EXILE

by Joanne Kennedy Frazer

Tapachula, Mexico, Mar 21 (EFE).- Thousands of migrants showed up here Tuesday at the offices of Mexico’s National Institute of Migration (INM) to apply for permits to travel by air to cities near the border with the United States. The travelers are using CBP One, a mobile app created by US Customs and Border Protection, to apply for asylum in the United States. CBP launched the app after Washington announced that it was ready to accept 30,000 migrants a month from Venezuela, Nicaragua, Haiti, and Cuba. —La Prensa Latina, March 21, 2023

we do it to survive

leave all we have known

a ripple in the river of humanity

 

we walk away from dried water  

carry music       stories of the ancients

that tell us who we are

 

we carry our beloved

bewildered children

on our backs      in our arms

 

we trek through jungles

cross over mountains

find         climb over bodies

 

we land in holding pens

of unknown places          disconnected

as the world runs in all directions

 

we ache for a welcome where one day

we will attain dignity        serenity

drink from renewed wells

 

Joanne Kennedy Frazer, a retired peace and justice director and educator for faith-based organizations, is a third-act-of-life poet. She enjoys writing on issues of justice, the natural world and spirituality. Her work has appeared in numerous anthologies, journals and e-zines. Her second chapbook Seasonings (Kelsay Press) will be published in early 2023. She lives in Durham, NC.

KEEP SCREAMING

by Indran Amirthanayagam

March for Our Lives

Keep screaming. I will, Sister. Keep screaming.

I will, Dearest. Keep screaming. The children

will not be forgotten. Keep screaming. The guns

will be stopped, bullets intercepted. With our minds.

Our pens. Here, Senator, is our petition. Here you go

the draft legislation. Don't worry. Take your time

to read every word. We are staying here until

you decide to vote for or against. Not beyond

this line. Not any more. Never again. Not anywhere

in this America. We are not murderers. We are not

going to take the fall for the military industrial

profiteers. We are not going to be quiet. We are

not going to play dead; allow the demon to destroy

what's left of the Dream. Not for Martin. Not for

Malcolm. Not for Ginsburg. Not for John Lewis.

Not for you or me. I was a wretch. We were all

wretches standing on the street while the murderer

walked into the school unopposed on May 24th, 2022.

Keep screaming: Never again. Ban the filibuster.

Never again. Institute background checks,

psychological evaluations. Damn the idiot

argument of arming the teacher and the guardian,

He walked in unopposed. He killed nineteen

children and two teachers. Keep screaming.

Indran Amirthanayagam's newest book is Ten Thousand Steps Against the Tyrant (BroadstoneBooks). Recently published is Blue Window (Ventana Azul), translated by Jennifer Rathbun.(Dialogos Books). In 2020, Indran produced a “world" record by publishing three new poetry books written in three languages: The Migrant States (Hanging Loose Press, New York), Sur l'île nostalgique (L’Harmattan, Paris) and Lírica a tiempo (Mesa Redonda, Lima). He writes in English, Spanish, French, Portuguese, Haitian Creole and has twenty poetry books as well as a music album Rankont Dout. He edits The Beltway Poetry Quarterly and helps curate Ablucionistas. He won the Paterson Prize and received fellowships from The Foundation for the Contemporary Arts, New York Foundation for the Arts, US/Mexico Fund For Culture, and the MacDowell Colony. He hosts the Poetry Channel on YouTube and publishes poetry books with Sara Cahill Marron at Beltway Editions.

A QUESTION FOR THE NEW VERSE COMMUNITY

by George Salamon

Image source: DonkeyHotey

"'Tis the season once again. You should know it well by now: a 'progressive' Democrat running in the primaries for president of the United States. We've seen it all before, from Jessie Jackson to Dennis Kucinich, left-leaning voters have time-and-again been asked to support candidates that are working to transform the corrupt and war-happy Democratic Party from within. And each and every time the strategy has failed..."  Joshua Frank," Why Bernie Sanders is a Dead End," Counterpunch, June 3, 2015

Our poems burst with love for humanity,
We care for all its members, only not their oppressors.
We sign petitions, shout for peace and march for justice.
It's all so good, but we risk little and gain even less.

Is it time to put our bodies
Where our pens played and our words sprouted?
We shall confront once more what Tadeusz Borowski
Discovered after his liberation from Auschwitz:
 "The world is ruled neither by justice nor by morality,
The world is ruled by power and power is obtained by money."

Been there, done that you say, but what did we do?
We blinked and vowed to go on writing and volunteering and organizing.
We played by the rules in the land of the lemming
And the home of the harmless.

"We tried," we'd say as the words curdle
Into cold comfort on our tongues while
Power grins and grants us our gestures.

Our words struggle to trade as conscience's currency.

What is to be done?


George Salamon taught German at several East Coast colleges, served as staff reporter on the St. Louis Business Journal and Sr. Editor for Defense Systems Review. He contributes to the Gateway Journalism Review, Jewish Currents and The New Verse News from St. Louis, MO.

HOW WE IMAGINED WE BLED OUR SUPPLICATIONS

by Ranjani Murali

Ink, Blood, and Tears, an OtherWords cartoon by Khalil Bendib

As if water dripping into
            the steel sink, bleaching

our brushes white, scoring the floors
            of our glass-doored office /

as if the vein of our favorite fountain
            pens (the ones that dug into

our index fingers while we caricatured
            old art teachers with balding

heads) had been spliced, spurting forth
            ink-splotched faces, the aphorisms

we drew in bubbles, their blood-vowels /
            as if bullets we drove into the walls

of easels, blithely / as if specks of flesh
            carving out their wounds, sinew

torn in watercolor, shards of glass painted
            in felt-tips / as if the tilt of our

mouths in these scenes, the seconds we
            almost smiled between smearing

steeple-minaret-altar as if wings / as if
            hierologists of tomorrows,

revealing our schisms, our compositions
            in grays and whitespace/ as

if ours, a name stenciled on drywall, on
            acid-free paper, beneath our

benedictions, beneath the as if / as if
            beneath the /  if  /


Ranjani Murali received her MFA in poetry from George Mason University. Her poetry, nonfiction and translations have appeared in Pratilipi, Phoebe, elimae, Kartika Review and elsewhere. She was the recipient of the 2014 Srinivas Rayaprol Prize and has received fellowships from the Fine Arts Work Center and the Vermont Studio Center.