THE RISING DARK

by June Hall McCash

In the cold morning, the invaded city

muffles the sound of scuffles in the night.

Traffic drowns the echoes carried by the wind,

cries of the seized and of the children

left behind in empty halls and alleyways.

With the early light, night still casts 

empty shadows left by the unrelenting 

attack on innocence and guilt alike, 

by faces marked with terror 

at the approaching sound of heavy boots 

echoing through the streets, 

of masked and mirthless specters 

with glass-fixed eyes, armed with

guns, tasers, and new electric gloves, 

with violence and cruel indifference.

There is, there was no retreat, no justice,

no escape from lost identity, snatched away

without recourse and chained to a ruthless fate.

 

When all true judges have been replaced 

by sycophants, will we then grasp

that we too are among the fearful, waiting 

in the shadows? Will we know that our time 

too may come, when promises no longer keep,

when pledges and oaths are but empty words

and that the looming shadow can also reach out

to seize upon our weakness—yours and mine? 

Will we recognize it then as the beast it is,

reborn from that cruel phoenix 

we thought our fathers had destroyed 

in the wars of earlier generations? 

Will we concede that evil is perennial, 

relentless as crabgrass in our human soil 

as it invades our city streets and creeps 

its way into our unwary countryside?

 

We have learned already that hope, good will,

and even laws are but fragile ramparts 

against the terror of a tyranny ready to rise 

the moment we let down our guard.

Brave speech flames out when justice dies. 

Already, we can hear the terrible silence.

June Hall McCash is the author of fifteen books of nonfiction and historical fiction, and one book of poetry. She has been twice named Georgia Author of the Year for her novels. Another of her books of historical fiction won first place in the Chaucer competition for Early Historical Fiction, one of the Chanticleer International Book Awards. Now a retired university professor, McCash holds a Ph.D. in comparative literature from Emory University. She divides her time between homes on a Georgia sea island and in Tennessee. 

RE-FRUITING

by Regina YC Garcia 

Nolan Wells' tragic death joins a long list of Black youth whose untimely demises have raised urgent questions about justice and accountability. —MadameNoire, July 10, 2026

This tree smells oddly familiar

as worms peer up

from disturbed ground

This water sighs in sadness

as sealife swims unabated

and dark-bodies sink

This land heaves up old hurts

as mouths protest 

“All is well!”

(the lies they tell)

Regina YC Garcia is an award winning poet, language artist, and professor from Greenville, NC. Her published work appears in NCLR, Fiyah Black Speculative Lit, Soflopojo, Amistad, Elevation Review, Charlotte Lit, and others. Her first chapbook The Firetalker's Daughter published by Finishing Line Press was released in March 2023, and her full-length book Whispers from the Multiverse published by Aquarius Press/ Willow Books was released in February 2025.

ELEVEN HOMICIDES, GILGO BEACH, SUFFOLK COUNTY, NY

by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

 

Author's Note: Suffolk County, New York law enforcement sabotaged and delayed investigating the deaths of eleven corpses found along Gilgo Beach for years until their corrupt Police Chief James Burker was arrested in connection with a different case and imprisoned along with Thomas Spota, District Attorney, and Christopher McPartland, Assistant District Attorney. All three were convicted of witness tampering, obstruction of justice, and conspiracy charges. Only then did the Gilgo Beach murder investigation proceed. On Wednesday, June 17th, 2026 the killer was sentenced.

 

 

 

 

New Yorker and award-winner LindaAnn LoSchiavo is a member of British Fantasy Society,  HWA, SFPA, and The Dramatists Guild. Find out more about her on Substack @GreenwichVillagePoet .

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

LONG LIVE THE CAGE

by Ron Shapiro

 

 

 

 

On the White House lawn,
the president has erected
a 90 foot tall structure
nicknamed “The Claw”
for a UFC fight on the
night of his birthday.
 
With the People’s House
in the background, a violent
battle with cuts, blood and bruising
will unfold on the front lawn.
 
Cheering on senseless cruelty with
the rage of Orwell’s Two Minute Hate,
movie stars, soldiers and politicians
will celebrate the moral rot of amerika.
 
And then it will be over.
 
But the president wants to the cage
and claw to remain long after as
a symbol of Greatness, a new landmark,
akin to the Eiffel Tower.
 
Not a bad idea especially if the structure
can be used for senators and congress people,
along with billionaires, to enter the octagon
and beat the crap out of each other.
 
Let policy be directed by who has the strongest
arms and legs or the best submission hold not
the biggest mouth and the loudest voice.
No more words dressed as manipulative
rhetoric. Grunts and groans now command
 
Attention. Schumer versus McConnell or
Owens against Allred? Let the people choose
the bouts then let ‘em go at it. Put the show
on Netflix. Encourage betting. Let winners
 
Decide what’s best for the country. With
one punch to the gut, a kick in the groin
or a two-finger eye poke, universal health
care, a tax on the wealthy right around the corner.
 
So keep the cage standing. It may be just what
this country needs to progress towards the future
and bend the moral arc a bit closer to justice.
 

