MOMENT OF GLORY

by Susan Patton

Cartoon by Clay Jones

A fighter raised his hand in victory pose,

And for his spotlight moment he then chose

To yell “Michelle Obama is a man.”

A nation groaned to see his stupid plan.

He could have thanked his Savior and his God

And praised the freedom of the land he trod.

He could have given credit to his Maker

That he escaped once more the undertaker.

He could have wished his Prez a happy day.

From all the million things he chose to say-

“Remember me for spewing something vile.”

Joe Rogan stood beside him with a smile.

The people know that though true woman she is

She’ll always be a better man than he is.

The experiences that made Susan Patton who she is include a year as a VISTA volunteer on the Navajo reservation in 1969, a two month trip through Europe in 1969, a partnership in a travel agency which offered many travel opportunities, and 20 years as a children’s librarian in the public school system. She has a daughter, a grand-daughter, a husband of 59 years, and a cat. Susan has some wonderful friends who are kind enough to read some of my poems and country songs. She enjoys the discipline of the sonnet form which requires choosing the right words and discarding many favorites until it feels finished. 

PROFIT AND LOSS STATEMENT FOR MR. B.

by Steven Ratiner

 

“The Post needs to be a profitable enterprise that stands on its own two feet.  Let me tell you why. Because it’s a measure of its relevance.  If people won’t pay for our product, it’s not a good enough product.  It would be like poetry without rhyming, it’s too easy.” ––Jeff Bezos in an interview on CNBC reported by The New York Times, May 20, 2026

 

Too easy without rhyme?  Mr. B., I have news for you:

you’ve no understanding of the time that goes into

educating the tongue, cultivating the heart, so that words

might fly true to their destination, bearing the hard

 

truth of what’s required to be an actual human being in

our rancid/gilded age––where suffering’s a commodity

on the Stock Exchange, and all it takes is a few billion

in reserve to live gloriously without a thimbleful of pity

 

or the tonnage of regret.  News flash: your yacht’s run aground

on Circe’s island, as you quaff down cup after cup of kykeon

laced with nightshade, turning into swine along with your crew.

Ithaka can burn for all you care.  There’s no damned hope for you.

 

For what (another old poem) profit a man who gains the world but

loses his soul?  Such unspeakable waste.  What rhymes with that?

 

Steven Ratiner is the author of Grief's Apostrophe, published by Beltway Editions in 2025. He's also published three poetry chapbooks, a collection of poetry interviews, and appeared in several anthologies. His work has appeared in scores of journals in America and abroad, including Parnassus, Agni, Hanging Loose, Poet Lore, Salamander, Vox Populi, QRLS (Singapore), and Poetry Australia––and been translated into Mandarin, Spanish, Ukrainian, and Hebrew. He's also written poetry criticism for The Washington Post, The Christian Science Monitor, The San Francisco Chronicle, and other journals.  Giving Their Word—Conversations with Contemporary Poets was reissued in a paperback edition (University of Massachusetts Press).  He is Poet Laureate Emeritus for Arlington, Massachusetts, and was elected in 2024 as President of the New England Poetry Club, one of the oldest literary associations in America. Now, beginning its seventh year, his weekly Red Letter Poems features a diverse range of poets, from up-and-coming talents to some of the most important voices in contemporary poetry.

SHADES OF AI AND ALTRUISM

by Ashley Nicole Nootnagel

Technology Instagram

A California jury has tossed out Elon Musk's high-profile lawsuit against OpenAI and its boss Sam Altman. In a unanimous verdict, the jury agreed that Musk had waited too long to file his lawsuit, leaving all of his claims essentially expired. —BBC, May 19, 2026


The peerless archer stands in shaded wood
in Lincoln green beneath a feather cap.
We gather for a modern Robin Hood
who waits with patience for the gold to stack.

Full pockets split the seams of charity,
while our children’s pictures feed the machine.
Funded by his own foolishness. Pity.
Olive tights were traded for minted green.

