DISARMCHAIR

by David Rudd-Mitchell

AI-generated graphic for The New Verse News by Shutterstock

DisArmchair Linguists

While body counts are unconfirmed,

They view how breaking news is termed.

DisArmchair Activists

The blood is fresh,

And there’s no pause

Before the next post 

for their cause. 

DisArmchair Optimists

They hope that soon the war will cease,

And this will lead to lasting peace.

DisArmchair Hypocrites

They hate the hypocrites who stride,

To only see the other side,

Armchair Apologists

Water cut off, city bombed,

They say, “It’s how they must respond.”

Armchair Fascists

Cut all the power, cut off the phones,

Stop all the schooling, crush all the homes.

Close off the border, block every route,

Stop all the bombing, then start to shoot.

DisArmchair NeoNihilists

Watching from a safe retreat,

These optimists admit defeat.

DisArmchair Poet

A poem of protest,

angry tweets,

And yet our history

Still repeats. 

Reformed DisArmchair Poet

Words are precious,

In their way,

But it’s time to join the march

—and pray.

David Rudd-Mitchell is an occasional poet who has had work published in zines, magazines, two shared chapbooks and anthologies. 

THE YEAR IN REVIEW

by Bonnie Naradzay

Detail of cover of book by Bearded Doctor.

after Ilya Kaminsky

we lived happily, forgive us, 

we survived, even thrived, 

the way we slunk into the mud

beside the walkways, gave in, 

turned our eyes away, gestured 

with gratitude, wore masks, 

our eyeglasses clouding over, 

vision blurred, happily seeing

hypocrites roll up their sleeves, 

watch them all jump the lines, 

pull rank, Pence with his naked 

flabby arm, bravely showing 

how it’s done, we stood aside,

read about the one pardoned 

for ordering her police dog

to savage a homeless man 

backed against the wall,

showing how it’s done, 

war criminals pardoned,

mercenaries, paid with 

our taxes, gunning down

children with impunity, 

the nakedness of our nation,

we bowed in obeisance, 

sidled by, raised our hands,

excused ourselves, waved 

a note from the teacher,

we lived happily (forgive us)

                     the long year, is it over yet?  

     

Bonnie Naradzay's recent poems are in AGNI, the American Journal of Poetry, New Letters (Pushcart nomination), RHINO, Tar River Poetry, EPOCH, Tampa Review, Kenyon Review Online, Potomac Review, Xavier Review, and One Magazine. For many years she has led poetry workshops at a day shelter for the homeless and at a retirement center, both in Washington, DC.   

OPTIONS TO CONSIDER AFTER A TRUMP VICTORY

by David James

CREDIT: MATT / THE TELEGRAPH 

You can stumble
into your cave of despair and blame

half the electorate for their blind
ignorance; you can stick your head
in the sand and try to hide the shame

you feel for your country; you can live behind
four walls of silence and let the world implode

on itself.  Or you can gather your belongings
and move to Croatia or Singapore.
But it won’t change a thing. On the long road

to heaven, you’ll find lepers and hypocrites, almost anything
floating between paradise and hell.

The fact is, no election could ever save us.
No truth can be hidden for long.
No amount of rain can fill the old well

if the well’s dry as a bone. To live with disgust
is to admit defeat. To admit defeat is to lose

all hope. And to lose all hope it to give in
to darkness. Sorry, I can’t let that happen. I’ll stand here
in the light, work hard, and wait for the good news.

David James' third book My Torn Dance Card was a finalist in the 2016 Next Generation Indie book award. More than thirty of his one-act plays have been produced. He teaches at Oakland Community College.