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Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts

Friday, June 19, 2026

A NEW BEGINNING

by Ron Shapiro




Step back from lies, greed

and corruption if only for

an afternoon in Chicago

for the opening of Obama’s

center on the south side.


Feast your eyes 

on an alternate

amerikan reality

where character,

kindness, community,

and truth matter. 

 

Listen to diverse voices

speak of the amerikan promise:

life, liberty, pursuit of happiness.

 

Hear words and songs

that elevate our country.

 

No need for a violent spectacle

on the lawn of the people’s

house. No need to reshape

and destroy this nation’s

original sins of slavery

and indigenous genocide.

No need to hide your gender,

skin color or faith. 

 

You are welcome in this place.

 

Come bring your children to

learn of the struggles for

equality, justice, and freedom.

 

Join hands with a stranger,

dance in the moonlight,

sing of hope and change,

believe in this country again. 



Ron Shapiroan award-winning teacher, has published over 20 poems in publications including Nova Bards 24 & 25Virginia Writers ProjectThe New Verse News, Poetry X HungerMinute Musings, Backchannels, Gezer Kibbutz Gallery, All Your Poems, Paper Cranes Literary Magazine, Zest of the Lemon and two chapbooks: Sacred SpacesWonderings and Understory, a collection of nature poetry.  

Friday, March 20, 2026

HOW DO YOU SURVIVE A WAR?

by Bruce Black

 

 

GIF by Glen Le Lievre


It’s the stories that you don’t read 

in the news that break your heart.


The old dog who can’t make it to the safe room

in the one minute you have to get downstairs.


The young children who blow out the candles on their

birthday cakes in the darkness of bomb shelters.


The couples whose weddings are held as missiles explode 

overhead, bride and groom weeping in joy and sadness.


Life, I’m told, goes on in wartime but the war

changes the way you live your life.


Love still exists but hides in the bomb shelter

with you in order to survive.


Kindness still exists but stays out of sight

while the missiles are falling.


Hope huddles under an overpass or in the shelter of underground 

stations where it can breathe and show itself again.


How do you survive a war without losing the ability to love,

to show others kindness, to safeguard and preserve one’s humanity?


Even when you live miles away from the war zone

and can’t hear the bombs exploding.


Even when you can only read about them or watch them fall

on the news or in your Facebook feed.


How do you hold onto faith 

in the goodness of people?


How do you trust in kindness and love

to prevail?


How do you hope and believe—in spite of the bleakness

of the present moment—in a better future?


In a future without war? In a future of peace?

How do you survive a war?



Bruce Black received his MFA from Vermont College. He is the author of Writing Yoga (Shambhala) and editorial director of The Jewish Writing Project. His poetry, personal essays, and stories have appeared in numerous publications, including The MidAtlantic Review, The Amethyst Review, Write-Haus, Bearings, Super Poetry Highway, Poetica, The Lehrhaus, Soul-Lit, and elsewhere. He lives in Highland Park, IL. 

Sunday, September 28, 2025

CODE-SWITCHING

by Daniel Romo


And the congregation fell to their knees, 
praying for their savior to supply them with 

All-American manna and a fiery plague on 
their snowflake neighbors where brimstone 

reigns down on their households because 
we are to honor thy mother and forefathers. 

And the pastor calls for the parishioners 
to regain strength like Sampson because, 

Empathy is the new Delilah and no one is 
shaving my locks or taking away my Glocks! 

The second commandment forbids idol 
worship, but the second amendment’s 

exempt in the Patriot’s New Abridged Version
Bible. And the choir rejoices in celebration of 

flag and faith because sacrilege doesn’t apply 
to those proudly waving stars and stripes. And 

Eve was created during Adam’s deep sleep 
so it’s no wonder woke is synonymous with 

nightmare. And here we are, my brethren, 
attempting to love and expel our neighbor 

from this country, deporting the sinners 
from the sanctuary, building walls higher

than Jericho’s.


Daniel Romo's latest book is American Manscape (Moon Tide Press 2026).

