8647

by Mark Danowsky

 

 

sorry no

martyrdom

let the devil

bury himself

stay vigilant

only real victors

write history

let him be

a footnote

fool's gold

let him burn

for sins

gone down

the worst

known loser

all will say

he lost

no mercy

capital punishment?

erasure

a name stripped

from collective memory

 

Mark Danowsky is the Founder and Editor-in-Chief of ONE ART: a journal of poetry, Poetry Craft Essays Editor for Cleaver Magazine, and curator of Stay Curious on Substack. His latest poetry collection is Take Care (Moon Tide Press).  

NARCISSIGNATURE

by James Penha

"Donald Trump should be focused on lowering costs, but instead he’s busy trying to put his name on your money. How does this help working families already drowning in this economy? Senator Jeff Merkley and I are pressing for answers.” —Senator Elizabeth Warren, April 4, 2026

It is not illegal to casually mark

with a name or small doodles

US paper currency as they do not

make the bill unusable. That’s why

you can find on e-bay greenbacks

for sale with the sharpied autograph

of Donald Trump across Washington’s

face. So when the bills with Trump’s

official signature come across your

palm, America, unleash blue sharpies

to caption his name with “pedophile”

or “POS” or “grifter” or just cross it out.

James Penha edits The New Verse News. His latest book is Queer As Folk Tales.

EQUITY AND TOLERANCE

FOR STONEWALL

by Roberta Batorsky

 

 

Three days after the Trump administration removed a Rainbow Flag from the Stonewall National Monument, defiant activists hoisted the Rainbow Flag once again in front of a jam-packed crowd of fed-up LGBTQ community members who flooded the area surrounding Christopher Park.  Photo by Donna Aceto. —Gay City News, February 12, 2026

Bury the flag of empathy,
it no longer belongs here.
Turn its rainbow black—
disavow the pride it gave
commemorating AIDS victims,
lives lost as in a war.
and it was a war, unended, unwon.
 
Pull the emblem of suffering
of men, women and children,
renew the prejudice that killed
Oscar*, Alan** and others,
deliver it with its own symbol
of derision and weakness.
 
It wasn’t Ellen D***. that convinced us,
Matt Shepard’s death didn’t convince us:
something fundamentally changed then.
Now bathroom jokes, lewdness, shame,
insinuation, guilt and closeting
all shift to the front burner.
 
Bury the flag of concern for people
deep in the heart of the heart of this country.
 
See us now, re-emerging, colors blazing,
in freedom’s garb,
to shake off erasure,
proclaiming our unity:
Our city, our flag.
 
 
*Oscar Wilde
** Alan Turing
*** Ellen Degeneres

 

 

Roberta Batorsky, a New Jersey poet, has published this month her first book of poetry, Perihelion.

BLANK PAGE

by Jocelyn Ajami

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

After Francesca Albanese’s U.N. report on
               “Genocide as Colonial Erasure”

a poem’s lines ripple 
like ridges of ancient sands

couplets ring fervent notes
a distant hand intrudes

unfamiliar chimes
the new timbre

incongruent to the tone
it clips the old refrains

although the verse lingers
it is never free 

the fitful hand scrubs lines
slowly mutilating the structure

gobbling vowels and vows
nothing satisfies its lust

the poem still has claws
but no wings

clinging to its soil 

when battered lines shrill 

against white space, the hand races 

to delete remaining words

and proclaim erasure

a blank page all its own

Jocelyn Ajami is an award winning painter, filmmaker and poet. Jocelyn has received several awards for her films, Oasis of Peace, Gypsy Heart and Queen of the Gypsies. She turned to writing poetry in 2014 as a way of connecting more intimately with issues of social conscience and cultural awareness. She has been published in several anthologies of prize winning poems. Born and raised in Caracas, Venezuela, she speaks five languages and lives in Chicago, Illinois.