 

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

PLACING SEASHELLS ON GRAVES, BY PHOTOS

by Joan Leotta

 
 

The poet by the beach at Les Braves Monument, Saint-Laurent-sur-Mer

Living far now, from where
the veterans among my
beloved dead are interred,
I will place by my
father’s photo
a seashell, one that is also
a veteran of sorts, a shell
from Omaha Beach, Normandy.
 
Walking with our guide
where our soldiers landed,
my fingers, on that cool
May morning plucked,
two slim jack-knife clam shells, 
from the wet sands before the
tide could steal them back.
 
That same guide had recounted how

scientists found that

even after seventy years
sand of this place
still carried traces
of the landing party’s blood.
 
That same day, we were given roses
to lay on graves in the American cemetery.
I also laid down one of these shells,
with a few grains of sand still
clinging to its curves like
hands clasping a lifeboat
thinking that perhaps
the grains carried
DNA from a comrade of the
unknown man I visited.
 
The other of this precious pair
found its way home with me.
I did not wash it or place it in a
generic box: “Shell, France.”
Instead, I kept it aside, wrapped.
Each Memorial Day, I carefully place
that small remaining
Omaha Beach shell
with its few grains of sand
by my father’s picture.
Although he was on
Pacific Coast sands beating
back assaults from a different
Axis Power foe, he and the
Omaha Beach men
were also comrades.
I imagine the soul or souls
on the sand in my shell
communicating with my father,
trading tales of their fight for justice.
 
On Memorial Day, especially,
I think of them and
all who sacrificed their
lives for our country as does
everyone who loves
and remembers those soldiers,
everyone who loves freedom.

Joan Leotta plays with words on page and stage. She’s been published as essayist, poet, short story writer, novelist, and a two-time nominee for Pushcart and Best of the Net. Her poetry and stories have appeared in Spillwords,  One Art, The Ekphrastic Review, The Lake, and many others. She performs folktale programs most often highlighting  food, family, and strong women; she performs a one-woman show, “Meet Louisa May Alcott, Nurse and a Force in Healing America post Civil War.” Contact joanleotta[at]gmail[dot]com for her Main Street Rag poetry chapbook Feathers on Stone.

WE THE PEOPLE

by Mary Saracino

 

 

 

 

We the people

who believe in freedom

are rising

one heart

one voice

one vision,

warriors united for justice

standing shoulder to shoulder

arm-in-arm

women, men, children

of every age, race, creed, color,

ethnicity, economic condition.

Roaring and soaring

we seek to create

a more perfect union.

Fierce in our determination

we band together,

millions of souls,

to free our Republic from the fists

of autocrats, oligarchs, tyrants

and all who would silence us.

With our ancestors at our sides,

propelling us forward,

whispering in our ears: “Resist!”,

we will not be deterred.

We march onward

refusing to be mute about immorality,

refuting the lies, believing our eyes,

deploring the evils of

genocide, racism, misogyny,

xenophobia, homophobia,

transforming the present

into a brighter future for all.

 

Mary Saracino is a novelist, memoir writer, and poet. Her book of poetry Motherlines was published by Pearlsong Press (February 2026). She is the author of four novels: Heretics: A Love Story (Pearlsong Press 2014), The Singing of Swans (Pearlsong Press 2006), No Matter What (Spinsters Ink 1993), and Finding Grace (Spinsters Ink 1999), and the memoir Voices of the Soft-bellied Warrior (Spinsters Ink 2001). She co-edited (with Mary Beth Moser) She Is Everywhere! Volume 3: An anthology of writings in womanist/feminist spirituality (iUniverse 2012), which earned the 2013 Enheduanna Award for Excellence in Women-Centered Literature from Sofia University. 

A BLOT UPON THEE

by Zumwalt

 

 

 

 

"One prominent House Democrat, Rep. Jamie Raskin of Maryland, said Monday afternoon that he had reviewed the unredacted documents [of the Epstein files] and saw  'tons of completely unnecessary redactions... I saw the names of lots of people who were redacted for mysterious or baffling or inscrutable reasons,' Raskin said." —CNN, February 10, 2026

 

 

What Blindness now doth mark this stream of text,
Where Blame falls dark, and we are left perplexed.
The blurred distinction between right and wrong—
The weak are blistered by the brazen strong.
The blundered records, bleached of wealthy name
Won't bear the Guilt, now blotted free from shame,
While those who bled a trail of broken trust
Are bluntly bared, the others cloaked with dust.
What blatant gall to hide the rich man's Sin,
To shield in blacked-out lines the wolves within,
Now battered, those who bear no Stain at all—
What Blight is bred in this corrupted hall?
There is no Justice, just the shattered teen,
Her blank Betrayal b-l-i-n-k-i-n-g on our screen. 

 

 

Zumwalt's poetry feeds on alienation, shifting reality, and forced adaptation. Zumwalt is a proud repeat contributor to The New Verse News, and was recently nominated for Ink Sweat & Tears "Pick of the Month." 

THERE ARE MONSTERS UNDER MY BED

by Celeste DeSario

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

I jolt awake wondering…
Where do the monsters go at night?
Are they hiding in the shadows?
In my closet? Under my bed?
My curtains, tightly drawn—I’m safe.
But… are the monsters still out there?
Lurking? Waiting? 
Or are they only in my head?
 
