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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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

Saturday, May 14, 2016

CARLY'S POLITICAL ACHIEVEMENTS

by Richard Hacken


Image by DonkeyHotey


Ms. Carly Fiorina once ran Hewlett-Packard,
Reaping pay package privileges stock-option lacquered.
Critics say she ran HP straight down to the bottom,
And the Board sent her packing four months after autumn.

With executive branch as next target for Carly,
Sure, she lost the primary, but proved herself snarly.
So Cruz tabbed her for VP and heaped her with praise,
And at that announcement she fell off the stage.

After Carly’s VP gig in utero aborted,
A new world record for her was reported:
She had set a new standard of debacle perfection
By losing two times in the selfsame election.


Richard Hacken, an ultraviolet Soul politically trapped in an infrared State, has never been in Hackensack.  A librarian and poet, he has translated the poetry of Galsan Tschinag, a Mongolian poet who writes in German.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

LES MISERABLES

by Edmund Conti


Image source: DonkeyHotey


Speaker of the House
Keeper of the zoo
Hoping I can please ‘em
The forty-one or two.
Obamacare, goodbye
Planned Parenthood, so long
Doing nothing here at all
How can we go wrong?
Everybody loves the Right Wing
Your good old buddy friend
We’ll do what pleases just us few
You’ll get it in the end.


Edmund Conti is an impartial observer of the idiots in Congress.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

ANYONE CAN BE SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE

by Edmund Conti 





Greetings, friends, each single seeker
Of that position known as Speaker.
If you can read this, then you’re able.
Just leave your street cred on the table.
Said credentials being this—
You’re a person, hit or miss.
Male, female, or a tran
(frankly we’d prefer a man).
A technocrat, a horse’s rump,
We’ll even take you, Donald Trump.
We’d much prefer your lovely spouse
Or Donald Duck or Mickey Mouse.
You can be the Prez, no lie.
Succeed yourself if you should die.
A man of quality and fashion
Or, failing that, just any Kardashian.
The spot is open, come and get it
Even though you will regret it.
Enjoy your moment in the sun
Working on stuff that won’t get done.


When Edmund Conti speaks no one listens. That's why he writes.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

LAST LUNCH MENU

by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer



An original menu from the last first-class lunch served aboard the ill-fated Titanic has sold for $88,000 to a private collector at an online auction. —CNN, October 2, 2015


For the last lunch on the Titanic,
the kitchen served corned beef and dumplings.
We know because one of the men
who was saved in a lifeboat
kept his menu with him,
and over a hundred years later
someone bought the old scrap of paper
for eighty-eight thousand bucks.

My friends, just in case I die tonight,
and just in case it’s a dramatic,
exciting death, I want you to know
that for lunch I had Lay’s potato chips
and a Caribbean Spice smoothie
with protein powder. I didn’t
save the menu, I know, what a bummer.
But it’s written in chalk on the wall
at Heidi’s Brooklyn Deli, and if you take
a picture, well, somewhere down the centuries
it might just make a fortune for your kids.

Unlike that lucky survivor, I don’t happen to have
a Turkish bath ticket I can send you.
Too bad. I would have loved one today.
But perhaps at auction
you can make a few extra bucks
if you throw in the knowledge
that the sunflowers were in full bloom,
and the cottonwood trees were golden,
though it was already October 3.

The whole sale would be more profitable
if only I were more famous. Sorry.
Oh yes. Two pickles. I nearly forgot to mention.
They throw them in free with the kids’ sandwiches,
but those pickles might be worth a lot to you.
I hope not many others will die in this disaster,
but know that I am aware as I write this
that there is a sweet danger brewing,
and there are no life boats.


Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer lives in Southwest Colorado. Her poems have appeared in O Magazine, on A Prairie Home Companion, in back alleys and on river rocks. One-word mantra: Adjust. 

Wednesday, October 07, 2015

BLESSING OF THE NEWS CYCLE

by Rick Mullin






The liberals were shocked and grieved
about the tête-à-tête.
The pope and that Kentucky clerk?
...Well, some were less upset.

Conservatives rejoiced as did
the silent Christian Right.
A sit-down with il Papa lent
true credence to their plight.

But then the news about a hoax,
a photo from Peru.
That prayer-meet was a football match!?
Well, everybody knew

an explanation would arrive
to wipe the tablets clear.
A memo from the Vatican.
And, sure enough, it’s here:

It seems the pope was Shanghaied by
some bishops on the ground
gone gravely rogue in Washington
or somewheres there-around

who propped Kim Davis up amidst
a group at some event
contrived for papal blessings in
a big white floppy tent.

A PR stunt by Huckabee
and flunkies of the Huck.
No big surprise, we know these guys
and recognize their shuck.

So everything is back on track.
Godspeed the Holy See.
The Family Synod starts this week.
God save the family!


Rick Mullin's most recent volume of poetry is Sonnets from the Voyage of the Beagle, published by Dos Madres Press last year.