GHAZAL FOR THE WOMEN OF AFGHANISTAN

by Jackie Fox

The bearded old men stop at nothing to stifle the women.

Keeping them hidden will solve the temptation of women.

Oh, they talked through their turbans like nothing would change

for lives that had blossomed like lilies—the women. 

The women knew better. The cascade of workplace and school

slammed tight against the menace of girls and danger of women.

Vanished from work, school and public movement without a male—

this would seem sufficient erasure of women.

But nothing is ever enough for the old zealots, who want only

to keep their coarse sandals planted on the necks of women.

So now—of course and at last—the beauty salons, 

last refuge for most and livelihood for some of the women.

Not enough to endure the hijab or burka and forego makeup in public.

Even the most private pleasures must be denied to women.

And to those of us in the West with our patented knee-jerk shock—

We tried to warn you, whisper the women.

Jackie Fox lives and writes in Nebraska. Her work has appeared in Rattle, The Bellevue Literary Review, Tar River Poetry, Ted Kooser’s American Life in Poetry, The Untidy Season: An Anthology of Nebraska Women Poets, and numerous other journals and anthologies

DJT’S HAIKU INDICTMENT DAY

by SusanTerris 

In court      

      
Not guilty, said Trump
Yes.  Okay, thank you oh yes
Yes. I do. Yes. Yes.
 
At Mar-a-Lago

blah ba lunaticans thTfake
criminalhateyeashittypersecution
bbwitch huntuckjail them all
 

SusanTerris is an editor, a poet, who has published books and chapbooks and has been given a Pushcart and has been in Best American Poetry.

INSPIRATION AND EDUCATION :: FOUND IN & OF BELL HOOKS

An Erasure Poem by Jen Schneider

Derived from "Appalachian Elegy" (Sections 1-6) by bell hooks (1952-2021)

Activist & writer bell hooks (Gloria Jean Watkins) by SMiLE on the wall at Falafel King Restaurant, Boulder, CO (2017).

Appalachian Elegy (Sections 1-6)

1.

 

hear them cry

the long dead                                 

the long gone

speak to us

from beyond the grave

guide us

that we may learn

all the ways

to hold tender this land

hard clay direct

rock upon rock

charred earth

in time

strong green growth

will rise here

trees back to life

native flowers

pushing the fragrance of hope

the promise of resurrection

 

2.

 

such then is beauty

surrendered

against all hope

you are here again

turning slowly

nature as chameleon

all life change

and changing again

awakening hearts

steady moving from

unnamed loss

into fierce deep grief

that can bear all burdens

even the long passage

into a shadowy dark

where no light enters

3.

 

night moves

through the thick dark

a heavy silence outside

near the front window

a black bear

stamps down plants

pushing back brush

fleeing manmade

confinement

roaming unfettered

confident

any place can become home

strutting down

a steep hill

as though freedom

is all

in the now

no past

no present

 

4.

 

earth works

thick brown mud

clinging pulling

a body down

heard wounded earth cry

bequeath to me

the hoe the hope

ancestral rights

to turn the ground over

to shovel and sift

until history

rewritten resurrected

returns to its rightful owners

a past to claim

yet another stone lifted to

throw against the enemy

making way for new endings

random seeds

spreading over the hillside

wild roses

come by fierce wind and hard rain

unleashed furies

here in this touched wood

a dirge a lamentation

for earth to live again

earth that is all at once a grave

a resting place a bed of new beginnings

avalanche of splendor

 

5.

 

small horses ride me

carry my dreams

of prairies and frontiers

where once

the first people roamed

claimed union with the earth

no right to own or possess

no sense of territory

all boundaries

placed by unseen ones

here I will give you thunder

shatter your hearts with rain

let snow soothe you

make your healing water

clear sweet

a sacred spring

where the thirsty

may drink

animals all

 

6.

