LAMENT FOR 250

by Jon Wesick

after the Sumerian "Lament for Ur”

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

Gerald Ford forsook the bicentennial and a putrid wind haunts our hopes.

Abraham Lincoln forsook his top hat and a toxic wind haunts the 14^th Amendment.

FDR forsook the Resolute Desk and a loathsome wind haunts the New Deal.

JFK forsook Camelot and a foul wind haunts the Civil Rights Act.

Daniel Webster forsook oration and a scorching wind haunts the Senate.

Sam Rayburn forsook the rostrum and a blistering wind haunts the House.

John Lewis forsook the floor and a stale wind haunts the Black Caucus.

Clarence Darrow forsook the law and a sweltering wind haunts the courtroom.

Earl Warren forsook his gavel and a noxious wind haunts Miranda.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg forsook her robe and an intrusive wind haunts women’s bodies.

Mother Jones forsook picket lines and a desolate wind haunts the union hall.

Jonas Salk forsook his stethoscope and a pestilent wind haunts iron lungs.

Martin Luther King forsook the pulpit and a corrupt wind haunts the ballot box.

Rosa Parks forsook her bus seat and a lethal wind haunts the EEOC.

Edward R. Murrow forsook his microphone and infectious lies haunt the web.

Admiral Halsey forsook the Enterprise and a diseased wind haunts the Persian Gulf.

General Eisenhower forsook Normandy and a virulent wind haunts Afghanistan.

 

One

America, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Liberty Island, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Edmond Pettus Bridge, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Denali, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Grand Canyon, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Golden Gate Bridge, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Mount Rushmore, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Gateway Arch, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Hoover Dam, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Colonial Williamsburg, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Lincoln Memorial, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Liberty Bell, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Freedom Trail, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Yellowstone, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Alamo, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Gettysburg, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Pearl Harbor, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Space Needle, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Crater Lake, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Devil’s Tower, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Everglades, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

National Civil Rights Museum, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Sears Tower, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

Vietnam Memorial, the lament is bitter. The lament is made for you.

 

Two

The Statue of Liberty cried, “The tyranny that came to be; its lamentation hangs heavy on me. The lies that came to be; their lamentation hang heavy on me. The corruption that came to be; its lamentation hangs heavy on me. The theft that came to be; its lamentation hangs heavy on me. The waste that came to be; its lamentation hangs heavy on me. The stupidity that came to be; its lamentation hangs heavy on me. The rancor that came to be; its lamentation hangs heavy on me.

 

“Because of the bitterness in my land, I gave out leaflets that householders ignored. Because of the bitterness in my land, I attended protests that politicians ignored. Because of the bitterness in my land, I posting memes that web surfers ignored.”

 

Three

On that day tyranny gathered, when in the presence of Liberty her nation was doomed, when they pronounced utter defilement of the nation, when they directed its people be enslaved, she did not forsake her land. Truly, she shed tears. Truly, she made supplication.

 

She pled, “Bull Connor, spare our nation,” and Connor said no.

“Lester Maddox, spare our nation,” and Maddox said no.

“George Lincoln Rockwell, spare our nation,” and Rockwell said no.

“Roy Cohn, spare our nation,” and Cohn said no.

“Phyllis Schlalfly, spare our nation,” and Schlafly said no.

“Jerry Falwell, spare our nation,” and Falwell said no.

“George W. Bush, spare our nation,” and Bush said no.

“Steve Bannon, spare our nation,” and Bannon said no.

“Stephen Miller, spare our nation,” and Miller said no.

“Russell Vought, spare our nation,” and Vought said no.

“Speaker Johnson, spare our nation,” and Johnson said no.

“Justice Roberts, spare our nation,” and Roberts said no.

“CBS, spare our nation,” but they capitulated.

“Paul Weiss, spare our nation,” but they capitulated.

A&O Shearman, Cadwalader Wickersham & Taft, Kirkland & Ellis, 

Latham & Watkins, Milbank, Simpson Thacher & Bartlett, 

Skadden Arps, and Willkie Farr & Gallagher capitulated.

“DNC, spare our nation.” They asked for donations 

and brought up gun control.

 

because the billionaires had already decided. 

Elon had decided. Peter Thiel had decided. 

Marc Andreeson, Steve Schwarzman, Miriam Adelson, 

Diane Hendricks, Harold Hamm, Bernard Marcus, Bill Ackman, 

Ike Perlmutter, Steve Wynn, the Winklevoss twins,

and Linda McMahon had all decided.