Can three billionaires fit in one courtroom?
The ballad threads were never camouflage.
When all wear custom suits we can’t assume
which man is sheriff and which is outlaw.

Sherwood is lost in a shade of envy,
one model fits both men and company.


Ashley Nicole Nootnagel lives in Virginia and has a B.S. in Criminal Justice & Sociology from Old Dominion University. She works in human resources and is raising a daughter and two Australian Shepherds. 

WE CAN DO VERY LITTLE, BUT I WILL DO THIS

by Annie Stenzel

 

 

 

Starting now, I propose to use GOOD, instead

of good when I talk about a Good thing,

and to say PRETTI rather than pretty, when I am struck

by how pleasing something looks to me.

 

I want this murdered woman, that executed

man, to live on in my speech with their names

alive and visible, notwithstanding their absence from

what should be a Good world, where so much is Pretti.

 

I could do nothing to save them from the horror

of their deaths. Nor can I do anything

for their loved ones, or the people whose lives they graced

every day. Grief won’t allow me to turn back

 

the hands of time, restore someone who was Good

and someone who was Pretti to this frightening world.

 

 

Annie Stenzel (she/her) is a lesbian poet who was born in Illinois, but did not stay put. Her second full-length collection, Don’t misplace the moon, was published in 2024 by Kelsay Books. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in print and online journals in Canada, the U.S., and the U.K., including Action, Spectacle; Gavialidae; Innisfree Poetry Journal; Pine Hills Review; Rust + Moth; Sheila-na-Gig; SoFloPoJo; SWWIM; St, Katherine’s Review; Thimble Lit Mag; and Whale Road Review. A poetry editor for the online journals Right Hand Pointing and West Trestle Review, she lives on unceded Ohlone land within walking distance of the San Francisco Bay.

ATTENTION SPANS

by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons

Ten years ago, a shocking headline captured the world’s attention: “Human beings now have an attention span shorter than that of a goldfish!” This claim, though horrifying, was totally bogus. The stat in question—that our attention spans had shrunk to a meagre eight seconds—was founded on two spurious and unverified sources and widely spread by a Microsoft Ads “study” published in 2015… Even if we haven’t quite hit goldfish levels, is there some truth to the assertion that human attention spans are dwindling? The short answer is a resounding “yes”, according to research. —Independent (UK), December 14, 2025

Attention spans in humans have declined

Tremendously since tech bros honed their apps

To deluge us with clickbait that's designed

Expressly to cause frequent mental lapse,

Necessitating countermeasures that

Try earnestly to put the genie back

Inside the bottle, but a TikTok chat

Or YouTube video resists attack,

No matter how you try to disengage—

Safari, Chrome and Edge don't miss a trick:

Psychology will keep you on their page,

And amplify your brain rot as you click...

No antidote for dumbing down is known—

Save ditching both your laptop and your phone!

Mike Mesterton-Gibbons is a Professor Emeritus of Mathematics at Florida State University who has returned to live in his native England. His poems have appeared in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, the Creativity Webzine, Current Conservation, the Ekphrastic Review, Grand Little Things, Light, Lighten Up Online, The New Verse News, Oddball Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, WestWard Quarterly, and other journals.

SONNET FOR THE COMPTROLLER

by Beth Cleary

He is showing us what to say, how to be, when
they come for us: upright, measured in tone and gaze,
Do you have a judicial warrant? You do not have 
the authority to arrest U.S. citizens. Show me
your judicial warrant. These are the ways, the phrases,
memorize them. I have memorized them, in the night
when footage of the arrest—I am not
obstructing anything I am standing here—replays
in the basement of my heart, near where my diaphragm
tucks up, presses down, basement where I store
cups, snippets, grains of information, instructions
for later. For when they come for us, soft body and cheek
jammed against a pillow/wall, gloved hands breaking our backs.

