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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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

Thursday, August 06, 2026

THE LAND REMEMBERS THEIR NAMES

by Ahmed Dremly 





The ground was silent that morning.


Not empty—

silent.


It carried beneath its chest

the weight of a family,

the dreams of children,

the hands of mothers,

the footsteps of those

who once walked upon it.


The sky stood above Gaza,

wide and uncertain,

as if even the heavens

did not know where to place their grief.


After one thousand and ninety-nine days,

the earth opened her hands.


Not to take them,

but to return them.


One hundred and twelve souls

from the Abu Sharia family

rose from beneath the rubble—

doctors,

engineers,

mothers,

fathers,

children,

infants.


A whole family

written back into the memory of the land.


Gaza did not receive bodies that day.


She received names.


A mother of five stood on a rooftop,

holding flowers,

candies,

and the tears she could not hide.


She called to the sky:


Long live the martyrs.


A child who lost both parents

looked through a broken window.


The world was shattered before his eyes,

yet his voice remained:


For you, Palestine.


A man who survived

the death of everyone he loved

carried the remains of his family—

bones, photographs, memories.


He carried a universe

inside his wounded hands.


And he said:


The martyrs do not die.


An uncle who buried fifteen hearts

raised his voice:


Allah Akbar.


Not as a farewell,

but as a promise.


This land knows our footsteps.

This soil knows our names.

We live here.

We die here.


The streets of Gaza filled again.


Not only with mourning,

but with thousands of hands

reaching for the flag-covered bodies,

fighting for the honor

of carrying those

who carried Gaza before them.


Coffee was poured beside graves.


Stories were shared beside ruins.


And every wound

opened another memory.


Today,

the rubble has finally spoken.


It returned the last words

of those who rested beneath it.


Those who protected the earth,

and were protected by it.


Today, Gaza wears her grief

like an ancient dress.


And the land whispers:


They were never buried beneath me.


They were planted.


And I will remember their names.



Author’s note: The poem was inspired by the funeral held today for 112 members of the Abu Sharia family in Gaza, whose remains were recovered from beneath the rubble more than two years after they were killed. 308 members of the family were killed, while the remains of only 112 have been recovered. They were my neighbors, and I knew many of them personally.



Ahmed Dremly is a journalist from Gaza whose writings have appeared in Middle East Eye, Mondoweiss, The Electronic Intifada, The Intercept, Al-Monitor, and other publications. He is currently studying in Italy after leaving Gaza in May 2026.




Sunday, June 21, 2026

WORLD CUP

by Amy Jean Bailey




The stadium is filling with red

and white striped shirts, a swimming

zigzag. What was left of the potential

rain has melted now into pure light. 

Voices in unison singing 

Seven Nation Army 

by The White Stripes could be heard 

by a barista all the way in Lower

Queen Anne and I want so much

to love it here—the depth 

of our coffee, the sparkle in our sea. 

I want to point to the eagle’s nest 

by the walking path, maybe even have you 

over, where I’ll slide open the closet door

to display my colorful collection

of rainboots of varying heights,

before I gesture towards the Locks 

and explain how salmon 

swim upstream and might still make it—

as if they didn’t need a ladder,

as if we don’t.



Amy Jean Bailey is a poet and educator who has a PhD in anthropology from UCLA. Her poems appear or are forthcoming in The Timberline Review, Clockhouse, in the anthology The Sonoran Desert: A Literary Field Guide (University of Arizona Press), and elsewhere. Born and raised in Chicago, and then living all over the U.S., she now resides with her dog in Seattle, Washington.

Thursday, October 30, 2025

LOGIC DOWN THE DRAIN

by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons


Burcu Yesilyurt said enforcement officers told her it was illegal to dispose of the remnants of her coffee in a road gully. —BBC, October 22, 2025


The morning joe
That you don't drink,
At home, will flow
Down through your sink
To later meet
The coffee poured
Straight down a street-
Drain when you board
Your bus. Their slime
Pollutes the same,
But one's a crime,
One gets no blame...
The law's designs
Are out of bounds—
For coffee fines,
There are no grounds!


Mike Mesterton-Gibbons is a Professor Emeritus of Mathematics at Florida State University who has returned to live in his native England. His poems have appeared in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, the Creativity Webzine, Current Conservation, the Ekphrastic Review, Grand Little Things, Light, Lighten Up Online, The New Verse News, Oddball Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, WestWard Quarterly, and other journals.

Wednesday, October 15, 2025

THE BACK ALLEY

by Shirin Jabalameli


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


The Moon
picks up a broom
and sweeps the sky clean of war’s shadows.

My dream carries me
through a back alley,
wearing a coat of dust
and a backpack of unfinished paintings.

The rusty cart on the corner
rattles with the echo of nameless days,
and the wind has tucked
passersby’s whispers
into the pockets of rain.

I, with a hand
that may not even be mine,
stir the silhouettes of missiles
into my coffee.

At the bottom of the cup,
a world exhausted by politics
fills and empties
the bowl of “what now?”

And when nothing ever ends,
only
the shape of staying changes.

---

Shirin's Poem in its Original Persian:

کوچه پشتی

ماه،
جارو را برمی‌دارد
و آسمان را از سایه‌های جنگ می‌روبد.

خوابم، مرا از کوچه‌ی پشتی عبور می‌دهد
با لباسی از غبار
و کوله‌ای از نقاشی‌های نیمه‌کاره.

گاریِ زنگ‌زده‌ی سرِ کوچه
صدای رفت‌و‌آمدِ روزهای بی‌نام را حمل می‌کند،
و باد، بوی پچ‌پچِ عابران را
در جیبِ باران پنهان کرده است.

من، با دستی
که شاید از آنِ من نباشد،
تصویرِ موشک‌ها را در قهوه‌ام هم می‌زنم.

تهِ فنجان،
جهانِ ذله از سیاست
کاسه‌ی "چه کنم" را
پُر و خالی می‌کند.

و آنگاه که
هیچ چیز تمام نمی‌شود،
فقط
شکلِ ماندن‌ها عوض می‌شود.

شیرین جبل عاملی
۲۱ مهر ۱۴۰۴


Shirin Jabalameli is an Iranian poet, painter, photographer, and writer. She has authored Crows Rarely Laugh, Apranik, and 101 Moments. Her latest illustrated poetry collection, 25 Fell from the Frame, was recently published. Her poems have appeared in international journals including Braided Way Magazine (USA), The Lake (UK), The New Verse News (USA), and Poetry Super Highway (USA), where she was selected as Poet of the Week.