MY AMAZING INVESTMENT

by Pat Davis

I think they are sheep at first
but they’re corpses
wrapped and tied in white shrouds.

I wish they were low clouds
laid out in a row

but they’re my purchases,
femur, tibia, wrist
tied up for delivery.

I bought the rubble,
the bulldozers, too.

Israel lets in chips 
and Coke.

Children are dying of hunger.
Children are dying of cold.

Our papers blame the wind.
Blame the rain. 
Aid is blocked, the doctors

forced out.
By the toe-end of a corpse 
as long as my forearm 

is a puddle of muddy water in which a star
was lost

Patricia Davis’ poems appear in Smartish Pace, Image, Southern Humanities Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, and other journals. Also a playwright, she earned her MFA from American University. She is translations editor for the literary journal Poet Lore and lives in the Washington, DC area, where she works in human rights advocacy.

WHEN FOOD SCRAPS FLOOD AIR LIKE HOODED CROWS

by Mary K O’Melveny

Blackened parachutes resembling mammoth falcon wings

tumble down from sleek cargo planes beneath cloudless skies.

Together, they add up to less than all the food supplies 

which might fill up one land-bound rescue truck. Things

we thought we understood, now take us by surprise –

broken hearts turn genocidal with all that terms implies.

Blame can fall to innocents as if they pulled all the strings,

as if they still held the power to defend their land, prized

for generations, Ottoman deeds spelling out their ties

to rugged hills, olive trees, sand dunes and desert springs.

No one knows how many will survive hunger’s debased stings,

though some families are erased forever. Those who’ve died

are always undercounted when world leaders shout, spout lies

while survivors watch flour, fuel, fava beans with famished eyes.

Mary K O’Melveny, a happily retired attorney, is the author of four poetry collections and a chapbook. Her most recent, If You Want To Go To Heaven, Follow A Songbird, is an album of poems, art and music. Mary’s award-winning poems have appeared in many print and on-line literary journals and anthologies and on international blog sites, including The New Verse News. Mary’s collection Flight Patterns was nominated for the Eric Hoffer Book Award. Her book Merging Star Hypotheses (2020) was a semi-finalist for The Washington Prize, sponsored by The Word Works. Mary has been three-times nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is an active member of the Hudson Valley Women’s Writing Group and her poetry appears in the Group’s two published anthologies An Apple In Her Hand and Rethinking The Ground Rules. Mary lives with her wife near Woodstock, New York.

DAILY BREAD

by Karen Warinsky

Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread: Feeding the 5000, relief on the door of the Grossmünster, Zurich, Switzerland.

Pope Leo XIV has condemned the “barbarity” of the war in Gaza and the “indiscriminate use of force” as Gaza’s civil defence agency said at least 93 Palestinians had been killed queueing for food and Israel issued fresh evacuation orders for areas packed with displaced people. —The Guardian, July 20, 2025

Give us this day our daily dose

of violence and war

hunger and strife

that we may see clearly

how the people in charge

truly view others, treat others,

casting their nets

not for sustenance

but to trap us all 

in their ill-imagined world,

how our struggle to untangle the truth

is worthy and righteous.

 

Bake the bread of this poem

with sunflower seeds and sifted flour

yogurt, eggs and oil,

with love, hope,

virtue and decency.

May it counteract the poisonous actions

of mad governments

as they seek their ends with any means

trampling on innocents

born in an unfortunate place

living in a fraught time

caught in an ancient conflict,

whose only crime

is a desire to preserve themselves

with the staff of life.

Karen Warinsky  has published poetry widely since 2011. She is the author of four collections: Gold in Autumn (2020) and Sunrise Ruby (2022 Human Error Publishing,) Dining with War (2023 Alien Buddha Press) and Beauty & Ashes (Kelsay Books, 2025). Her poem “Mirage” won first place in the 2024 Ekphrastic Poetry Trust, she is a 2023 Best of the Net nominee and a former finalist of the Montreal International Poetry Contest. Warinsky coordinates Poets at Large, a group that performs spoken word in MA and CT.

THE INJUSTICE THAT SCREAMS

by Chinedu lhekoronye 

They say we are free—

But chains still rattle in our dreams.

Not of iron, but of law,

Not of shackles, but of schemes.

The gavel strikes, but truth lies slain,

Beneath the cloak of legal pain.

The voices rise, the system scoffs,

While justice sleeps in ivory lofts.

They loot the land, then preach of peace,

While hunger roams and rights decrease.

They jail the bold, reward the sly,

And feed the poor another lie.

Who gave them crowns to crush the weak?

Who taught them power means not to speak?

Who drew the lines where blood must spill—

Then wrote the laws that bless the kill?

But we are fire, born from dust,

Rising now because we must.

Our words are swords, our truth is flame,

And we will set alight your shame.

For every child denied a voice,

For every vote turned into noise,

For every dream beneath your heel—

We stand. We shout. We will not kneel.

So let the tyrants learn at last:

A nation's silence cannot last.