Beth Cleary's essays and poems appear in Ninth Letter, The Maine Review, Artist & Influence, Fourth Genre, and other publications. She lives in St. Paul, Minnesota, where the main No Kings! march was upwards of 60,000 strong despite shock about assassinations, unknowns about an active shooter, and warnings to stay away. 

PROVE THAT YOU MATTER

by Paul Burgess 

Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services Administrator Mehmet Oz defended President Trump’s “big, beautiful bill” over criticism that millions of people could lose health coverage, saying those who would face new work requirements should “prove that you matter.”… Close to 11 million people would lose health insurance coverage if the House Republican tax bill passes in the Senate, mainly due to cuts to Medicaid and the Affordable Care Act, according to analysis from the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office. —The Hill, June 5, 2025

To prove how much you truly matter, folks,

You might attempt the art of sneaky sales 

And master phrases used to slyly coax

The world to buy a "cure" that always fails.

Perhaps you'll never get a cabinet post 

By selling useless pills on sketchy shows,

But every friendly ratings-chasing host 

Ensures your market value swiftly grows.

So, get to work and earn your Medicaid

By hawking tonics made from oil of snakes 

And pills containing rhino horns and jade

Or tiger kidney anti-aging shakes.

You've been so useless from your journey's start, 

But here's your chance to really do your part. 

Paul Burgess, an emerging poet, is the sole proprietor of a business in Lexington, Kentucky 

that offers ESL classes in addition to English, Japanese, and Spanish-language translation and 

interpretation services. He has recently contributed work to Blue Unicorn, Light, The Orchards, 

The Ekphrastic Review, Pulsebeat, The New Verse News, Lighten Up Online, The Asses of 

Parnassus, and several other publications.

CECCO’S ECHOES

S’ i’ fosse foco, arderei ’l mondo—Sonnet 86 

by Cecco Angiolieri (Siena, c.1260–c.1312)

translated by Julie Steiner

Source: IranCartoon

Trump Tries to Make Sure States Don’t Fight Climate Change, Either: The Trump administration wants to block states from trying to limit the “astounding” costs and impacts of climate change. “This seems to be part of a larger effort to not only do nothing when it comes to climate change but to actively dismantle the climate science and climate accountability enterprise that is being built in response to the costs of climate change that are manifesting in everyone’s daily lives,” says Justin Mankin, a climate scientist at Dartmouth College. —Rolling Stone, May 24, 2025

If I were fire, I’d scorch the world all over.
If I were wind, I’d blast its storm-wracked ground.
If I were water, I’d make sure it drowned.
If I were God, I’d give it Hell forever.

If I were Pope, I’d gleefully endeavor
to prank all Christians, just to mess around.
If I were Emperor—what then? You’ve found
the answer: I’d behead all sorts, whoever.

If I were death, I’d give my dad a visit.
If I were life, I’d turn from him and scram.
And how I’d treat my mom’s no different, is it?

If I were Cecco—as I’ve been, and am—
I’d take the younger women, the exquisite,
and leave for other men each vile old ma’am.

Italian Original:

S’ i’ fosse foco, ardere’ il mondo ;
s’ i’ fosse vento, lo tempesterei ;
s’ i’ fosse acqua, io l’ anegherei ;
s’ i’ fosse dio, mandereil en profondo ;

s’ i’ fosse papa, sare’ alor giocondo,
chè tutt’ i cristïani imbrigherei ;
s’ i’ fosse ’mperator, sa’ che farei ?
a tutti mozarei lo capo a tondo.

S’ i’ fosse morte, andarei da mio padre ;
s’ i’ fosse vita, fugirei da lui ;
similmente faría di mi’ madre.

S’ i’ fosse Cecco com’ i’ sono e fui,
torrei le donne giovani e legiadre :
e vecchie e laide lasserei altrui.

Francesco ("Cecco") Angiolieri corresponded with Dante Alighieri, and addressed one of his 120 extant sonnets to him. Most of his work is humorous.

