WISHING WARS HAD SOMETHING LIKE REGULATION TIME TO DECIDE THE OUTCOME

 by Steve Rodriguez

 

 

They’re so easy to start, plenty hard to end.

That’s why we prefer baseball’s nine inning rule. 

Hate it when bad guys bleed, but refuse to bend. 

 

Football’s fixed finite four quarters also send

the age old message for any war-like fool.

They’re so easy to start, plenty hard to end. 

 

Even a marathon contest will depend

on a set distance to score a runners’ duel.   

Hate it when bad guys bleed, but refuse to bend.  

 

Like a delicious shock and awe milkshake blend,

we now crave a shot of Desert Storm old school

form. So easy to bomb, plenty hard to end.

 

Were sudden death overtime gods to descend, 

we’d rush to strike a deal, discount enriched fuel

possession. Good guys would plead… bad guys, please bend.   

 

Narrow strait’s closure reflects a nagging trend—

warrior patience is a requisite tool 

when stuck in a stalemate that just won’t end.

Such a drag when bad guys bleed, but do not bend.  

 

 

Steve Rodriguez resides in San Diego, CA. He is a retired U.S. Marine Corps officer and a retired high school English teacher.  

CORRESPONDENTS’ DINNER VILLANELLE

by Erin Murphy

Cartoon by Clay Jones

Our first thought: the shots were staged,

erasing the day’s news and memes.

Flip the script, turn the page.

 

Distract from wars, inflation, climate change,

grift, dementia, les dossiers d’Epstein.

Our first thought: the shots were staged.

 

Keep the masses entertained.

Let them eat vape and binge TV.

Flip the script, turn the page.

 

In late-stage cannibalism, feed rage

into the insatiable bigotry machine.

Our first thought: the shots were staged.

 

What matters not is how it plays

in real life but on the screen.

Flip the script, turn the page.

 

Humans caged, history razed.

All the world’s a crime scene.

Our first thought: the shots were staged.

Flip off the script, burn the page.

Erin Murphy's most recent books are Human Resources, Mother as Conjunction: Lyric Essays, and Fluent in Blue, winner of the 2025 American Book Fest Best Book Award in Poetry. Swoon: New and Selected Poems is forthcoming in June.

POSEUR

by Devon Balwit

The New York Times

Today, I’m much struck by a phrase in the news

and try it out—“I demand your unconditional surrender!”—

my finger on the trigger, a lit match by the fuse.

 

Like magic, it aligns differing views.

(Backed by troops and gelignite, no wonder!) 

I’m much struck by this phrase from the news.

 

“Bring me tribute,” I add, “your children, booze!”

and suddenly, my house dazzles with gilt-y splendor.

My finger on the trigger, a lit match by the fuse,

 

my cup runneth over with oily ooze.

I down glass after glass, a drunk on a bender,

spurred on by this phrase I pulled from the news.

 

Outside, the sky purples to the shade of a bruise.

Let lesser men hide. I now live for thunder,

my finger on the trigger, a lit match by the fuse.

 

As if on a pulpit staring down at the pews,

I fulminate, my creed’s best defender,

completely transformed by this phrase from the news,

my finger on the trigger, a lit match by the fuse.

When not making art, Devon Balwit walks in all weather and edits for Asimov Press, Asterisk Magazine, and Works in Progress.

PRESIDENTS' DAY 2025

a villanelle

by Susan J. Wurtzburg

 

I sit, eyes wide-open, blank gaze,
Slow-panting dog at my back,
Ssh, ssh, soft breeze brushes hair.

 

Newsprint on the breakfast table,

Flaming pain bleeds white-and-black,

I sit, eyes wide-open, blank gaze.

WWII 𝔉𝔯𝔞𝔨𝔱𝔲𝔯 revival, a font label,                           

Brutal as “heil,” a trigger pull’s whack,

Ssh, ssh, soft breeze brushes hair.

 

Dog paw pastiches toes, under table,

Brings heart into mind’s teared track,

I sit, eyes wide-open, blank gaze.