The day will come, the truth will rise—

And justice will unblind her eyes.

Chinedu lhekoronye is a Nigerian, human rights lawyer, and poetic writer. He uses his writings to draw global attention to injustice in different places. He believes that injustice in one place is injustice globally.

INCINERATE

by Robin Wright

Illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Shutterstock

Five months into its unprecedented dismantling of foreign-aid programs, the Trump administration has given the order to incinerate food instead of sending it to people abroad who need it. Nearly 500 metric tons of emergency food—enough to feed about 1.5 million children for a week—are set to expire tomorrow, according to current and former government employees with direct knowledge of the rations. Within weeks, two of those sources told me, the food, meant for children in Afghanistan and Pakistan, will be ash. —Hana Kiros, The Atlantic, July 14, 2025

Children are left to live
with hunger pangs
clawing their stomachs
like a tiger
while enough food
to feed millions
of them for a week
will be tossed in a fire
that roars with orange flames
& adds a new circle
of hell to Dante’s list.
The orange glow
reflecting perfectly
on the man in charge.

Robin Wright lives in Southern Indiana. Her work has appeared in The New Verse News, One Art, As it Ought to Be, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Loch Raven Review, Panoply, Rat’s Ass Review, The Beatnik Cowboy, and others. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and a Best New Poets nominee. Her first chapbook, Ready or Not, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2020.

BITS AND PIECES

by Lynn White

They waited patiently
standing in line
hunger made them quiet
un-childlike
too quiet for children
standing in line.

Who knew what they’d be
when they grew up
those children
tinker, tailor, soldier, spy
on our side or theirs
whoever the us and them are.

Now we know for certain that 
they’ll be none of those things
now they’re scattered 
in bits and pieces
bombed to bits
just in case.

Futures laid to rest
in bits and pieces
just in case.

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality and writes hoping to find an audience for her musings. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Peach Velvet, Light Journal, and So It Goes.

PILLOW FROM PALESTINE

by Debra Orben

Israeli forces killed at least 60 Palestinians in Gaza on Wednesday, most of them as they were seeking food from a US-Israeli distribution scheme, according to local health authorities. Medical officials said at least 25 people were killed and dozens wounded as they approached a food distribution centre run by the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation (GHF), near Netzarim in central Gaza. Later in the day, at least 14 people were killed by Israeli gunfire as they were moving towards another GHF distribution site, in Rafah, at Gaza’s southern border. On Tuesday Israeli troops killed 17 Palestinians around GHF sites. –The Guardian, June 11, 2025

           Resting silently on our couch

        a pillow we have had for a long time

off-white woven fabric, hand embroidery,

four rows of a repeating pattern, star flowers

mingled with hearts that touch and overlap

  stitched only in my favorite color, turquoise

  purchased from a friend of a friend visiting

    from the Middle East, selling handwork

      by women, women sewing designs

          to help their families survive 

            and thrive under difficult  

                       circumstances.

 

                 Today, I gaze at our pillow

              soft and lovely in its simple artistry

         noticing only harsh edges and rough reality

     seeing famished faces, bloodshot vacant eyes,

      people devoid of hope, hungry, and destitute

      and the silence of our gentle keepsake mocks

          the unrelenting screams of unheard cries

            ignores the daily suffering of all in Gaza

            cruelty fueled by the fervor of revenge

               an excess of indifference, what more

                  can we do to end war, change

                            circumstances?

Debra Orben is a retired elementary teacher who believes in life-long learning.  She enjoys volunteering with children, gardening, reading, and writing.  She works to plant trees, protect biodiversity, and address climate change.  As a Quaker she believes that all people deserve a just, healthy, and peaceful world.  She appreciates the beauty and diversity of human beliefs and cultures and the diversity of the natural world.  She has much to learn and writes about it. 

A DAY IS NOT A DAY

by Erin Murphy

AI-generated image by imbox sanothai via Dreamstime

“House Republican leaders on [March 11, 2025] quietly moved to shield their members from having to vote on whether to end President Trump’s tariffs… essentially [declaring] the rest of the year one long day.” —The New York Times

A day is not a day.

A night is not a night.

A star is not a star.

Sunrise is not sunrise.

Rain is not rain.

A robin is not a robin.

A song is not a song.

Darkness is not dark.

 

Reality is not real

and neither is steam

from a whistling teakettle

or the smell of fresh basil

on your fingers

hours after you make pesto

or the calligraphy

of hoof prints in virgin snow

or the neon cotton candy

of northern lights

in Zion National Park.

 

Hunger is not hunger.

A lie is not a lie.

A gun is not a gun.

Fear is not fear.

A deported neighbor

was never here at all,

never taught your son

to dribble a fútbol

in the alley between

your homes.

 

Silence is not silence.

 

A day is not a day.

A year is not a year.

A lifetime is not a life.

 

A kiss is just a kiss,

Dooley Wilson sang

in Casablanca.

But a kiss is not a kiss.

It didn’t lead to love

or lust, not even for

your parents which means,

of course, you don’t exist.