Julie Steiner is a pseudonym in San Diego. Her most recent verse translations from Classical Greek, Latin, French, Spanish, and Italian can be found in (or are forthcoming from) Literary Matters, The Classical Outlook, The Ekphrastic Review, Light, and The Asses of Parnassus.

FEEDING THE FAT CATS

by Paul Burgess

Republican bill cuts food aid for elderly, low-income, & disabled Americans and increases funding for their own version of Supplemental Nutrition and Assistance Program. —Ann Telnaes, May 2

Ensure that butter fills the bowls of batter, 
And watch the oven while the mixture bakes.
The fattest cat will soon be getting fatter 
Once fed these massive overfrosted cakes.
 
Then, offer up your children's hamster pet,
The cuddly thing with white and brownish fur,
And thank the Lord the fattest cat you've met
Has deigned to eat your food and give a purr.
 
Now, find a book of ancient magic words
And learn the phrase you'll have your family say 
To turn yourselves to tiny, harmless birds
That Mister Fats will swallow as his prey.
 
And soon you'll be a bone-and-feather lump 
Excreted from your idol's noble rump.

Paul Burgess, an emerging poet, is the sole proprietor of a business in Lexington, Kentucky that offers ESL classes in addition to English, Japanese, and Spanish-language translation and interpretation services. He has recently contributed work to Blue Unicorn, Light, The Orchards, The Ekphrastic Review, Pulsebeat, The New Verse News, Lighten Up On Line, The Asses of Parnassus, and several other publications

WHAT DOESN’T VANISH IF DENIED

by Devon Balwit

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

Department of Commerce announces the end of $4 million in funding of climate risk projects at Princeton. —Daily Princetonian, April 9, 2025

The prevailing wisdom used to be to hide 

the ailment from the ailing and, in so euphemizing,

ease their dying, like a fringe of trees beside

the road used to mask clear-cutting.

 

But the patient, intimate with tumors and waning powers, 

knew, and felt the greater pain for all 

the smiling, for all the cheery cards and flowers,

and wondered at the falsehood, and was appalled.

 

And we, too, as we hear our current leaders

asking scholars to deny how far gone

we are so we mightn’t worry—as if our rivers

weren’t in flood or our homes burned to the lawns.

 

As if insisting there’s no such thing as gravity,

makes the times we’re living in less heavy.

Devon Balwit edits for Asimov Press, Asterisk Magazine, and Works in Progress.

REGARDING NEWS OF JANUARY 20, 2025

by Jacquelyn Shah

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

At home alone I don’t inaugurate.

As silent never-wish-to-witness, I

will read the news that’s fit-to-print, berate

the rest that shouldn’t even amplify

what’s nothing but unspeakable and grim. 

So watch––I’ll sit me down with paper, pen

and try to think of every synonym

for fiend and bully, brute and sadist... Then

inspired, I can write (restrained) a snippet

that indicates my indignation that 

my nation’s gone. Although this meager sonnet 

is nothing more than insubstantial chitchat,

I’ll revel in my puny getting-even:

shunning blather that I can’t believe in.

 

Jacquelyn “Jacsun” Shah has AB–Rutgers U (magna cum laude, Phi Beta Kappa); MA–Drew U; MFA, PHD–U of Houston: English/creative writing. Poetry publications: chapbook (small fry); full-length book (What to Do with Red); poems in journals. Hybrid memoir: (Limited Engagement: A Way of Living). She was a 2023 Pushcart Prize nominee. Obsessive, she has written 540 centos.

I’M UNDOCUMENTED

by Mike Mesterton-Gibbons

Metro UK, November 25, 2024

I pass you on the street. I can't be missed.

My presence is as real as yours to see,

Until you tell me that I don't exist:

Not dead, and not unborn, but sans ID,

Denied a passport by officialdom—

Officialdom whose rules insist that I'm

Called immigrant, and hence that I am from

Un-British parts where I've spent zero time.

My twenty-six long years of legal non-

Existence in my country will retard

Not only me: a nation prospers on

The worth of all, like me, who can work hard...

