Guidelines



Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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

Tuesday, June 15, 2021

YOU ENTER HIS HOUSE

by Nathan Porceng




U.S. Roman Catholic bishops are due this week to discuss whether politicians, including President Joe Biden, should receive Communion while supporting abortion and LGBTQ rights, a debate that has divided the clergy and laid bare internal cultural rifts. —Reuters, June 15, 2021


and his air smells funny
and his art looks funny
and his wine tastes funny
but you try not to offend him,
for you’re dining in his house.

You exchange pleasantries.
You catch up a bit.
You ask about Gabe,
and Michael
and all the other boys
from yard days past
and he tells you they’re
fine,
even made a bit of money,
though they don’t come
around as often as they should,
and you try not to offend him,
for you’re dining in his house.

And it’s Eastertime,
or Christmastime,
or all another holy time.
He asks if it’s been a rough year?
“You don’t look so well.”
“You used to be so giving.”
You swill your wine.
You swallow.
“Yes, it has been a rough year,”
you spit,
but you try not to offend him
for you’re dining in his house.

He tells you
he likes you 
better in person.

You tell him
you like him 
better by mail.

He nods.

He appreciates your candor.

He makes a little joke.
He tells you he has it on the BEST of authorities
that this is FINALLY the year
that your team
(Panthers, Pirates, Penguins... )
will win it all.

In years past,
you’d fake a smile,
and try not to offend him,
but you can’t even manage
that.

He plays you a song.

He ushers you out.

You leave his house,
feeling emptier for it.


Nathan Porceng is a Washington-based poet, songwriter, and submariner. As part of the band Bridge Out, he won first place at the 2014 Northeastern Songwriter Festival in Brookfield, CT. He firmly believes Joe Strummer gave us all the tools we need to save the world.

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

NOT WANTING TO TALK POLITICS WITH THE CHECK-OUT GUY

by Patty Mosco Holloway





I came to buy just milk and whole grain bread.
The chips, the dips, free samples make me sick.
No chocolate kale for me until I'm dead--
Was that a voice in Health Aids I heard click?
"Have you tried ever in your life a 'cleanse'?"
Please, take me out of here, just let me pay.
It's more than my shy colon she offends--
Oh, no! Now Check-Out Guy cites the Debates.
I don't care what you think about Herr Trump,
won't listen to your "done is Hillary."
It's mum I'll be, on my own log, a bump.
But do tell Ted my bread is gluten-free.
   Now hurry, bag my stuff. I'm in a rush!
   "At least Mark Rubio is nice," you gush.


Patty Mosco Holloway is a writing teacher.  She lives in Denver, Colorado. She often "hears" the starts of poems in conversations.  Advice:  Don't talk to her.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

CYBER LIPS

by Susan Vespoli

            (after Lucille Clifton)


....................../´¯/)
....................,/¯../
.................../..../
............./´¯/'...'/´¯¯`·¸
........../'/.../..../......./¨¯\
........('(...´...´.... ¯~/'...')
.........\.................'...../
..........''...\.......... _.·´
............\..............(
..............\.............\...


watch out for online lips.
they need no face
to move around on.
they speak in virtual blips
from keyboard
cell phone screens
they tweet and twitter
spit. those lips

are chicken clicks
they snap their words like whips
flip posts like middle finger.


Susan Vespoli
lives mainly in Phoenix, but sometimes in Prescott, with her partner and dogs. She is a teacher, poet, and born-again-bicyclist.