 

listen little sister

angels make their hope here

in these hills

follow me

I will guide you

careful now

no trespass

I will guide you

word for word

mouth for mouth

all the holy ones

embracing us

all our kin

making home here

renegade marooned

lawless fugitives

grace these mountains

we have earth to bind us

the covenant

between us

can never be broken

vows to live and let live

 

Jen Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. She is a Best of the Net nominee, with stories, poems, and essays published in a wide variety of literary and scholarly journals. She is the author of A Collection of Recollections (Next Chapter), Invisible Ink, On Daily Puzzles: (Un)locking Invisibility and On Crossroads and Fill in the Blank Puzzles (forthcoming, Moonstone Press), and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups (forthcoming, Atmosphere Press).

BARE FLOOR, WITH COAT HANGER

by Francesco Levato

Author’s Note: This piece dealing with Texas Senate Bill 8 is from a series I’m working on titled SCARLET, a digital visual/poetic meditation on the fractured state of psyche induced by extended social isolation under COVID-19 lockdown. The digital/visual poems are created through erasure of Jack London’s post-apocalyptic novel The Scarlet Plague collaged with glitched imagery from everyday life to reflect the state of a pandemic self in forced confinement.

Francesco Levato is a poet, a literary translator, and a new media artist. Recent books include Arsenal/Sin Documentos; Endless, Beautiful, Exact; Elegy for Dead Languages; War Rug; Creaturing (as translator); and the chapbooks A Continuum of Force and jettison/collapse. He has collaborated and performed with various composers, including Philip Glass, and his cinépoetry has been exhibited in galleries and featured at film festivals in Berlin, Chicago, New York, and elsewhere. He holds an MFA in Poetry, a PhD in English Studies, and is currently an Associate Professor of Literature & Writing Studies at California State University San Marcos.

WHAT SEEMS TO FOLLOW US

by Carol Parris Krauss

The kitchen is disorderly.
The small camping stove, cooler,
And bottles of water whisper
Pine trees, honeysuckle, and rustic cabins
Nestled near the George Washington National Forest.
But this is no weekend excursion,
but instead
Hurricane readiness at its best.

We thought we left the lengthy gas station lines,
Empty grocery shelves, and
Sandbags sentries behind
When we moved from
Florida to Virginia.
Hurricane Flo. She said no. The old folks
Say a hurricane is a do-over, a chance at a second chance.
A clean slate.

I need to see Florence to explain that
my move after
28 years
In Florida was my do-over. Scream in the wind,
Shake my fist. Look her in the eye.
She needs
To take her squat, spin, and spit,
Her erasure.
Elsewhere.

Carol Parris Krauss is a teacher, mother, and poet who is fond of college football and cats. She lives in the Tidewater Region of Virginia. Her work can be found in Blue Collar Review, TheNewVerse.News, The Amsterdam Quarterly, Fall Lines, The South Carolina Review, Storysouth, and other online and print magazines.

T***P'S INAUGURAL ADDRESS:AN ERASURE

by Floyd Cheung

Cartoon by Mike Luckovich

America,
transfer power
to a small group

not your victories
not your triumphs
little to celebrate
across our land

this moment
belongs to

historic
crucial
Americans

demand a righteous
system flush with
carnage
pain
one glorious destiny

The oath I take today is
For industry
armies
borders
and
wealth ripped

a decree to
power

a vision
America First
ravages

I will
with every breath
let you down

understanding the right
interests first

impose our way
for everyone

old alliances
will eradicate the Earth

the bedrock of
our country,
prejudice.

The Bible tells us, "How good and pleasant it is when
America is totally unstoppable.”

fear
miseries
national
divisions

black or brown or white,
salute the American
child

be ignored again

Thank you. God bless you. And God bless America.

Author’s note: Erasure poems preserve the order of words in the original text but delete many in order to create a new work, in this case a distillation of Trump’s inaugural address as it might have been heard by some.

Floyd Cheung has taught American literature at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts, since 1999. His chapbook Jazz at Manzanar was published by Finishing Line Press in 2014.