Except that I'm undocumented, and

Don't qualify—nor do I understand.

Mike Mesterton-Gibbons is a Professor Emeritus at Florida State University who has returned to live in his native England. His acrostic poems have appeared in Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Better Than Starbucks, the Creativity Webzine, Current Conservation, the Daily Mail, the Ekphrastic Review, Grand Little Things, Light, Lighten Up Online, The New Verse News, Oddball Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, the Satirist, The Washington Post, and WestWard Quarterly.

AFTERMATH — A FOUND SONNET

by Susan Vespoli

—all words in the poem from a KJZZ Interview with Tom Maxedon

Susan Vespoli and her book One of Them Was Mine

What happened? Officer Lindo shot my son

in the back of his head. Blew everything

apart. In the face of powerlessness,

we should say his name: Adam Vespoli.

 

Phoenix Police Department Disciplin-

ary Review Board: cop was found out 

of policy. Immediately resigned. Freedom 

of Information Act. Aftermath. Coping

 

with grief. A molten slosh of pain. Healing

thoughts and hearts. My son, a big believer. 

My mission, words in mouth, to be his voice. 

Lawsuit resolved. Financial settlement. 

 

The    policeman    is    no     longer 

a policeman. He’s driving a truck in Texas.

Susan Vespoli writes from Phoenix, AZ and believes in the power of poetry to create change.

TO A COMMERCIAL JUDGE

by Francisco de Quevedo (Spain, 1580–1645)

translation by Julie Steiner

Justices Clarence Thomas and Samuel Alito did not disclose luxury gifts from GOP mega-donors, including Alito's Alaskan fishing trip, or recuse themselves from cases the donors had before the court. [...] Last July, after Alito wrote the Dobbs decision, he was a keynote speaker at a gala in Rome with the trip paid for by Notre Dame University Religious Liberty Initiative. He hadn’t disclosed that either, or recused himself from any of the multiple cases RLI had filed ‘friends-of-the-court’ briefs with. Ruling in Alito’s favor has been his fellow Justice Clarence Thomas who has been feted with financial favors from billionaire and GOP mega-donor Harlan Crow. Those favors include Crow buying Thomas’ Mother’s home, which she still resides in, and also paying Thomas’ grandnephew’s tuition while he was in his care. The Cleveland Plain Dealer, June 23, 2023

A corrupted, partisan United States Supreme Court is how we will lose our democracy. —Mike Davey, The Miami Herald via Yahoo! News, June 25, 2024

The laws in which your court, Batino, deals
you’re less inclined to study than to vend.
They buy you things: that’s all you comprehend.
To you, the Fleece—not Jason*—is what appeals.
Your take on laws of man and God reveals
that either sort you rule on, you offend.
Your grasping hand, preparing to extend,
foretells which way your judgment fails. (Er, falls.)
You don’t know how to hear a low-cost case.
Who gives to you receives doubt’s benefit.
Your side-deal contracts take the law-tracts’ place.
Since bias and bribes are vices you won’t quit,
go wash your hands with Pilate, or unlace
your purse with Judas and hang yourself with it.

Author's Note on Line 4: An Italian jurist named Giasone del Maino (1435-1519)—Jasón de Maino in Spanish—wrote widely influential legal commentaries, and is referenced in several Spanish dramas of this period. His legendary namesake Jason led the Argonauts in search of the ram that bore the Golden Fleece.

A UN JUEZ MERCADERÍA

por Francisco de Queveda (España, 1580–1645)

Las leyes con que juzgas, ¡oh Batino!,
menos bien las estudias que las vendes;
lo que te compran solamente entiendes;
más que Jasón te agrada el Vellocino.
El humano derecho y el divino,
cuando los interpretas, los ofendes,
y al compás que la encoges o la extiendes,
tu mano para el fallo se previno.
No sabes escuchar ruegos baratos,
y sólo quien te da te quita dudas;
no te gobiernan textos, sino tratos.
Pues que de intento y de interés no mudas,
o lávate las manos con Pilatos,
o, con la bolsa, ahórcate con Judas.

