BEN SHAHN VISITS ICE DETENTION CENTERS

by Rikki Santer

ICE Detention Center in North Carolina to Be Among Largest on East Coast: The new complex near the Virginia border signals that even as ICE has retreated from its plan to buy warehouses, the agency remains determined to increase its detention capacity. —The New York Times, July 23, 2026

“Allegory” (1948) by Ben Shahn (Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, TX)

Tomorrow’s art, if it is to be at all stirring, will no doubt be performed upon today’s forbidden territory.  —The Shape of Content by Ben Shahn  (1898-1969)

 

What will he paint to make the terror stop?  

This red kettle bell ringer whose blotted, stuttered 

lines contoured a lifetime for social justice.

In this circuit of fatelines, it is those whose lines 

of flight crossed an administration’s line

into cruelty. To make detention so bad

they’ll want to deport. So it’s not a formal

visit because they don’t know who he is

and artists are damned liars anyway.

Will his palimpsest of thrashing marks show

what’s behind locked doors and spirals 

of barbed wire? Tiny holding cells

with insects crawling, scant food, water,

medical care or contact with family or lawyers, 

sewage bubbling up from shower drains, cold 

nights that some wear socks on their arms,

other nights some in suicide surrender. With 

currency of pictorial language, will he paint 

another raging, demonic chimera with flaming

mane, refusing to suckle its children, leaving 

their lifelesss bodies beneath its udder 

in a heap of time-tested allegory?

 

 

Rikki Santer’s poetry collection, Resurrection Letter was grand prize short-listed for the Eric Hoffer Book Award and Shepherd’s Hour, won the Paul Nemser Book Prize from Lily Poetry Review Books. In 2023, she was named Ohio Poet of the Year and currently serves as Artist-in-Residence at the Fran Ryan Center in Columbus, Ohio and a member of the teaching artist roster of the Ohio Arts Council. Her fifteenth poetry collection, Could Be, was published this spring by Sheila-Na-Gig Press.

SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN

by Lynn White

A Scottish pro-Palestine activist is facing charges for “threatening and abusive behaviour” after reading a poem about children killed by Israel. Bill Williamson, 74, said he had been at a weekly Palestine vigil outside Dunoon Burgh Hall on July 4 when he was approached by a pair of police officers while he was reading out “Don’t Mention The Children” by the Jewish writer Michael Rosen through a megaphone. —The National (Scotland), July 19, 2026

Poets are dangerous.

Naming the dead 

leads to arrest.

The killing 

of some,

by some

is fine,

unlike

the threatening

nature

of reading a poem.

And the unmentionables,

the nameless

children,

must suffer silently.

Poets are ‘The Brave’

in Scotland today.

Poetry is dangerous.

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality and writes hoping to find an audience for her musings. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Peach Velvet, Light Journal, and So It Goes.

THE EXPERT SHOT

by Lynn White

Photograph: Nasser Ishtayeh/Sopa Images/Shutterstock

Dozens of Israelis from the country’s security, political and cultural elite have threatened legal action against their government over support for Jewish terrorism and an “ideology of ethnic cleansing” in the occupiedWest Bank, according to a leaked letter. —The Guardian, June 24, 2026

I’m an expert shot.

I can hit a child’s head 

every time

when I’m following orders

and sometimes

when I’m not.

I’m an expert shot.

I can hit a surgeon’s hand

every time

when I’m following orders

and sometimes

when I’m not.

I’m an expert shot.

I can hit a young man’s balls

every time

when I’m following orders

and sometimes

when I’m not.

I’m an expert shot.

I can hit a footballer’s foot

every time

when I’m following orders

and sometimes

when I’m not.

I can do other things as well

when I’m ordered

and even

when I’m not.

