THE SIREN SONG OF TRUTH

by Robin Stevens Payes

Believe women. Believe girls.

The women, the girls know.
Our story ancient. Our voices new.

They make us believe
The crime is our fault.
Men take our bodies,
Unable to resist the siren
Song of our bodies.

The song of our bodies
Does not belong to us.
Girls whom men called sirens,
Children wounded into silence,
Sing their bodies.

Sing their truths aloud.
Strongmen claim they are victims
Of the song of our bodies.
Weak men whose bodies
Are out of control.

Bodies anatomically ungoverned.
Bluster out of control.
Vanquishing other bodies—
Seas, straits, oil fields,
Mines, minds.

Strap yourselves tighter to the mast.
Now the bindings break.
Your strength offers no protection
Against the siren song of Truth.
The women. The girls. Know.

Mother Earth sings Her body,
Raped by weak men
Whose strength is measured
In violence. Did their mothers
Teach them this was fair game?

We sing our truths aloud,
Sirens flashing red:
Pull over now. Stop raping
Our minds, our bodies,
Our mothers, our daughters.

Ourselves. Loudly we sing
Our bodies to wholeness.
Weak men are broken,
No fault of ours.
Blame your wounds, not our anatomy.

Our siren song strengthens.
Our story ancient.
Our voices new.

Believe us.

Robin Stevens Payes is a Pushcart Prize–nominated poet, storyteller, and cultural steward whose work braids ancestral memory, science, myth, and moral imagination. She is the author of the YA time-travel adventure series Edge of Yesterday and creator of [re]member the world, a multi-genre project retrieving and reweaving the silenced history of her grandmother’s flight from Ukraine’s Pale of Settlement. Her poetry has appeared in The New Verse News, Dawn Horizons, East Sea Bards, Maryland Bards, Poetry Reviews, and Reflections. She writes about creative ethics, generational healing, and cultural repair on her Substack, Releasing Memory. 

MIRRORING OUR TIMES

by Lylanne Musselman

Lylanne Musselman is an award-winning poet, playwright, and visual artist. Her poetry has appeared in Pank, The Indianapolis Review, The New Verse News, and Tipton Poetry Journal, among many other literary journals and anthologies. A seven-time Pushcart nominee, she is the author of eight poetry collections and is currently working on another.

JAPAN’S FIRST _________

by Jennifer Schneider

Sanae Takaichi, Prime Minister of Japan

Sanae Takaichi paid 
her own way through higher education, 
her parents didn’t believe school a worthy 
use of change for a girl, even one suited
of big, bigger, the biggest—
reams of dreams,

now, Takaichi holds the country’s highest office, 
a prime minister, my word!

yet       not yet             no, don’t  

In traditional fashion, well-fitted, Takaichi spares 
no hesitation to infuse wrinkles into hopes 
for progress when expressing her limited interest 
in spending or spreading a change of suits
for feminist checklists.

            not yet             no, don’t          amen

Dressed in shades of blue 
that nicely complement the existing political 
climate, Takaichi bows before the men 

who surround 
the camera’s focused lens, 

            smile!  bow     again

dressed on a platform of DNA and policies that ring 
familiar tunes, her maiden voyage–an address 
rooted in conservative values

a sale? at a discount? who’s first? 
a man… amen

Why women don’t need to be first*

1. Because they will bow to men regardless of placement.
2. Because all boats need sales and sailors, not merchants.
3. Because they’ll take their man’s name upon departure.
4. Because others have shown it’s a wasted opportunity.
5. Because all leaders wear suits of spades and kings.
6. Because men will never understand the women’s struggle.
7. Because once a maiden, always a maiden in men’s quarters.
8. Because maiden voyages require too much maintenance.
9. Because all leaders wear pants.
10. Because women’s cycles are enough.
11. Because blue has always been a man’s color.
12. Because women fill in the blanks whenever asked.
13. Because finishing is a man’s work.
14. Because a woman’s interests always come after those of a man.
15. Because it’s a sign of weakness to conclude a sentence with a preposition.

*after “Why We Oppose Pockets for Women” by Alice Duer Miller

Jennifer Schneider is an educator who lives, writes, and works in small spaces throughout Pennsylvania. Recent works include A Collection of Recollections, Invisible Ink, On Habits & Habitats, and Blindfolds, Bruises, and Breakups.

