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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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 read. Show all posts
Showing posts with label read. Show all posts

Thursday, December 11, 2025

ANOTHER CHAPTER

by Peter A. Witt


The U.S. Supreme Court on Monday declined to hear a challenge to a Texas county’s removal of 17 books from its public libraries, leaving in place a lower court ruling that allowed the purge. —Newsweek, December 8, 2025



On the second Monday in December,
the Supremes sang a song
of banishment and dark days ahead,
as the Enemies of the Public Library plotted
what volumes to next remove from public view.

Gutting school libraries wasn't enough
for your local paragons of illiteracy,
who meeting in the dark corners
of McDonalds over cheap coffee
and an egg on your face McMuffin,
nominate books, one vote
enough for a frontal assault
on the collective knowledge
available for children, teens,
adults, seniors to read.

When challenged these keepers
of the gates of darkness proclaim --
you can still buy a copy, get
gifted a copy for Christmas
(there has to be some irony here),
or loaned a copy by a friend.

So goodbye Gender Queer,
All Boys Aren't Blue, The Bluest Eye,
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian,

and Me and Earl and the Dying Girl.

Not to mention the classics:
To Kill a Mockingbird,
The Catcher in the Rye,
The Great Gatsby,
Animal Farm, and
The Grapes of Wrath.

Next year the Enemies
will switch their focus
to the Amazons
and the Walmarts,

and the year after that
to independent bookstores,

until nothing's left
but official books
of the thought police class, 
though even those
may be axed some day
as too woke.


Peter A. Witt by chance lives in Texas and is a recovering university professor who lost his adjectives in the doldrums of academic writing. Poetry has helped him recover his ability to see and describe the inner and outer world he inhabits. His work has been twice nominated for the Best of the Net award and has appeared in a variety of online and print publications. He also writes family history.  His book about his aunt was published by the Texas A&M University Press (Edith's War: Writings of a Red Cross Worker and Lifelong Champion of Social Justice). He is also an avid birder and wildlife photographer.

Sunday, July 26, 2020

LIFE IN THE PANDEMIC

by John Guzlowski


"The Persistence of Memory" (1931) by Salvador Dali


Things are slowing down.

It takes me 2 days to drink a cup of coffee,
A week to read a book,
A month to water the bushes we re-planted in June.

I move from one room to another
looking for shoes I haven’t worn in 2 months.
If I come across my car keys
I won’t recognize them.

I’ve stopped listening to the news
Stopped looking out the window
Stopped wondering what tomorrow
Will be like.

I started this poem in March
Maybe I’ll finish it
By Christmas.


John Guzlowski's poems and stories have appeared in North American Review, Ontario Review, Rattle, Atlanta Review, Nimrod, Crab Orchard Review, and Salon. Garrison Keillor read his poem “What My Father Believed” on his program The Writers Almanac.  Guzlowski's poems have won the Eric Hoffer/Montaigne Award for most thought provoking book of 2017, the Ben Franklin Poetry Award, and the $7500 Illinois Arts Award for Poetry. 

Saturday, October 19, 2019

DEATH OF A CRITIC

by Mark Danowsky


Harold Bloom 1930-2019


No one is left now
who will swing his arms wide-----
claim knowledge of the entirety
of The Western Canon

The man who wrote the book
on who the wise among us
ought to remember
has left the stage

Who now can swoop in
to tell us how it is?

Gone are the Great Claim-Makers

More than ever now
we need help knowing
where to look
for what is true & valuable

None of us can claim
to have read everything

Some of us can raise a hand
& solemnly swear
we are up to no good

Many of us can remember
a time when we used to feel
we knew more

Knowledge begets holes
in our theories about this world

The Critic has left us
his anxiety of influence

The Critic has left us
a list of what once signified
our greatest gifts


Mark Danowsky is a poet / writer from Philadelphia and author of the poetry collection As Falls Trees (NightBallet Press, 2018). He’s Managing Editor for the Schuylkill Valley Journal.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

SECURITY

by Joan Mazza


Drawing by Tom Gauld for The New Yorker, January 10, 2017


In scary times, I have my ways to cope.
I make art and distract myself by listening
to books or reading. I get some neglected
chore done, one unpleasant overdue task.

I purchase supplies to last more than a year.
Paper towels, toilet tissue, Kleenex by the case.
Soap and bleach, lotion, dental floss, toothpaste,
cotton swabs. Of course, I buy more six-packs

of canned green beans, corn, tuna by the dozen.
I maintain my stash of pasta. Who knows what
tweet might interrupt the flow of goods in shipping
containers crossing the oceans? Even

my cold tablets, nail polish, and art supplies
are made in China, all Smithfield pork processed
there. So I buy while I can, not quite the prepper,
not rich enough for a condo underground

in New Zealand or a pilot on call to take me there,
but I’m good at this, once an adept and eager
camper. Watch me rake my wood paths
and place Band-Aids on the coming avalanche.


Joan Mazza has worked as a medical microbiologist, psychotherapist, seminar leader, and has been a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. Author of six self-help psychology books, including Dreaming Your Real Self (Penguin/Putnam), her poetry has appeared in Rattle, Kestrel, The MacGuffin, Mezzo Cammin, Slipstream, and The Nation. She ran away from the hurricanes of South Florida to be surprised by the earthquakes and tornadoes of rural central Virginia, where she writes poetry and does fabric and paper art.

Saturday, October 11, 2014

FOR YOU, MALALA

by Kit Zak





For You, Malala
          fighting for the right of girls to read
          defying threats of death     and death itself
          your body warring against assassins’ bullets
                    I inhale the breath of your purity, dream your blood-red dreams
For you, Malala
          I pray to see my veiled misdeed
          I will fast for tolerance in my life
          and call out the cancers of hungry prejudice
          blinding young and old
For you, Malala
          oak-brave and oak strong
          I will embrace the firmness of trees
          their rootedness in earth
          stretching arms into the heavens
For you, Malala
         I will shed skins of selfishness
         roll up my sleeves for the unfinished work
         join battles for the rights of every human
For you, Malala, have restored our hope


Kit Zak is an environmentalist in Lewes, DE. She has published poems in The New Verse News, California Quarterly, The Broadkill Review, Jellyfish Whispers, The Blue Collar Review, and
several anthologies.