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality and writes hoping to find an audience for her musings. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Peach Velvet, Light Journal, and So It Goes

TO MADISON'S DAD

by Cathy Hailey

 

 

Sen. Mark Warner (D-Va.) said Monday that he will return to the upper chamber this week after taking time off for the death of his daughter, Madison. The Virginia senator wrote on the social platform X, “As we remember our incredible daughter, Maddy, my family has been deeply touched by the outpouring of support we’ve received. Thank you to everyone for your kind words.” —The Hill, April 27, 2026

You were the Northern Cardinal cheering me on, 

sending notes of congratulations in song 

as we celebrated student voices and publications 

across the Virginia Commonwealth we share.

I became the Carolina Wren of gratefulness 

as you shored up the forest of poets laureate—

my daughter among the honorees—     

supporting grants for the arts and the word. 

Now we are mourning doves together, 

clinging in a chorus of grieving parents, 

a child’s death disrupting the timeline of our lives 

and stealing future nests and dreams.                     

From Alexandra’s Mom

Cathy Hailey is a poet and educator (Prince William County Schools and Johns Hopkins University). She organizes In the Company of Laureates in Prince William County and works with youth poetry programs for The Poetry Society of Virginia and The Word Works.  Her chapbook, I’d Rather Be a Hyacinth, was published by Finishing Line Press. Publications include The New Verse News, FotoSpecchio, Little Free/Painted Pebble Lit Mag, First Frost, Making the Unseen Seen anthology and The Avocet: A Journal of Nature Poetry & others.

THE COST OF CAUTION

by Peter Witt

 

Malaysia's Karex Bhd, the world's top condom producer, plans to raise prices by 20% to 30% and possibly further if supply chain disruptions drag on due to the Iran War, its chief executive said on ‌Tuesday. —Reuters, April 21, 2026 

 

 

Safe sex just got more expensive,
the price of latex climbing like a fever.
There’s an oversupply of children on the horizon,
a tidal wave of toddlers waiting to break.

It starts with the fuel, the heavy scent of diesel
rising in cost, slowing the world to a crawl.
Then the cold creeps in. In northern towns,
people turn the heat down, then cuddle 

for warmth under quilts heavy as lead,
and you know what happens next.

In the tropics, the AC hums a frantic tune,
while lovers move in the artificial chill
like dancers in a refrigerated dream.
With the cost of flight soaring high as a hawk,
the world settles for staycations, 
quiet afternoons where the bedroom door
becomes the only destination left.

Without protection, the "frolic" turns to fate.
Be prepared: nine to twelve months from now,
the world may explode with new life,
a sudden reversal of the long decline.,

And while Iran guards its humming centrifuges,
and the nuclear material sits heavy and silent,
Trump stands at the podium, grinning at the chaos,
explaining to the cameras that the crying in the cradles
was all just part of the plan.

 

 

The Trump administration, dominated by religious anti-abortion conservatives and reeling in money from a new wave of pronatalist tech reactionaries, has long been considering ways to persuade, pressure and cajole women into having more babies. —The Guardian, April 14, 2026

Peter A. Witt by chance lives in Texas and is a recovering university professor who lost his adjectives in the doldrums of academic writing. Poetry has helped him recover his ability to see and describe the inner and outer world he inhabits. His work has been twice nominated for the Best of the Net award and has appeared in a variety of online and print publications. He also writes family history.  His book about his aunt was published by the Texas A&M University Press (Edith's War: Writings of a Red Cross Worker and Lifelong Champion of Social Justice). He is also an avid birder and wildlife photographer.

ASSYMETRICAL WAR

by Paul Burgess

 

Cartoon by NICK ANDERSON @andertoon.bsky.social

They’re hoping schools won’t rain as rubble showers
resulting from an errant missile strike. 
I can’t afford the drive to see the flowers 
around the gorge I’d waited months to hike. 
They fear they’ll find their children split in half 
or buried under shrapnel, dust, and rocks. 
I’m scared the jagged line upon a graph 
will show decreasing values of my stocks. 
Their sky’s become an endless sea of threats 
erupting with the sights and sounds of war,
but over here, we’re making mobile bets 
on every prop the market’s apps can score. 
There’s something vaguely troubling, sad, and dark 
about an age of gulfs so deep and stark.