FLACCID JUSTICE FOR MONSIEUR TOUT LE MONDE

an Erasure

by Betsy Mars

Dominique Pelicot and 50 Others Guilty in Rape Trial That Shook France: A court sentenced Mr. Pelicot to 20 years after he admitted to drugging and raping his wife, Gisèle, for nearly a decade, and inviting strangers to join him. The case has made her a feminist hero. —The New York Times, December 19, 2024

they appeared to represent a cross-section of men:
The court heard from their wives,
 parents, 
friends
and children, 
who mostly described them 
as kind people incapable of rape
 
after watching videos of them penetrating Ms. Pelicot 
while she lay inert, sedated and often snoring loudly 
the defendants didn’t think of those acts as rape 
 
among the terms they used were 
“involuntary rape,” 
“accidental rape” 
and disassociated rape:
“rape by body, but not mind”
every defendant fully knew

he had drugged his wife 

without her knowledge

a playful threesome

Betsy Mars is a prize-winning poet, a photographer, and assistant editor at Gyroscope Review. whose poems can be found in numerous online journals and print anthologies. She has two books, Alinea, and In the Muddle of the Night, co-written with Alan Walowitz. Betsy is currently working on a full-length manuscript titled Rue Obscure.

THE DEMOCRATS' POST-MORTEM 2024

by William Aarnes

Graphic credit: Eniola Odetunde  Axios

That shamelessness could triumph is our shame.  

What tactic worked? Beyoncé’s walk-on song?

We have nobody but ourselves to blame.

Resentful people rule. So why inflame

them more with hopeful talk they hear as wrong?    

That shamelessness could triumph is our shame.  

You’d think by now we’d play a better game.    

Why hint at climate? Why not go along—

back fossil fuels? We have ourselves to blame.

The ads we ran were far too nice. So tame.

Why not something like Haitians don’t belong?

That shamelessness could triumph is our shame.  

Our nuanced stances came across as lame.    

Why didn’t we present ourselves as strong  

enough to bring—in days!—world peace? We’re to blame.

Next time let’s make attracting men our aim.

Why didn’t we bring up that golfer’s schlong?

That shamelessness could triumph is our shame.  

We have nobody but ourselves to blame.

William Aarnes lives in Manhattan.

UPON VOIDING PILLS

by Lavinia Kumar

 

Pill 1: Mifepristone

 

Man, White, Catholic, Texan

Prestigious Hell-Hound Cerberus 

Fortify ice flames of men

 

Goose-step with the always righteous

Trounce smugly all equal rights

Flush Pill #1 right down the toilet

 

Rule as arrogant white pious

Crush every woman’s uterus

Crucify all women’s freedoms

 

Pill 2: Misoprostol

 

Put pistols in every pocket

Abort no eggs. Abort all sense

Fortify that jail for women

 

Kneel together, quote the Bible

Love your neighbor only sometimes

Decree pregnant females un-people

 

Sling out lofty virile lassos 

Circle around a woman’s cervix

Lynch every woman’s freedom

Lavinia Kumar’s latest book is Spirited American Women: Early Writers, Artists, & Activists—very short prose of near 90 amazing women writers, poets, publishers, painters, artists, abolitionists, early suffragettes, and activists.

FAVORITE GODDESS

by Karen Warinsky

 

Cynthia waxes, manages her money,

shops off season for the children’s clothes,
stretches the meat with casseroles,
smiles at her husband.
 
Selene wanes, 
lights small candles,
bundles the baby, the grandmother,
cocooning them in blankets woven for beauty,
hums to herself.
 
Like Hecate at the crossroads a woman waits for grain,
for water, the line winding and wide like the Nile,
life pressing against her hip,
laying gentle in her tired hand.
 
Beyond, in the pitch and quiet of space,
Artemis flies, seeking herself in beaming moonlight,
hunting a discovery for men
on a mission that will hold no answers 
for Earth’s struggling, steadfast daughters.

 
Karen Warinsky began publishing poetry in 2011 and was named as a finalist for her poem “Legacy” in the Montreal International Poetry Contest in 2013.  She has two books from Human Error Publishing: Gold in Autumn (2020) and Sunrise Ruby, (2022), both.  Her work centers on mid-life, relationships, politics, and the search for spiritual connection through nature, and she coordinates poetry readings under the name Poets at Large.

THE APPROPRIATED FLAG

by William Aarnes

                        a final dispatch from Clemson, South Carolina, June 27, 2022 

 

Fifteen or so white men gather  

on Mondays before dawn 

 

on the intramural field/parking lot 

closest to Death Valley. 

 

Perhaps they’re innocent, 

meeting to pray together 

 

(I’ve seen them all kneel), 

if prayer is ever innocent. 

 

They’ve been a constant for years, 

looking as if they’re training 

 

for something. Sometimes, 

though not this morning, a boy 

 

or two are out here with them. 

They’re in their customary circle, 

 

the Stars and Stripes at the center, 

the emblem of every right               

 

they’re ready to defend. 

They’re talking things over, 

 

likeminded, making sure. 

When the dog and I pass, 

 

a few look our way, polite, 

offering smiling nods.    

William Aarnes is leaving South Carolina.

TO EMBODY THE BREEZE

by Kent Reichert

Samuel Alito; drawing by David Levine

At what point do men sit in judgement on the wind

or declare the light of the sun to be illegitimate?