Francisco de Quevedo, one of the most famous poets of Spain's Golden Age (Siglo de Oro), wrote many savage caricatures of greedy lawyers and judges.

Julie Steiner is a pseudonym in San Diego, California. Besides The New Verse News, the venues in which Julie's poetry has appeared include The Able Muse Review, Rattle, Light, and The Asses of Parnassus.

SONNET FOR E. JEAN

by Diane Elayne Dees

E. Jean Carroll arrives at Manhattan federal court, Wednesday, Jan. 17, 2024, in New York. Less than a year after convincing a jury that former President Donald Trump sexually abused her decades ago, writer E. Jean Carroll took  the stand again to describe how his verbal attacks affected her after she came forward. (AP Photo/Ted Shaffrey)

E. Jean Carroll spoke for many women—
the victims of each silent, vile assault—
their grandmothers, who lunched in hats and linen,
and convinced themselves that it was all their fault—
their mothers, who knew no one would believe them,
so they blocked it out, convinced they could forget—
their daughters, who can easily deceive them,
and numb their feelings with the Internet.
The first-time date, the boss, the husband’s friend,
the English teacher, long-time neighbor, pastor,
have inflicted wounds that sometimes never mend
on a girl or woman in your life—just ask her.
In speaking, E. Jean found her liberty;
And in doing so, she also spoke for me.

Diane Elayne Dees is the author of the chapbooks, Coronary Truth (Kelsay Books), The Last Time I Saw You (Finishing Line Press), and The Wild Parrots of Marigny (Querencia Press). Diane, who lives in Covington, Louisiana, also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world.

2024 CAN BE A YEAR OF DELIGHT, PROMISES A TIMES COLUMNIST

by Devon Balwit

Quilter Delight Painting by Karla Gerard

The basic premise of a delight practice (which I learned about in the essay collection “The Book of Delights” by Ross Gay) is simple: You make a point to notice things in your everyday life that delight you… Then whenever you notice something that delights you, you lift your arm, raise your index finger in the air and say, out loud and with enthusiasm, “Delight!” (Yes, even if you’re alone.) —Catherine Price, The New York Times, December 31, 2023

I hold up a finger and say Delight!—two shelf mushrooms

in a hollow tree, a squirrel hanging by its feet. I zoom

in on the electric green of moss, a red leaf peeking

from wood chips. Always the teacher’s pet, if seeking

wonder is the task, I’ll find it, if only for the gold

star next to my name on the chart. Behold

the shining face of a baby at the bar, the daffy

hound, a Beethoven riff that makes me laugh! 

 

Expressing simple gratitude does get old—

the litany of health, family, shelter—but marvels

are singular. Even the same street shifts

with the light. I read the essay to the end sold,

ready to dash out and see what’s revealed

as the world sheathes its terrors and bares its gifts.

Devon Balwit walks in all weather and has rediscovered her love of cartooning. Her most recent collection, Spirit Spout [Nixes Mate Books, 2023], storms through Melville’s Moby Dick.

SHEEP-KILLING DOG

by Michelle DeRose

Texas AG Ken Paxton steps in to make a woman’s life hell. Photo credit: DonkeyHotey / WhoWhatWhy (CC BY-SA 2.0)

Big hats welcome but not a Texas uterus
they won’t probe, tell you how
you can wear it in public,
a watched portal to the baby chute
they need it to be. I guess
to make future bullseyes? Because
there’s also not a barrel
they will look down, keep out
of campuses. In Texas
all depends on the tunnel. 
Barrels determine themselves but canals
are hyper-policed. At the end of every story
is a woman bleeding, empty, and an Attorney
General smug and whole as he always was.

Michelle DeRose hopes she can retire from teaching at the college level before she must relive a school shooting, and she is grateful she doesn't live in Texas. She teaches creative writing and African American, Irish, and world literature at Aquinas College in Grand Rapids, Michigan.