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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com. No simultaneous submissions. Use "Verse News Submission" as the subject line. Send a brief bio. No payment. Authors retain all rights after 1st-time appearance here. Scroll down the right sidebar for the fine print.
Showing posts with label peak. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peak. Show all posts

Monday, November 18, 2024

ON MT. FUJI EXPERIENCING ITS LATEST SNOWFALL IN 130 YEARS

by Carissa Coane


AP image via Republic, November 13, 2024


At first, I think I’ll write an ode:

to the snowdrops finally

crowning this hallowed summit, 

to nature’s ineffable persistence.


I’ll envision the peak blanketed,

not merely dusted, by snow,

postcard-perfect, framed from afar

by scarlet maples. 


I’ll weave the ballot I cast

last week, my hopes fluttering

away in the crisp breeze

of the mountain’s foothills, 


into a feeble metaphor—

It’s never too late—that crumbles

like withered foliage

in my hands. 


Because the only firsts

these days

are ever-higher temperatures,

stretching up to the stars.


The only glass 

being shattered 

encases blood-red mercury.

How it oozes.


I don’t want to think

about where we’ll be

4 years from now,

yet alone another 130.


And, even when reminded

of Fuji’s majesty, 

the only poem

I can bring myself to write


is an elegy.


Carissa Coane's poetry has appeared in Body Odyssey (Heroica), Proud to Be (Laurel Review), and various journals. She is on staff at Asymptote Journal and #FemkuMag. She is 21.

Sunday, April 12, 2020

EASTER DAY: 2020

by Devon Balwit


The Empty Tomb by He Qi


Here we are—days spent walled
in our tombs, straining for some sign of life,
pondering the world’s dissolution, our stalled
plans. The promises of faith we only half-
believe, yet still we send out hope like Noah’s
dove over the waters. Somewhere, the numbers
are favorable; someone descends from the peak, awe
gilding their face, glowing like the ruddy embers
of an almost-spent fire. We listen from within
our darkness for footsteps. Help was promised
us, a stone rolled away, rebirth. We begin
the same dance of every day, optimism
with despair, praying for the gasped: come and see—
the surprising confirmation the tomb is empty.


Devon Balwit's most recent collection is titled A Brief Way to Identify a Body (Ursus Americanus Press). Her individual poems can be found in here as well as in Jet Fuel, The Worcester Review, The Cincinnati Review, Tampa Review, Apt (long-form issue), Tule Review, Grist, and Rattle among others.