would-be tyrants,

I have to ask myself if this was meant

By founders who insisted all are equal

And fought a war to prove that this is true,

Defeating enemies who stood against

The principle that all our sovereign people

Are equally entitled to self rule.

David L Williams is recently retired from 34 years teaching high school English in Lincoln, Nebraska, his primary residence since he went to college there in the 80s. His poetry has mostly been written since May of 2021, and he has only recently started trying to publish, with success already in several publications, including The New Verse News. 

OH, SAY CAN YOU SEE

by Janet Leahy

Photo Illustration by Lyne Lucien/The Daily Beast

the line at the border
families with little children.
They do not look like terrorists,
do not look like thugs,
they do not look like really bad people.
They do look tired
and hungry
and worried.
They wrap the baby
in a blanket of hope,
rock the toddler
in a loving embrace.
After long days and dark nights
they are here on the bridge
of promise.
Can you see the young boy
on his father’s shoulders,
the child holding tight
to her mother’s hand?
Can you see . . .
Can you . . .

Janet Leahy is a member of the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets. Her work has been published in the Wisconsin Poets’ Calendar, Midwest Prairie Review, and online at My Daily Poem, TheNewVerse.News, and Blue Heron. She has published two collections of poetry. She enjoys working with a host of poets in the Milwaukee-Waukesha area.

THE SEASON OF BLAME

by Sister Lou Ella Hickman

                                         
the season of blame has arrived
                                returning as it often does after great loss
                                when it does
the earth cracks with fault lines
                                there are no sunrises      no cooling breeze
                                only the daily scorching
                                that blinds almost everything
                                these days will pass
                                as they have before
                                when heat’s unholy memory slips away
                                only to return
                                even more frightened and angry
                             
                                                               

Sister Lou Ella Hickman is a member of the Sisters of the Incarnate Word and Blessed Sacrament. She was an all level teacher and a librarian. Presently she is a freelance writer and a spiritual director. Her poems and articles have been widely published in numerous magazines. One of her poems was published in the anthology After Shocks: Poetry of Recovery for Life-Shattering Events edited by Tom Lombardo. Her first book of poetry she: robed and wordless, published by Press 53, was released in the fall.

ON THEIR BLINDNESS

by Frederick L. Shiels





 When I consider how my days are spent
 In this marbled city full of plots
 And my people’s legislation rots
 As Republicans withhold consent.
 To all my noble programs evident
 To any voter with discerning eye
 And reporter knowing all’s awry
 Guns, wages, energy’s predicament
 Cry for the modest changes that I seek,
 More schools and medicine for ev’ry child
 That this great nation might enlightened grow
 And healthy like a mighty garden sleek
 With water from my policies unique
 If only Congress could that wisdom know.


Frederick L. Shiels, Ph.D., is Professor Emeritus, Political Science and History, at Mercy College in Dobbs Ferry, NY.