 

Four

The tyrant started a war—the aware groan. He replaced experts with sycophants—the aware groan. He fired government watchdogs—the aware groan. He fired generals—the aware groan. He fired diplomats—the aware groan. He fired doctors—he aware groan. He closed laboratories—the aware groan. He pardoned rioters—the aware groan. He pardoned drug runners and crooks—the aware groan. He praised dictators—the aware groan. He coerced colleges—the aware groan. He deported Afghans to the Taliban—the aware groan. He sued newspapers—the aware groan. His portrait dominates the Justice Department—the aware groan. He launched retribution campaigns against seashells, senators, veterans, astronauts, FBI Directors and National Security Advisors—the aware groan. He arrested reporters—the aware groan. He tore down the East Wing—the aware groan. He took food from the poor and medicine from the AIDS patients to build monuments to himself—the aware groan. He sued his IRS and awarded himself $2 billion—the aware groan.

 

Five

The tyrant stole from the nation, its farms fallow, its lunchboxes shattered. The arsenal of democracy dwindles—the aware groan. Wind power abandoned—the aware groan. Temperatures and tempers soar - the aware groan. Measles, Ebola, and hantavirus lurk—the aware groan. Voting rights cancelled—the aware groan. Election districts gerrymandered—the aware groan. Troops intimidate cities—the aware groan. Masked agents invade courtrooms and hospitals—the aware groan. Protesters murdered—the aware groan. He imposed tariffs—the people groan. Tankers languish in the Persian Gulf—the people groan. Prices skyrocket—the people groan.

 

Six

The Statue of Liberty laments her defiled home while awaiting deportation. “The tyrant has indeed defiled my nation. He took a pickaxe to its reputation. The world no longer looks to America as a beacon, sends its students to China instead. The tyrant turned Canada against us. He turned Greenland against us. He betrayed plucky Ukraine. He turned Mexico against us. He turned Brazil against us. He turned Albania against us. He turned Belgium against us. He turned Bulgaria against us. He turned Croatia against us. He turned the Czech Republic against us. He turned Denmark against us. He turned Estonia against us. He turned Finland against us. He turned France against us. He turned Germany against us. He turned Greece against us. He turned Hungary against us. He turned Iceland against us. He turned Italy against us. He turned Latvia against us. He turned Lithuania against us. He turned Luxembourg against us. He turned Montenegro against us. He turned Netherlands against us. He turned North Macedonia against us. He turned Norway against us. He turned Poland against us. He turned Portugal against us. He turned Romania against us. He turned Slovakia against us. He turned Spain against us. He turned Sweden against us. He turned Turkey against us. He turned the UK against us. He turned Saudi Arabia against us. He turned Kuwait against us. He turned Qatar against us. He turned the UAE against us.

 

Seven

The Statue of Liberty swelters at Alligator Alcatraz. Liberty, how is your heart? Faithful woman, confined to a flooded tent, how is your heart? Righteous woman, whose torch was sold for scrap, how is your heart? Symbol of freedom, denied a lawyer, how is your heart? Bronze goddess, beset by mosquitos, how is your heart? Inspiration, forced to unclog toilets with bare hands, how is your heart? How long will your imprisonment last? How long will you drink tainted water, eat moldy bread? How long will they deny you a doctor?

 

Statue, return to Liberty Island. Doctors, return to your clinics Scientists return to your labs. Professors return to your lecture halls. Stephen Colbert return to Late Night. Anderson Cooper return 60 Minutes. May voters declare an end.

 

Eight

The tyrant, who knows no humility, no empathy, no curiosity, no compassion, with an inflated ego, an incessant craving for praise, a sense of entitlement, a thirst for power, who boasts, who belittles, who wipes his ass on the law, who was ordered by hate, may he swoop down on the nation no more.

 

Those, who know no humility, no empathy, no curiosity, no compassion, with inflated egos, incessant cravings for praise, a sense of entitlement, a thirst for power, who boast, who belittle, who wipe their asses on the law, who were ordered by hate, may they be shunned. 

 

Those, who know no humility, no empathy, no curiosity, no compassion, with inflated egos, incessant cravings for praise, a sense of entitlement, a thirst for power, who boast, who belittle, who wipe their asses on the law, who were ordered by hate, may they never recur.

 

Nine

Liberty, may your restored nation be resplendent. Like a bright heavenly star may it not be destroyed.

 

As supplicant, the poet offers this invocation to you. After absolving the nation of its errors, may your heart relent toward those who labor for freedom and justice.