Thursday, July 31, 2025

THE FIRST LETTER OF PAUL TO THE CHURCH OF [NAME WITHHELD ON ADVICE OF COUNSEL]

by Matthew E. Henry (MEH)




from Paul—a prisoner to the gospel of God—to all those 

across the Eastern Ocean who have named themselves 

after Christ, consider themselves His most holy people. 

 

doubtless you have heard of the bonds of our brother, 

Pastor Daniel Fuentes Espinal who, born in Honduras, 

heeded God’s call to minster among you in Maryland 

for over a decade. heard how he was stalked and taken 

into the unholy hands of masked men on the road between 

Lowes’ and McDonald’s. was shackled into the belly 

of their beast, but preached the fruits of repentance—his hope

of their finding forgiveness in Jesus—to his captors 

from his car to the cell they anonymously threw him in.

 

when such reached my ear, my spirit was greatly troubled, 

but I took comfort assured that you—his siblings in Christ—

were firmly knit in condemning such actions, tied in the unity

of securing his release from imprisonments worse than mine. 

that no disagreements could cut the knot of our fellowship. 

I was astonished to hear some among you have raised your voice

against our brother on social media, confident in the baffling belief 

our refugee Savior—who fled Judea for Egypt—would stand 

within the invisible lines you’ve drawn about both His kingdoms.

 

given all we hold holy, how in the Hell—you so vehemently 

sentence others to—have you allowed Phillip Doug to say 

our brother “is not a victim if he is in our country illegally”? or 

tolerate Todd James—a supposed minister of the Grace 

of God—claims that “Christians who have illegal paperwork 

are getting sent back to their country so they can preach the gospel

and lay their life down like the apostles did”? Miller Tonee rejoices 

that people in his congregation are self-deporting. Herb Jimzel—

whose bio proclaims he spreads God's love to orphans, the poor, 

and to those with no hope—says his family came here legally—

in all caps, with three exclamation points—sees no contradiction 

between our brother’s treatment and “the word of God.” Shawn Dale

says pastor Espinal should be glad he wasn’t shot. 

 

though I once warned the Philippians to beware the devious bitches 

in their midst and wished botched circumcisions to scar my detractors 

in Galatia, I’m uncharacteristically at a loss for words to address 

those reprobate minds who forget our brother’s skin looks more like 

our shared Savior’s than what they feign. fiery indignation scalds

my tongue to near-silence least I scandalize those of you who allow 

such slander to continue. 

 

hear the word of the LORD, set your house in order. God is faithful—

He will see to His servant, but will also remember and repay all you

have and not done, especially to those within the household of faith.



Editor’s note: This poem includes actual quotations found on social media in response to the story of Pastor Daniel, but the names of the authors of those quotations have been changed… on advice of counsel as well.



Author’s note: You can help free Pastor Daniel Fuentes Espinal by supporting his GoFundMe.



Matthew E. Henry (MEH) is the author of six poetry collections, most recently said the Frog to the scorpionHe is an educator and editor who received his MFA yet continued to spend money he didn’t have completing an MA in theology and a PhD in education. He writes about education, race, religion, and burning oppressive systems to the ground at www.MEHPoeting.com

Wednesday, July 16, 2025

SHHHH

by stella graham-landau





in memory of Andrea Gibson 
13 August 1975 — 14 July 2025


quiet settles on the sheets
eyelids closed
one final rest

their smile remains
last memory last touch
last blessing inhaled exhaled

their passion lifts 
into the air around us
ignites our faith

their lines of poetry 
vine around our hearts 
their legacy already in bloom

be inspired
let yourselves lean into joy
dig deeper into all aspects of life

every step 
every breath
carry hope forward

shhhh
now smile
all is well




stella lives in richmond, va and has been published in The 
New Verse News several times as well as in regional publications. she's grateful for the wonderful poetry communities that exist, encouraging all of us to find our voices and share our truths and wonderings.

