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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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

Sunday, September 06, 2026

WHAT WILL IT TAKE

by Mary Saracino




What will it take to end
this multi-millennial madness,
this lust for war and power,
this emphasis on fear,
scarcity, competition?

What will it take to wake up,
to say no to all that seeks to harm,
to say yes to all that seeks to heal, to unite
to see that we are kin to all—humans and non-humans,
to celebrate diversity and dance in the arms
of cooperation and love,
a symbiotic tango imbued with gratitude
where flourishing is mutual?

What will it take to uncloud our eyes,
unjail our hearts,
unchain our minds,
free ourselves from the edicts,
the dogmas, the ideologies that spew
hatred, cruelty, lies, and every other
evil known to humankind?
We need circles, not ladders,
communities, not hierarchies.

We are not commodities
to be bought and sold,
and neither is the Earth
with all Her bountiful gifts.

The trees are trembling,
the lands are on fire,
the winds are roaring,
the birds are begging us
to heed the cries of Mother Nature
who gifts us with abundance,
water, rain, wind, food, sunshine, shelter,
asking only for reciprocity, giving
back what we take, honoring Her
by sharing her bounty, not hording it.

We are destroying our only home.
We are polluting our souls.
We are committing ecocide,
decimating everything
that is sacred and true
and vital to our future.

What will it take for us
to reclaim our birthright,
the gifts bestowed upon us by Nature
in all Her many forms?

What will it take for us to walk,
hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm,
shoulder-to-shoulder
to change the world,
dismantle what has been so wrong
for far, far too long?

We need leaders who will lead us
to prosperity and peace,
who will proclaim our joint responsibility
to care for one another and the planet,
who know that might is not right,
that war is not the answer,
that kindness, compassion, empathy
are the seeds we need to sow
to create a better way to live,
build a symbiotic future
where we can all survive and thrive.

What will it take for us
to raise our howling voices,
in unison and proclaim:
“We’ve had enough! You do not own us, or the planet.
We must seize the reins and reinstate sharing and caring,
establish a new way, a better way, before it’s too late!”


Mary Saracino is a novelist, memoir writer, and poet. Her book of poetry, Motherlines, was published by Pearlsong Press (February 2026). She is the author of four novels: Heretics: A Love Story (Pearlsong Press 2014), The Singing of Swans (Pearlsong Press 2006), No Matter What (Spinsters Ink 1993), and Finding Grace (Spinsters Ink 1999), and the memoir, Voices of the Soft-bellied Warrior (Spinsters Ink 2001). She co-edited (with Mary Beth Moser) She Is Everywhere! Volume 3: An anthology of writings in womanist/feminist spirituality (iUniverse 2012), which earned the 2013 Enheduanna Award for Excellence in Women-Centered Literature from Sofia University.

Tuesday, September 16, 2025

DEAR JUDY

a duplex poem
by Trish Hopkinson


Today, a successful assassination
happened near where you last lived.

     In Utah, where I once lived with you
     a right-wing activist was shot dead.

In Evergreen, a school shooter was shot dead
on the same Wednesday in Colorado.

     It’s Wednesday in Utah and Colorado
     where I now live, 200 miles from the dead

no longer living: two men, shot dead,
two schoolchildren fatally wounded.

     This year, four kids dead, thirty-five wounded.
     They were not soldiers; they were students.

Murder on campus, witnessed by students,
no ear grazed: successful assassination.


Trish Hopkinson is a poet and advocate for the literary arts. You can find her online at SelfishPoet.com. Her poetry has been published in several literary magazines and journals; and her most recent book A Godless Ascends was published by Lithic Press in March 2024. Hopkinson happily answers to labels such as atheist, feminist, and empty nester; and enjoys traveling, live music, and craft beer.

Monday, July 22, 2024

BLADING

by Daniel Romo


Abdullah the Butcher


The politician wasn’t struck in the assassination attempt

and only his ear was grazed, but the trickle of his blood caused

          half the country to cry, Hero!

          and the other half to yell, Staged!

though no one can deny 

octogenarians are more brittle bones 

than bulletproof, and 

all’s fair in love and reward.

 

There are those who claim we never landed on the Moon 

and those who maintain the Earth is flat,

yet that doesn’t change the fact that 

           Abdullah the Butcher 

secretly sliced his forehead with a razorblade during matches 

in the days when wrestling was supposed to be 

                     considered real,

and his blood poured down onto his opponents 

like a christening for non-believers in the crowd 

at a baptism rooted in amusement      

and self-mutilation.

 

My dad didn’t initially recognize me as I visited

him and my mom this weekend

and blamed it on his cataracts.

And while that may be the cause,

I clearly see what’s to come 

for us all. 

 

When a platform is based upon pretending 

and failure to acknowledge that it’s not true sport 

but entertainment,

who could blame the public’s skepticism 

when a former president is clipped by a sniper 

and seconds later raises his fist to Heaven

as if not giving praise, but 

milking the most out of 

                                life’s misses?

 

I’m sure the candidate will still be able to hear 

from his right ear 

but never listen.

 

I’m sure my dad will continue to deny

the natural by-products of his age

 

because lies build like

scar tissue piled up upon skin,

like fresh dirt piled upon 

graves. 



Daniel Romo is half curve ball, half prose poem, half bodega. Proof at danieljromo.com.