 

May the hearts of your people who dwell in the nation be pure. Liberty, in your restored nation, may you be praised.

Hundreds of Jon Wesick’s poems and stories have appeared in journals such as the I-70 Review, The New Verse News, Paterson Literary Review, and Unlikely Stories. He is a regional editor of the San Diego Poetry Annual and host of the Gelato East Fiction Open Mic as well as the NAV Arts poetry reading. His latest poetry collection is Rants of a Cranky Old Man. He lives in Manchester, New Hampshire and longs for gene editing to bring giant wombats back from extinction.

DOWN-SIDE-UP AND BACK-ASSWARDS

by Jennifer M Phillips

Bali's Tanah Lot temple being sucked down a sinkhole: AI-generated graphic by Shutterstock for The New Verse News.

Bali's Tanah Lot temple being sucked down a sinkhole: AI-generated graphic by Shutterstock for The New Verse News.

Jakarta (ANTARA) January 31, 2025 - Indonesia's special envoy for climate change and energy, Hashim Djojohadikusumo, said he considers the Paris Agreement no longer relevant for Indonesia following the US withdrawal from the deal. "If the United States does not want to comply with the international agreement, why should a country like Indonesia comply with it?" he asked at the ESG Sustainable Forum 2025 in Jakarta on Friday.

Today in the tabloids Indonesia is leaving Paris,
so many broken hearted occlusions
across the ways we fixed to meet.
Sports news has coined negative milestones.
I’m picturing
monuments earth sucks down like sinkholes
swallowing minivans. Drilling down
in our former refuge. Ignoring
acceleration
of ice-melt, diminishing aquifers, displaced bergs,
and this is just our warm-up act, witnessing
the double un-tundra.
Wondering if this might be the ending
of the beginning?

A much-published bi-national immigrant, gardener, Bonsai-grower, painter, Jennifer M Phillips has lived in five states, two countries, and now, with gratitude, in Wampanoag ancestral land on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Her chapbooks: Sitting Safe In the Theatre of Electricity (i-blurb.com, 2020) and A Song of Ascents (Orchard Street Press, 2022), and Sailing To the Edges (Finishing Line Press, forthcoming 2025). Two of Phillips' poems were nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her collection is Wrestling With the Angel (forthcoming, Wipf & Stock)

SOMETHING ABOUT NERO

by Lois Marie Harrod

Dave Whamond, Canada, PoliticalCartoons.com

Though writing poetry
often seems like fiddling
while Rome burns,

perhaps we should remember
violins were not invented
until the 15th century,

long after the Great Twiddler died.
Neither pencils or pens then,
nor ballpoints and computers

on which we’ve been fiddling
since confined long term
to our virtual prisons.

In fact  (it’s nice to have a fact)
if Nero played on anything at all,
it was on a cithara—

though Tacitus claims
Nero did not scrape the strings,
but warbled The Sack of Troy

in his best operatic voice
while Rome burned faster
than California.

Tacitus offers no eye-witnesses
to confirm his story, just as now
no known epics attest

how many times or in what situation
Nero referred to his legions as losers.
It is has been corroborated though

that this Nastiest of Emperors
used the land cleared by his fire
to build a Golden Palace

with surrounding Pleasure Gardens—
and that perhaps is worth noting
in a poem or two of toppled monuments.

Lois Marie Harrod’s latest collection Woman was published by Blue Lyra in February 2020. Her Nightmares of the Minor Poet appeared in June 2016 from Five Oaks; her chapbook And She Took the Heart appeared in January 2016; Fragments from the Biography of Nemesis (Cherry Grove Press) and the chapbook How Marlene Mae Longs for Truth (Dancing Girl Press) appeared in 2013. A Dodge poet, she is published in literary journals and online ezines from American Poetry Review to Zone 3. She teaches at the Evergreen Forum in Princeton and at The College of New Jersey.

CONDOLENCES ON THE PASSING OF YOUR CONFEDERATE MONUMENT

by MEH

Sunday night at Linn Park in downtown Birmingham, Alabama, a crowd took down the city of Birmingham's Confederate monument. Photo tweeted by Daniel Uhlfelder.

our deepest thoughts and prayers are with you
for the terrible loss you must be feeling. but
what was it doing in that part of town, so far away
from its own kind? didn’t it know, wasn’t it raised
better? (poor thing probably had a father in prison,
a mother on welfare, like so many of your people).
honestly though, it should have just followed the law,
not been out there on the street corner, glorifying thugs
of a bygone era (with all their violent music and chanting).
it’s un-American. it should have known its place,
known when to keep its mouth shut. but it wouldn’t stop
resisting. and I heard it had a weapon. it only got
what was coming to it. they had no choice, were only
doing their jobs. we should consider how they feel:
all lives matter. but it is a tragedy—no community
should watch a thing crushed to death like that while
children looked on. but the sad truth is it was well
past its prime and had an underlying health condition.