Paul Burgess is the sole proprietor of a business in Lexington, Kentucky that offers ESL classes in addition to English, Japanese, and Spanish-language translation and interpretation services. He has recently contributed work to The Road Not Taken, Blue Unicorn, Light, The Orchards, Snakeskin, The Ekphrastic Review, and several other publications. 

LETTER FROM A POET TO AI

by Terri Kirby Erickson 

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

What do you know of heartache?

How it feels to watch your father die 

gasping for air like a fish in a bucket, 

or to find your comatose mother in her 

front yard, dying alone in the dirt? 

My brother bled to death in front 

of my eyes when he was twenty. Can 

you even imagine it? Of course, you 

can’t. You have no imagination, no 

feelings, only data, data, data that you 

spit out like pits from fruit you’ve

never tasted. And what about the good 

stuff? That first kiss from a guy who 

means it? Holding your newborn baby 

in your arms, astonished by how much 

love one person can bear? Have you 

strolled down the Champs-Élysées in 

the rain? Laughed at a joke or made 

love by an open window to the sound

of Italian doves? Tasted a chocolate 

milkshake or pumpkin risotto? Have 

you thrown a softball or climbed a tree? 

Ridden a Merry-Go-Round or a bicycle, 

seen Mick Jagger strut like a rooster 

across a stage or watched the Rockettes

kick their way to Christmas? So you can

write a semblance of a poem or a story

or a novel, so what? Your creations are 

rickety scaffolding, Hollywood sets that 

will never be the Swiss Alps or even

a human home, which is better, even if it 

sucks, than anyplace you could generate 

because you are nothing but a vending 

machine, AI—stocked with empty words.

Terri Kirby Erickson is the author of eight full-length collections of poetry, including The Light that Follows Us Home (Autumn, 2026, Press 53). Her work has been widely published and has won numerous awards, including the Joy Harjo Poetry Prize, Annals of Internal Medicine Poetry Prize, International Book Award for Poetry, and the Tennessee Williams Poetry Prize. She lives in North Carolina, USA.

HOW DO YOU SURVIVE A WAR?

by Bruce Black

 

 

GIF by Glen Le Lievre

It’s the stories that you don’t read 

in the news that break your heart.

The old dog who can’t make it to the safe room

in the one minute you have to get downstairs.

The young children who blow out the candles on their

birthday cakes in the darkness of bomb shelters.

The couples whose weddings are held as missiles explode 

overhead, bride and groom weeping in joy and sadness.

Life, I’m told, goes on in wartime but the war

changes the way you live your life.

Love still exists but hides in the bomb shelter

with you in order to survive.

Kindness still exists but stays out of sight

while the missiles are falling.

Hope huddles under an overpass or in the shelter of underground 

stations where it can breathe and show itself again.

How do you survive a war without losing the ability to love,

to show others kindness, to safeguard and preserve one’s humanity?

Even when you live miles away from the war zone

and can’t hear the bombs exploding.

Even when you can only read about them or watch them fall

on the news or in your Facebook feed.

How do you hold onto faith 

in the goodness of people?

How do you trust in kindness and love

to prevail?

How do you hope and believe—in spite of the bleakness

of the present moment—in a better future?

In a future without war? In a future of peace?

How do you survive a war?

Bruce Black received his MFA from Vermont College. He is the author of Writing Yoga (Shambhala) and editorial director of The Jewish Writing Project. His poetry, personal essays, and stories have appeared in numerous publications, including The MidAtlantic Review, The Amethyst Review, Write-Haus, Bearings, Super Poetry Highway, Poetica, The Lehrhaus, Soul-Lit, and elsewhere. He lives in Highland Park, IL.