NIGHT STALKERS

by Kathyrn Ridall

The New York Times, July 16, 2026

2 AM,

loneliness a siren’s song,

a vampire’s kiss. I try

to remember how it felt

to be loved steadfastly

by my husband from the

moment we met until

he left this world.

A shiver in the night

and our 47th president appears—

a six-foot lizard, upright

with orange hair and a red

necktie, his tail a relentless

scythe that levels fields,

each day slashes the fragile

fruits of freedom.

My small dog senses

something outside

the house and launches

from the bed we share,

her barking a spray of bullets.

She wants to protect us

from creatures that bare

their teeth and stalk us

in the night.

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

Kathyrn Ridall is a poet and non-fiction writer. She is the author of the recent poetry collection The  Living Waters Between Us and of the award-winning Dreaming at the Gates: How Dreams Guide Us. She lives in Ventura, CA where she works as a psychotherapist.

DRY JULY

by David Chorlton

Today the inside knows what the outside’s like,
cats asleep and windows closed
with nobody walking on the street
and birds in the yard waiting for a shadow
to perch on.

                     It’s a hundred-
and-Hell degrees this afternoon, the devil’s
breath for a breeze
and climate change denial melts
when the temperature dances
on the asphalt in the road.

                                                The midnight low
is too high for living outdoors. Another
record falls. The homeless camp
was swept away and a public nuisance
turned into a death threat.

                                                     A dove
has made a dust bath in a bare patch
on the lawn, a man with no address
lies down with his belongings
at a bus stop where there’s shade.

A lizard on the back wall
flashes his lightning scales as he climbs
a few more degrees
                                     of dry heat
and doesn’t stop until he’s safely reached
the air conditioned sky.

David Chorlton is a transplanted European, who has lived in Phoenix since 1978. His poems often reflect his affection for the natural world, as well as occasional bewilderment at aspects of human behavior. He still produces occasional watercolors and is attentive to the local wildlife.

LIZARD DAYS

by Alejandro Escudé

A lizard, small, on my walk along 

the largest airport in the country,

dead, curled, fetus-like, so swift

they are as they shoot back toward

the ivy mounds. At times I imagine

how many trash bins would the 

lizards fill if they were all collected

from the overgrowth—so I take

with my iPhone a photo of him,

Cretaceous little being, extinct, 

and think about the latest warning

issued to all Apple users, a hack

where they could take control,

absolute control, the newscaster

asserts, of your phone. I yearn

for a return to those lizard days

when I couldn’t carry around

a sea of digital pirates, both legal

and illegal, a neon mind-maze,

yet enough data to assume society’s 

panoptic perch. I choose to keep 

from running another space race

with my phone, contemplate

the deadness of a dead lizard

on the sidewalk as monolithic 

shadows of planes, like the foot-

prints of a dinosaur accelerated 

in time, mesh onward to the west.

Alejandro Escudé published his first full-length collection of poems My Earthbound Eye in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches high school English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.

ECHO CANYON

by David Chorlton

 

When you call into Echo Canyon

and your voice gets lost

not even the sky will hear it ask

for directions. Only the heat climbs this far

on a day like today

when the thrashers are calling and the hummingbirds

sparkle. It’s beautiful

among the rocks

where cacti smile through their needles

and mesquite keep a foothold

on the steepest slopes. There’s a broad

vista from trail’s end, but

it takes water to reach it and only

the coyotes know

where to find it. If waves of light

suddenly distort everything

around you, forget the long journey that brought you

here, never mind the fare it cost or

the promise of a good time from the man

you came to meet in person, who

so casually climbs beyond your reach: turn

back. If you’re lucky

a lizard will show you the way.

If you’re lucky.

David Chorlton is a transplanted European, who has lived in Phoenix since 1978. His poems often reflect his affection for the natural world.  A new book of older poems, Unmapped Worlds, is out from FutureCycle Press. He recently took up watercoloring again, after twenty dry years.

SHOWING A DVD ON THE GALAPAGOS TO A NINTH GRADE CLASS

by Don Kingfisher Campbell

Some watch the projected video

of blue footed boobies

diving down like bombers

to feast on an unsuspecting school of fish

Others would rather stare

into their small lighted rectangles

to play a game, send messages

or simply check out their faces

The British narratress

twistedly intones the wonder

of sea lions snatching by the tail

swimming rock-colored iguanas

And what will become

of the fourteen-year-olds

who don’t care to take notes

on this predatory world

The gliding hawk seizes

the frantically running lizard

The bug-eyed orange crabs

pinch off pieces of wounded seagull

Are these students doomed

to be pushing paper, repairing roads

selling cars, hammering homes

stocking stores, serving plates

The volcanic islands themselves

are born in the ocean

live a few million years

sink slowly to die

Don Kingfisher Campbell’s poetry has recently been published in the anthologies Altadena Poetry Review, Like A Girl, Poems To F*ck To, San Pedro River Review, Attack of the Poems, Gutters & Alleyways, and Lummox #3; and in cyberspace on Toe Good Poetry, In-Flight Literary Magazine, Poetic Diversity, Where I Live-Silver Birch Press, One Sentence Poems, Cadence Collective, and Camel Saloon.