I AM GAZA

by Ralph Dranow

Poster (via Flickr) created by Michael Thompson for a Gaza Freedom March… in 2010!

I am a three-year-old Palestinian boy,

shattered body a sorrowful song

sung by an Israeli bomb.

I am an 18-year-old Israeli soldier,

the stench of death seeping into my nostrils,

invading my whole being.

I am a Palestinian mother, my heart weeping,

my six-year-old daughter fainting from hunger,

my infant son fading fast.

I am Benjamin Netanyahu,

clinging to the life raft of power

in a turbulent sea.

I am a horrified Jewish-American,

the thread of connection sewn into my cells,

demanding an end to the killing.

I am an Israeli settler in the West Bank,

wishing the Palestinians, like noxious insects,

would just go away.

I am an evangelical Christian,

eager for Hamas to be demolished,

so that the Kingdom of Christ can manifest in Israel.

I am a Hamas soldier,

enclosed inside the righteous armor of my cause,

prepared to kill and die for the liberation of Palestine.

I am an Israeli peace activist,

murdered by Hamas on October 7th,

my body destroyed, my spirit refusing to die.

Ralph Dranow works as an editor, writing coach, and poetry teacher. His poems and articles have been widely published. He lives in Oakland, California with his family.

SANTA'S HELPER

by Julie Steiner

Her God is Santa Claus. Remember those

mid-ceiling scenes of Michelangelo’s?

Old white guy. Bearded. Fierce. Great muscle tone.

Conclusion: Santa. (On testosterone.)

She claims to be His prophet. She’s devised

a scheme to get His giving supersized.

It seems to work. With all He seems to bring her,

she seems to have Him wrapped around her finger.

Her God is Santa Claus. Or close enough.

Stay on His good side, and He’ll give you stuff.

And if you’re poor, that’s proof you’ve pleased Him less

than those (like her) He’s showered with largesse.

She claims to be His prophet, on a mission

to bless/endorse whatever politician

keeps rich folks rich and poor folks wretched, still.

Inequity in equity’s His will.

Her God is Santa Claus. And you’ve been naughty.

He knows what you’ve been up to. You’ve been caught. He

will leave your household destitute. You’re screwed.

But for a fee, she’ll change His attitude.

She claims to be His prophet. If you give her

a large enough donation, she’ll deliver

the benefits of Naughty List protection.

Your scandals won’t prevent your re-election.

Her God rewards and punishes. He’ll strike

and strike and strike the folks her fans don’t like.

By preaching what her funders most like hearing,

she puts the prophet into profiteering.

She claims to be His mouthpiece. Where’s the love

for others that His Word kept speaking of?

Her rants are full of something, but it’s clear it

is not—as she insists—the Holy Spirit.

Her God is Santa Claus. Saint Paula White’ll

get you the goods that good works don’t entitle

do-gooders to. It’s faith that works! Believe

that if you send her God-bribes, you’ll receive!

No need to change your ways: pay her to wheedle.

If fear won’t make you do it, sloth or greed’ll.

Call now! An operator’s standing by.

Give hiring her to grease God’s palm a try.

Julie Steiner is a pseudonym in San Diego. Besides TheNewVerse.News, the venues in which her poetry has appeared include the Able Muse Review, Rattle, Light, and the Asses of Parnassus.