Wednesday, January 22, 2025

PITY THE NATION

an update
by Kent Reichert 





Pity the nation who despises “the other,”
who returns to a past that never was,
where everyone knew their place
and the uncomfortable facts
have been replaced with patriotic fantasies,
as if flags and hats and colors and slogans
are the qualities of true citizenship.

Pity the nation that clings to fictional fears
and praises violence
when used against the unpopular,
the marginalized or those
with whom it disagrees.

Pity the nation that bathes
daily in the warm waters of grievance and victimhood,
accepting no responsibility for its failings,
all the while claiming a Messianic destiny
ordained by God into a faith rarely lived.

Pity the nation that despises books and ideas,
becomes its own arbiter of truth 
and basks in the comfort of ignorance,
that would rather be told what to believe
and look no further.

Pity the nation where the mantle of freedom
is bestowed by those in power
leaving them free to dispense it just
to those they favor.

Pity the nation that calls its own citizens enemies.

Pity the nation…
Pity the nation.


Kent Reichert passes the time spoiling his dogs, practicing digital photography and writing. His poetry has appeared in a variety of journals and anthologies.

Thursday, August 22, 2024

TRUMP AI GENERATES HIS SECOND INAUGURATION

by Chad Parenteau




Holding, staring at open bible
with no words. He knew it.
God’s law is whatever you want.
 
Behind him, swiftboat Swifties
dressed in handmaiden style,
coats, blouses buttoned to nape.
 
Harem of doting daughters, 
great grab bags of grabbables, 
whole cabinet of nondisclosures.
 
Blonde broken up by added spots
of colored faces, hands in gnarled
prayer, proof they weren’t paid.
 
He swears off to imagined duties 
under a dome of glass as strong
as his faith in this divine design. 




Chad Parenteau hosts Boston's long-running Stone Soup Poetry series. His latest collection is The Collapsed Bookshelf. His poetry has appeared in journals such as Résonancee, Molecule, Ibbetson Street, Pocket Lint, Cape Cod Poetry Review, Tell-Tale Inklings, Off The Coast, The Skinny Poetry Journal, The New Verse News, dadakuku, Nixes Mate Review and anthologies such as French Connections and Reimagine America. He serves as Associate Editor of the online journal Oddball Magazine. Chad generated these AI graphics on behalf of the former guy.

Friday, March 22, 2024

OH, ISRAEL

by Bonnie Proudfoot
Next Year in Jerusalem is said at the end of the Passover Seder. It is an ancient tradition that was first recorded by Isaac Tyrnau in the 15th century. Above art by Caren Garfen.


Oh, Israel, if my love is a suitcase, when I get to your house

I won't unpack, even though my mother and her mother,

my uncles and cousins are buried in pine boxes beneath

a star of David and our Rabbi wept for victims of the Holocaust,

 

cried for a homeland for the children of Zion. Yes, I used to feel

my chest swell open when I heard Hatikvah, yes, you've suffered,

people taken in sleep, in song, as they walked out of their homes.

I know you are perched on a precipice of strife. I too have felt

 

like a stranger in a strange land, my family holding our faith close

to shield us from hate or harm. Here, in the safety of my small

life, I see signs on the highway, a deer rearing up, a warning one

may careen across the road, but that isn't how it happens, not

 

right beside a road sign. When terror charged, you weren't

ready. I see stolen homes, stolen land. I see that hate calls out 

in darkness for more hate. Gazan families starve, pick through 

ashes to find bodies to bury while you shatter hospitals, shelters. 

 

I mean blood will stick to you, Israel. You shatter us too, we 

who were raised with a dream, who held you in the light each

Friday night. Two peoples, breath of one breath, voices raised to 

the same God. The more faith you steal, the less you'll keep.



Bonnie Proudfoot was raised in Queens, NY, and currently resides in Athens, Ohio. Her poetry has appeared previously in The New Verse News and many other fine journals and anthologies. Bonnie's first book of poems Household Gods was published by Sheila-Na-Gig editions, and her first novel Goshen Road was published by Swallow Press. It was named the WCONA Book of the Year and long-listed for the PEN/Hemingway Award.