Today's News . . . Today's Poem
The New Verse News
presents politically progressive poetry on current events and topical issues.
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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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.
Saturday, July 18, 2026
FROM THE HIDEOUSLY SMOKY MIDWEST
Saturday, June 21, 2025
WARNING SHOT
I go to CVS to get a Covid booster.
A pharmacy staffer prepares the injection.
Do you think we'll be able to get
these much longer? I ask.
Is this a political question?
she shoots back.
We are strangers. I realize
she might be asking
if I'm MAGA. Maybe she
is. But if either of us were,
would we be here,
giving and receiving
life-saving help? Is this political?
I repeat inanely. Battle-lines wait
to be drawn, and I'm lost
in a small fog of war,
until she asks, Have you heard
what's happened to the CDC
and vaccines? Now I know
we're on the same side
and it's safe to answer, Yes,
we're in a horror movie. She jabs
my arm and I flinch. You need
to stay still, she warns,
plunging deeper. When I leave
and thank her, she smiles.
Sunday, May 25, 2025
FIRST CONTACT
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Detained Palestinian activist Mahmoud Khalil (file photo above) was allowed to hold his one-month-old son for the first time Thursday after a federal judge blocked the Trump administration’s efforts to keep the father and infant separated by a plexiglass barrier. —NPR, May 22, 2025 |
Tuck that baby in close. He needs
to hear your beats; you, to smell
his hair. Skin itching for touch,
building bonds by contact. Once,
an old man in a home pressed
palms to pane. His daughter prayed
along, her breath frosting the air.
Neighbors hung curtains on shared
lines, clasped amidst the plastic.
Twice in recent life they advised
no contact: to slow the spread
of a spiked virus and to wedge
between father and his newborn son
an unwarranted block of ice.
Professor Emerita of English, Michelle DeRose lives and writes in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Find her most recent publications in ONE ART, Panoply, One Hundred Poems for Hearing Dogs (anthology), and The New Verse News.
Thursday, January 16, 2025
MUSEUM OF CUTTING-EDGE TECHNOLOGY
Friday, January 10, 2025
COVER IT
“Everyone keeps saying 'apocalyptic,' but that doesn’t begin to cover it.” —CNN’s Karina Tsui from Pacific Palisades, January 8, 2025
My sister texts me saying she is sorry
to hear about my long disease [sic] and I
think of the long history of fire, how often
our world wants to be held instead of this,
now, how it’s helled. And in the military
they put me in the burn pits, not to help,
but for punishment, no mask given, and
forced to stand there with the ash now
that owns me, apical scarring, and this
is the world now, scaring me, the news
where I see fire in the Ukraine and fire
in Gaza and fire in Sudan and fire in
Myanmar and fire in Haiti and I look
online at a “current large wildfire map”
and it looks as if all of California is on
fire and I worked in California during
COVID, a disaster healthcare volunteer,
going to all the worst-hit cities, raged
by COVID and, always, driving in, I’d
see countless TRUMP signs [sick],
almost as if COVID went wherever his
supporters were, a nurse yelling one
time that the OR needed to have at
least two sets of negative pressure
respirators, and I remember a shift
where all of the staff was sick, how
nobody showed up but me, and, out-
side, the horizon was ablaze, rooms
packed with COVID patients, one
dying every other shift, and I could
go outside for my break, but couldn’t
take my mask off outside either, not
with the planes dropping fire retardant,
and a medic telling me that the UV
in L.A. was deadly, is deadly, and this
doctor screaming something about
a CT scan, and a COVID patient who
came in with no ID (we took him),
and an MP from a nearby military
base who died in his 20s, drowned
in the water of his own lungs, and
how someone came in and a nurse
was asking if the patient couldn’t
breathe because of COVID or be-
cause of the fires and the fires were
COVID and COVID was a fire, is
a fire, and my father is in bed and
he’s flicking through the news and
it’s orange-red on the screen and
red-yellow on the screen and it’s
yellow-orange, all these different
hells we create—bombings and
wildfire and a Republican’s pool
in his mansion backyard drowning
in flames and the fires in Burkina
Faso don’t make our news and
the fires in Cameroon don’t make
our news and the fires in Mali
don’t make our news, but fires
of the wealthy are all over our
screens and the mansions are so
quickly eaten by Hell. My son
googles the words Who invented
fire? and the A.I. answers, Homo
sapiens and we invented all of
this, all of this ash and smoke
and I remember when I was
standing in the middle of my
lungs being destroyed for
the rest of my life and there
was fence all around me and
I thought of incarceration,
how we are getting so good
at war that we are turning our
whole entire world into a prison
and the only way out of this hole
is to stop everything we’re doing.
Ron Riekki co-edited Undocumented: Great Lakes Poets Laureate on Social Justice (Michigan State University Press).
Sunday, October 01, 2023
CAN WE SEE THE SUN?
Beth and I are wearing masks
and, as can happen on the subway,
the unmasked man across the aisle
raises his voice to everyone
in the car to tell us that wearing masks
and getting vaccines just shows
we’re brainwashed by the “slime”
of lies told by the government
and the media. We’ve been tricked
into believing all kinds of fictions.
“Take the sun,” he says, his voice
rising. “Yes, take the goddamned sun.
You’re telling me you can see something
that’s ninety-three million miles away?
Anyone who thinks for himself knows
his eyes can’t see that far! You’d need
a Hubble, though that Hubble’s
just another made-up lie. Anyone
who’s reasonable and thinks for himself
knows he’s not seeing the sun. Read
your Plato and stop looking up
at the useless sky. Don’t listen
to those swindlers that are telling you
any different. And stop going along
with the idea that something invisible
can make you sick. Or just go ahead.
I don’t give a damn. Why would anyone
give a damn? You’re all just pathetic!”
As we leave the train, we don’t dare
wish him well—what would he do?—
though we want to. Beth and I wear
our masks the two blocks home.
It’s a gloomy afternoon, light rain.
And the first thing I do in the door
is—trusting the internet—open my laptop
to look up the diameter of the sun.
Then how much light the sun gives off—
enough, I’m told, to leave you blind.
William Aarnes lives in New York. He worries about what the conservative response to COVID has done to our thinking about public health. And yesterday his appointment to get a COVID booster was cancelled because the pharmacy had yet to receive its supply.
Sunday, September 10, 2023
UNNATURAL TIMES
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| KFF |
After the pandemic, it’s natural to come out of hiding
to share wine with friends at a photography opening
to hug and greet one another after years of trepidation
to see faces and smiles and to hear that delicious laughter of life
to be reminded that this is the stuff that makes all the toil worth it
to gather, to enjoy art together, to see depictions of our 600-year-old oak
that has lived through the Spanish Influenza and so much more during its time on this earth
and is still standing, as our photos show, from spring to summer and covered in snow.
Later the sniffles start, sore throats appear, and the slow headaches emerge.
It cannot be. It cannot be. Allergies, yes, sinuses, of course, but no, not that, not again.
The test shows the faintest line of positivity… and all doubt disappears.
Another person from the group becomes ill, and another, and another.
Once more we find ourselves communicating via text, email, or Facebook Messenger
sharing our lives in the most unnatural way possible once more.
Renee Williams is a retired English professor, who has written for Of Rust and Glass, Alien Buddha Press, and Fevers of the Mind.





