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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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

Monday, April 06, 2026

THE MOMENT OF CLOSEST APPROACH

by Theta Pavis


Using an inflatable Moon globe, [the Artemis II crew] practiced seeing how the angle of the sun changed the colors and textures of the lunar surface, honing their observation and note-taking skills for the big moment. —France 24, April 4, 2026. Above: An inflatable moon ball for sale at ebay.


Before the Artemis II Crew blasted off,
they had to practice looking at the moon.
Back on Earth, researchers would want to know
what each astronaut saw out there, in-between
the greys and dusty browns. What craters and colors,
what rocks and rockets. To prepare the voyagers,
the Science Flight Operations Lead hung a giant
inflatable moon globe from a crane and packed
the four fragile humans into a mock capsule.
She told them all to rehearse looking at the moon.
Funny no one thought to hire a poet to help with this part.

 

Theta Pavis is poet and editor. A former reporter, she spent years teaching journalism to first-generation college students. Her writing has appeared in The Journal of New Jersey Poets, Lilith magazine, The Red Wheelbarrow, Mom Egg Review and others. She’s received residencies from Bethany Arts Center and Arts By the People. Her chapbook The Red Strobe was published in 2025 by Finishing Line Press.

Saturday, March 30, 2024

FOOTAGE

by Kai Jensen




The bridge falls so quickly.
The ship seems stationary
like a fat little house
alight behind the dark lattice
tiled with coloured rectangles
or a plump insistent animal
nudging a leg for food.
On air, laconic voices
discuss the situation.
It seems there’s a crew up there.
The pilots wring their hands—
their bad dream’s turned real.
Nothing seems to change
but the bridge falls
all at once, its cobweb drooping
then brushed away.
The men dozing in their cabs
awake to death. A city stalls.


Kai Jensen’s father was born in Baltimore, the site of the recent bridge disaster, while Kai was born in Philadelphia. As a child he emigrated to New Zealand with his family, and is now an Australian. Kai works from home as an editor at Wallaga Lake on the Far South Coast of New South Wales. His poems have appeared in most leading Australasian literary journals and, in the United States, have been published in or accepted by The Inquisitive EaterMen Matters OnlineThe NewVerseNewsRattle and The Fictional Cafe.