MEH is Matthew E. Henry, a multiple Pushcart and Best of the Net nominated poet. The author of Teaching While Black (Main Street Rag, 2020), his recent works are appearing or forthcoming in Baltimore Review, Bryant Literary Review, Massachusetts Review, Ploughshares, Poemeleon, The Radical Teacher, Rejection Lit, The Revolution (Relaunch), Solstice, and Spiritus. MEH is an educator who received his MFA from Seattle Pacific University, yet continued to spend money he didn’t have completing an MA in theology and a PhD in education.

THE MOURNING AFTER

by Nan Ottenritter

Detail of Kehinde Wiley's "Rumors of War"

Drive downtown, in the circles can be found
Stonewall Jackson, Arthur Ashe in Monument town.
Two hooves in the air mean the rider died in battle,
Others want their freedom, don’t make me no chattle.
The history society debunks the horse limbs lore
But slavery, Lost Causes leave generations sore
and hurting from a war and the endless chore
of teaching you, the victor, writing the stor-
ies, the history, the truth of our nation.

On the block in Shockoe Bottom, bound in chains
Or, cause cotton weren’t the only crop, sold down the James.
We scrawl on Jeff Davis Black Lives Matter.
At Robert E. Lee’s feet red paint is splattered.
Say his name. Lynch Trump. This is racist.
Your vote was a hate crime. The south ain’t no oasis.

Yet near Monument Avenue a black man rides,
Nike high tops astride a horse with one foot high.
Pony-tailed dreadlocks, rips in his jeans,
Wounded in the battle of his own life it seems.
Yet regard his hoodied shoulders, straight and proud.
Regard his youth, his gaze, his head unbowed.
Wiley brought him here to Arthur Ashe Boulevard.
The statue sits right here, in Richmond unmarred
the painful mourning after in our own backyard.

Nan Ottenritter lives in Richmond, VA and has driven by the confederate statues for years. Yet in February, 2019 the city council voted to change the name of the Boulevard to Arthur Ashe Boulevard. In December, 2019 Kehinde Wiley’s statue Rumors of War was installed in front of the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. It stands in stark comparison to the statues on Monument Avenue. With both of these actions the author began to feel a little proud of what was once the capitol of the Confederacy.

DONALD J. T***P AND XI JINPING HAVE TEA OVER ZOOM

by Victor D. Infante  

Both linger at the mirror before a servant turns the computer on for them.
Appearances are everything in the Grand Guignol of nation states.
What's tardiness in the face of statistics? Numbers are balloon animals.
They can bend them into any shape they wish. To a point.

One is drinking Coca Cola from his teacup, sugar and toxins coursing his veins.
He has long forgotten ever quenching his thirst without metallic aftertaste.
In this, he is very much the embodiment of America.
The other has stopped taking honey in his tea.
Winnie the Pooh has claimed even this: An unfair comparison.
He is wearing pants. Let all the world know he is wearing pants.

There are no cameras, so neither talks of vaccines or death knells.
One has fortune, the other debt, and this propels the vacuous dance.
Nielsen ratings make a conversational cameo.
One explains it is a measure of value. The other knows this.
That's why he limits what is seen. Envy radiates across oceans.

One looks out the window at the bodies stacked across his lawn.
He wants to have them removed, but there's some inexplicable delay.
One decides to make a monument of charnel houses, frames carnage as a gift.
No one cautions against the idea: Indeed, it's all such men have ever given.

Victor D. Infante is the Entertainment Editor for the Worcester Telegram & Gazette, the content editor for Worcester Magazine, and the author of City of Insomnia from Write Bloody Publishing. His poems and stories have appeared in dozens of periodicals, including The Chiron Review, The Collagist, Barrelhouse, Pearl, Spillway, The Nervous Breakdown and Word Riot, as well as in anthologies such as Poetry Slam: The Competitive Art of Performance Poetry, Spoken Word Revolution Redux, The Last American Valentine: Poems to Seduce and Destroy, Aim For the Head: An Anthology of Zombie Poetry, The Incredible Sestina Anthology, and all three Murder Ink: Tales of New England Newsroom Crime anthologies. He has serious opinions about RuPaul's Drag Race.