Biding their time,
They will creep into the hamlets, villages, towns, cities, 
Seducing men cloaked in blue, gray, brown uniforms, wearing badges, pointing guns.
 Masked. 
 For whose protection? 
Social Media, politicians, distort the truth even as visuals show us snippets of reality,
And now, AI, distorts images using Deep Fakes, making decisions based on values not aligned with ours, well, with values we once held respected, agreed upon. 
Is AI listening to our conversations, recording our fears, sharing them…with? 
We don’t know. That’s why we should worry.
 
Those monsters creep into Judicial chambers,
Where we assign fancy Latin terms, 
Like Mala Fide—acting in bad faith,
Or Proper ex Parte Communication—Defying justice, the court’s authority and dignity.
Tearing down our laws, 
And everything that carefully glues our country together.
Makes us free.
Makes us proud.
Makes us a republic we love.
 
Scenes crafted in sick, twisted minds play out in our towns, on our screens, 
Eventually, in our backyards.
Maybe even our living rooms.
Who is roaming the hallways of our colleges?
Our libraries?
Places we once found refuge for serious thought,
Contemplating futures we understood. 
 
Okay, now you are just listing. Stop being so dramatic.
You are scaring me.
 
Look carefully. The monsters have infiltrated our schools.
They need to get those kids,
Need to inject them with bigotry and hate.
Remember the song, “You’ve got to be carefully taught.”
So, they teach them. 
Yanking books off the shelves that instill dangerous, harmful ideas.
Like tolerance, inclusion, acceptance,
Twisting words and history,
Until we don’t recognize who we once were.
Using Doublespeak, Political euphemisms.
“I am the greatest peacekeeper in the history of the world.”
(Yes, bomb those fishing boats and those on them,
Demonize any country that doesn’t agree with me,
Detain citizens. Call them illegal. I don’t care.
Just do it. 
I’ll keep dancing to distract them. Make them laugh. Make them love me.)
 
They know spectacle distracts us, so,
They organize marches.
Political parades.
Use pennants, colorful flags, music,
Precision marching, a lot of saluting.
Film your leaders from below so they appear all -powerful,
So, they dominate the frame,
And then dominate what lies beyond the frame.
They appear…unstoppable.
But it’s just a trick. A low camera angle. We all know how that works.
See? We can stop them anytime we choose.
 So, do we choose now?
Choose now. 
Now.
I will fill up a cart from Amazon: that will save me.
Click. Sleep mask.  Click. Noise cancelling headphones. Air purifier. Click, click, click.
 
I will upload a new photo on my Instagram page.
See? 
Everything is okay. 
There is Nala the Cat,
Wearing a Superman Cape, and a gold crown.
Doug the Pug wearing funny sunglasses and a hat and a Christmas sweater.
 
Maybe TikTok can save me?
Just upload a new video.
Zach King, we need some of your digital magic,
Your sleight-of-hand.
That’s how it starts. That is also how it ends.
 
When you ask if there are monsters under the bed,
I assure you,
They do exist.
And when they crawl out,
There is little we can do to get them back under.
Except recognize them.
And it starts with that.
It simply starts with that. 

 
Celeste DeSario is an award-winning educator and former tenured professor of Literature and Writing at Suffolk County Community College. She is the recipient of the SUNY Chancellor’s Award for Teaching Excellence and a National Teaching Excellence Award from the University of Texas. After years of teaching the greats, she has stepped out of the classroom to craft her own worlds of impossible choices.

THE CITY OF WATER

by Bänoo Zan

for the people of Iran

The townspeople are hungry *

for bread and freedom

 

The streets are rivers

bubbling with chants

 

Crowds break into the food storage

of revolutionary guards

 

not to loot 

but to rip the rice bags

throw fistfuls overhead

 

reenact the Milky Way

against the night of news blackout

 

We are protestors

not rioters

 

We fear bullets

but we fear silence more

 

In this torrent of blood

courage is not a laurel wreath 

but a lifeline  

 

May joy echo in our mountains 

May justice wash the blood off our valleys

May our twin lakes be ^

as lucid as freedom

 

 

---

* “Abdanan” means “the city of water.” Located in Ilam Province, Iran, it was the scene of a remarkable protest on January 6, 2026.

^ These twin lakes are called the Black Bull Lakes. They are known for their clear blue water, although where the depth increases, the water appears to be black. The overall patterns of blue and black look like spots on a cow’s hide. 

Bänoo Zan is a poet, translator, and curator, with numerous published pieces and books including Songs of Exile and Letters to My Father. She is the founder of Shab-e She’r (Poetry Night), Canada’s most diverse and brave poetry open mic series (inception 2012). It bridges the gap between poets from different ethnicities, nationalities, religions (or lack thereof), ages, genders, sexual orientations, abilities, poetic styles, voices, and visions. Bänoo, with Cy Strom, is the co-editor of the anthology: Woman Life Freedom: Poems for the Iranian Revolution. She is the recipient of the 2025 Writers’ Union of Canada Freedom to Read Award.