Who threatens the height of waves upon the sea

or punishes the lightning for its brilliance?

What sovereign governs the mind and body,

imposing only its transitory will upon human essence

until the final physical manifestation

presents itself

to be

ignored and forgotten.

Do we cloak perjury in everlasting robes

and acquit the deception

as a harmless falsehood

enabling the taste of judges we savor,

garbing ourselves in the trappings and vestments of,

"God's will!"

That is, our God's will.

Who sings the elegy

for truth,

now floating helplessly aloft

untethered to reality?

The leader cleans his glasses and smiles

while the useful idiot struts and preens

telling the fawning, faithful masses,

certain in their creeds and dogma,

"I did this!"

Quietly, away from the light of day,

the leader softly phrases his words with hollow lips

intoning with a smirk, "No, I did this!"

"I did it all 

for the sake of power and dominion."

And, in the assembly of self-righteous,

monochromatic males,

Whatever he says is the way

becomes the truth,

and for women,

their lives.

Kent Reichert is a retired educator who believes in the power of words. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule and The Dispatch.

WITHOUT APOLOGY, WILLINGLY I DO IT

by Jacquelyn Shah

"Him" by Paula Rego

Because there is no one else to do it, no other woman willing

able  qualified  skilled  articulate

(and certainly no man capable or inclined)

I’ll be the one to do it.

Not only do it but delineate the how and why of it.

Because it’s so extreme  widespread  persistent  long-term  deep-rooted––

violence in our world, persecution  torture  abduction   

rape  incest  murder  war  subjugation  massacre  annihilation

     (our language is rich with words for various brutalities)

and because it’s carried out by those who hold the power, men––

I hate them. I hate men. 

Hate men fervently!  Hate them for all the damage they have done and do.

And continue doing and doing and doing... 

it never stops: the constant brandishing of weapons

like hands  gun  rifle  rope  knife  dagger  sword  bomb  penis, etc.

the never-ending violation and violence

of women (yeah, and men), children, babies––yes, babies!  Jesus!

Serial murders   mass murders   executions   sometimes necrophilia.

And ongoing destruction of the earth––

Hate them. With all my heart and soul and, especially, brain––

for I have observed, considered and concluded.

I’m willing to hate men.   Willing to say I hate them.

Their behavior merits it.  But my hatred will never MANifest in violence–– 

I won’t suppress  rape  torture  murder  abduct men.

Though men deserve everything bad they ever get,

I will never give it to them,

but hate them, yes, vigorously, steadfastly! 

          And dismiss them.

Men. They’re targets of nothing from me

except this quiet  hopeless  worthless  toothless  futile

statement made. And repeated, repeated with candor, vehemence: 

I, a pacifist, hate  men.

All of them?    No, not quite all.

Those undeserving get no such ardor,

just a cold shoulder––

because they’re all complicit, especially those in positions of power

who do nothing to change the current killing in our pathetic country.

How they all love guns and how I hate them!––men and guns.

Jacquelyn Shah—iconoclast, feminist, pacifist. A.B., English, Phi Beta Kappa; M.A.–English; M.F.A., Ph.D.–English lit/creative writing–poetry. Publications: chapbook, small fry; full-length book, What to Do with Red. Poems in various journals; Winner of Literal Latté’s 2018 Food Verse Contest

CIRCE'S BLESSING

by Ralph Culver

#Werepig Doodle by Ariane Hofmaniyar.

—for Marie Yovanovitch and Fiona Hill

Cruelty, greed, indifference to others—
these were men, abject one minute
in their pursuit of power, and
obsequious the next
in their fawning adoration
for those who achieved it, often at
their own expense, and worse if
their lives had been spared in the quest.
These were men; this is what men do.
And when she turned to them

and changed them, into swine, jackals,
any form that crept or flew
or crawled but could not speak
with a man’s corrupted tongue,
they had settled into the new shapes
she had given them and,
more often than not, they were thankful.
In fact, for the most part, they
did not want to go back to being men.
It was safe to say they had seen enough.

Here’s the deal: it’s not an intervention
if it’s what you’ve been begging for.
Like most women, whether the woman
knows it or not, whether or not
she wants to know, she understood them
better than they understood themselves.
She was doing them a favor. Such relief
to be the condor, the vulture, that covets
carrion and seeks it out, but calling
to his own, and sharing the spoils.

Ralph Culver's most recent collection of poems is So Be It (WolfGang Press, 2018). His work has appeared in many journals and anthologies. He is a past grantee in poetry of the Vermont Arts Council and multiple nominee for the Pushcart Prize. His book A Passible Man is forthcoming from MadHat Press in 2020.

ON NOTICING HOW MANY PRO-LIFE MEN ARE SMOKERS

by Julie Steiner

Sing about the sanctity human life has.
Preach with all your passion: Abortion’s murder!
Afterwards, wind down with a soothing ciggie,
     smug in your maleness.