You could tell your analyst

but your analyst is not

an analyst. And no matter

what he says, a cigar

is not a cigar.

 

A poem is not a poem.

Ce n'est pas un poème.

A rose is not a rose is not

a rose is not a rose. We are

not who we think we are.

Erin Murphy’s latest book of poetry is Fluent in Blue (Grayson Books, 2024). She is professor of English at Penn State Altoona and serves as Poetry Editor of The Summerset Review.

A BANANA, A WANNABE OLIGARCH, AND A CONCEPT WALK INTO A BAR

by Tom Lagasse

A Chinese-born cryptocurrency entrepreneur has followed through on his promise to eat the banana from a $6.2m (£4.9m) artwork he bought last week. Justin Sun outbid six others to claim Maurizio Cattelan's infamous 2019 work Comedian - a banana duct-taped to a wall - at Sotheby's auction house in New York. He ate the fruit during a news conference in Hong Kong where he used the moment to draw parallels between the artwork and cryptocurrency. The banana is regularly replaced before exhibitions, with Mr Sun buying the right to display the installation along with a guide on how to replace the fruit. —BBC, November 29, 2024

The banana would have eventually rotted
like all organic things do.  He untaped it, 
unpeeled it and ate it because he owned it.  
Of course, the banana and tape were symbols 
for the concept behind the work of art, 
the way crypto is a concept for money.  
He could have stopped on his way to the auction 
and purchased one at the bodega for half a dollar 
and not six point two mil. With the excess, 
he could have fed a school district or a senior 
center.  He probably could have purchased 
a banana plantation and eaten one every day 
for life. It was never about hunger, the way
a cigar is not always a cigar. The idea was bought 
on behalf of capitalism, its ravenous appetite 
for eating everything in its path and repackaging it, 
before selling it to a hungry public and convincing them 
there is no climate crisis; Ukraine caused its own 
invasion; or the insurrection never was an attempt 
to overthrow democracy. It is no joke   
an oligarch in-waiting ate the banana from “Comedian.” 
For the wealthy, the hoi polloi is always the butt   
of the joke. The laughter comes at our expense. 

Tom Lagasse’s poetry has appeared in Orenaug Mountain Poetry Journal, The Silver Birch Press poetry series, Freshwater Literary Journal, The Eunoia Review, and in numerous anthologies. He was a 2024 Artist in Residence at the Edwin Way Teale House at Trail Wood. He lives in Bristol, CT. 

THE INNER LIFE OF A HENCHMAN

by Michael Brockley

Photo by Amy Volovski at Birds&Blooms.

The cardinals nesting in the barberry bush beneath my bedroom window work together as if they have fledged many chicks during their brief lives. The mother, dusty brown and patient, approaches her chicks through aerial feints. And by hopping from lower branches to the upper fork where the hatchlings await the spiders and crickets she delivers. The scarlet male darts and barrel rolls toward its forage with what I pretend is pride. 

Soldiers were once children in such a hurry to fly. I was such a boy aiming toy bazookas and sniper rifles at Lincoln Log forts under siege. Now I celebrate the appetites of five hungry gullets, hoping the chicks survive the neighbor cat’s overnight prowls. If I can’t protect the spring’s latest brood, how can I save the children of Jerusalem and Rafah.

Michael Brockley is a retired school psychologist who lives in Muncie, Indiana. His poems have appeared in The Parliament Literary Journal, Stormwash: Environmental Poems, and Barstow and Grand. Poems are forthcoming in Of Rust and Glass, Ryder Magazine, Otherwise Elsewhere Literature and Arts Journal, and The Prose Poem. 

WHAT IS LEFT?

by Peter F. Crowley

Waiting for rations from an outdoor kitchen in Khan Younis this month. Hunger is now most acute in the southern Gaza Strip.

Credit...Agence France-Presse — Getty Images via The New York Times, May 24, 2024Credit...Agence France-Presse — Getty Images via The NewYork Times, May 24, 2024

     The language you speak has soured, become melancholy, chokes eyelids. Its tendrils lay flaying in dusty streets near occupation crossings in the gated night. Your eyes have grown sallow, as your children's stomachs distended, swollen, as you swat flies from their brow. The streets are your anguish, running, forever running from apartment home to tent back to bombed out abode. Hope was sapped with the last morsel of cat food, finished for yesterday’s only meal, while the powerful stick their blindfolded, deaf eyes deep into the sand, purchasing bulldozers to roll over you.
     You now avoid aid trucks, should they ever appear out of shackled nothingness, to avoid getting gunned down by those fighting terror. 

As a prolific author from the Boston area, Peter F. Crowley writes in various forms, including short fiction, op-eds, poetry and academic essays. His writing can be found in 34^th Parallel, Pif Magazine, Galway Review, Digging the Fat, Adelaide’s Short Story and Poetry Award anthologies (finalist in both) and The Opiate. He is the author of the poetry books Those Who Hold Up the Earth and Empire’s End, and the short fiction collection That Night and Other Stories.