Suck the calming poison that causes cancer.
Taint the perfect organs your Maker gave you.
Human life is precious in women’s bodies.
     Not in your own, though.

Slowly self-destruct, in a way that rules out
making any life-saving gifts to others.
Maim your liver, pancreas, kidneys, heart, lungs.
     Damage them. Waste them.

Vandalize these treasures, so you and others—
patients needing transplants—will perish sooner.
God made women vessels of life, not you, right?
     Men don’t get pregnant.

Smoking? That’s your medicine. Helps you function.
Helps you fight anxiety, which unmans you.
If you quit, you’ll crumble. Complete your mission!
     Think of the children—

millions—who will live when abortion’s outlawed.
(Care about them only until they’re born, though.
Vote against the programs that help support them.
     Kids are expensive.)

Think of justice: women should feel the birth pangs
God assigned to Eve, in His perfect wisdom.
Sin and death were caused by a wayward woman.
     Women should suffer.

Virtue equals maleness. Its root's the Latin
vir, “a man” . . . not homo, “a human being.”
Eve is evil. Punish, control, subdue her,
     adamant Adam.

Let your male self-righteousness rise like incense.
Smoke like that proverbial chimney, built on
hearthstones far beneath you, where women labor.
     Tower above them,

fiery martyr. Fume at the fallen females.
Wheeze your hymns to Him—to Almighty Maleness.
God forbid that women should say, as men do,
     This is my body.

Julie Steiner lives and writes in San Diego. Besides the TheNewVerse.News, the venues in which her poetry has appeared include the Able Muse Review, American Arts Quarterly, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, First Things, Rattle, and the Rat's Ass Review.

TIME TO PLAY OUR GAME

by Stephanie Sesic

Image source: Daily Kos

     (with apologies to Joe Raposo)

one of these things is not like the others
     the proud owners of glorious cocks
     beloved collections of parasitic cells
     corporations closely held as a clandestine lover
     cunts and the sluts who hoard them
one of these things just doesn’t belong
     you see men are only human
     the justice they invented embryonic
     while the money eats what it needs to grow
     from the body that belongs to anything but her


Author's note: Italicized lines are from theSesame Street song, "One of These Things," by Joe Raposo. 

Stephanie Sesic teaches English at Kent State University. Her work has appeared in various print and online publications, and her chapbook The Intimate Verge was published by Pudding House in 2008.

ATMA ADITI ACHUTA

by Rasma Haidri



U.S. first lady Michelle Obama and U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry hosted the International Women of Courage awards ceremony at the State Department March 8, 2013 in Washington, DC. In celebration of the 102nd International Women’s Day, the State Department honored nine women from around the world with the International Women of Courage Award, including the 23-year-old Indian woman known only as “Nirbhaya,” who died from injuries she received after being gang raped by six men last December in Delhi.


India is a woman
with bangles of gold, yellow silk
draped over a bronze arm
fingers elegant and long
at the end of a hand
lying in the dust, chopped
so the bangles fell off, one by one
like bloodstained fetters.

India is a woman
with slender long limbs
sheathed in folds of softest cotton
that lift and stretch and bend
as she steps into a rickshaw
where two men already seated
smile and wag their heads
and make room for her
between them.

India is a woman
partitioned by a retreating army
into East and West, Us and Them
split along the red rape line
where her blood, like a river,
would have carried sons into the world
and daughters.

India is a woman
who trusts the strength of men
put in position to protect her
but again and again she is flung
like pieces of meat between them
her golden brown body devoured, ripped
by their white gnashing teeth, smiling
like jackals.


Rasma Haidri is an American poet of South Asian descent living on the arctic seacoast of Norway. Besides previous publication in New Verse News, her poems have appeared in journals and anthologies in the US, UK, Hong Kong, Canada and India.

RAW STUFF

by Carolyn Gregory



Their guns become their dolls,
each with a girl's name on it
and carved tattoo
they caress and polish
like vintage cars

With summer on their hands
and nothing playing at the movies
after the slasher film goes
the way of its bloody machete,

they train on tin cans
popping off little soldiers
on a fence,
steady as she comes
before antlers and coyotes follow --
no time for sentiment

Back with their kill,
they puff up chests and strut
as they continue
making men out of raw stuff,
rifle in a backpack,
Glock in a leather pocket.


Carolyn Gregory's poems and essays on music have been published in American Poetry Review, Main Street Rag, Bellowing Ark, Seattle Review, and Stylus. She was featured in For Lovers and Other Losses. She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize for poetry in 2011 and is a past recipient of a Massachusetts Cultural Council award. Her book, Open Letters, was published by Windmill Editions in 2009 and her next, Facing the Music, in 2012. She has been working on a series about the history of guns in America for several years now.