Incomers, like me, toes under tables,

No papers safeguarding their backs,

Ssh, ssh, soft breeze brushes hair.

 

Blitzkrieg anew, focus: all of our vulnerable,

Let strong voices rise, we need to roar back,

I sit, eyes wide-open, blank gaze,

Ssh, ssh, soft breeze brushes hair.

Susan J. Wurtzburg has won or placed in several poetry competitions. She is a Commissioned Artist in Sidewalk Poetry: Senses of Salt Lake City, 2024, and an Associate Poetry Editor at Poets Reading the News. Her book, Ravenous Words, with Lisa Lucas will appear in spring, 2025.

BEAUTY AND THE WOOLY BEAST

by Lisa Seidenberg

Left: Archaeologist Kathleen Martinez believes a marble statue discovered at a temple site portrays the face of Cleopatra. (Image courtesy Egypt Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities via Hyperallergic. Right: Researchers inspect the remains of a baby mammoth found in the Siberian permafrost in Russia's Batagaika crater. (Image by Roman Kutukov / Reuters via NBC News.)

A female wooly mammoth was found
In the frozen reaches of the “mouth of hell”
Nestled in a crater underground

50,000 years since she made a sound
Did she leave with a tale to tell
Nestled in her crater underground?

She was named Yana, a gentle sound
We don’t know if she let out a yell
Stumbled down by chance or forced underground

Cleopatra’s stone head was found uncrowned
Along with coins and other bagatelles
Scattered near her tomb recovered underground

Burial sites are a scientist’s playground
Clues in bones, a grown-up show and tell
Treasures from an ancient lost and found

Might the wooly beast and the Egyptian Queen 
prefer their secrets to remain unseen?
Safe-keeping their private lives 
Locked away from prying eyes

Lisa Seidenberg is a writer and filmmaker who resides in coastal Connecticut. She is a nominee for the 2025 Pushcart Prize. Her recent work has been published in Asymptote Journal, The New Verse News, OneArt: A Journal of Poetry, and Gyroscope Review. She is peer poetry reviewer for Whale Road Review.

DIE-OFF

by Pepper Trail

Ocean Heat Wiped Out Half These Seabirds Around Alaska: About four million common murres were killed by a domino effect of ecosystem changes, and the population is showing no signs of recovery, according to new research... [The researchers] believe it is the largest documented die-off of a single species of wild birds or mammals.  —The New York Times, December 12, 2024. U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service photos above: A murre colony in the Alaska Maritime National Wildlife Refuge, seen before and after the 2015-16 marine heat wave.

Credit...

The Arctic sea-cliffs are not silent

The birds, the murres, still throng the ledges

Black and white, sharp-eyed, clamorous

Even as half their millions are starved and dead

 

The birds, the murres, still throng the ledges

As we would still fill the New York streets

Even if half our millions were dead, crushed

Beneath weight of heat, a fatality never imagined

 

We would still fill the New York streets

Though senseless with grief, with loneliness

After a heat, a fatality never before imagined

A disaster beyond our comprehension

 

Though senseless with loneliness

The birds still fly, feed, tend their young

Despite a disaster beyond comprehension

Their world changed beyond recognition

 

Here, we would still work, tend our children

There would be no choice, never any choice

But in a world changed beyond recognition

A warning that could no longer be ignored

 

We would have no choice, at last no choice

If the dying took millions from a great city

The warning could then no longer be ignored

But this happened far away, a distant warming sea

 

This dying took millions of only birds

Somewhere far away, a distant warming sea

Just another warning to be ignored

The Arctic cliffs, after all, have not yet fallen silent

Pepper Trail is a poet and naturalist based in Ashland, Oregon. His poetry has appeared in Rattle, Atlanta Review, Spillway, Kyoto Journal, Cascadia Review, and other publications, and has been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net awards. His collection Cascade-Siskiyou was a finalist for the 2016 Oregon Book Award in Poetry.

VILLANELLE FOR A POST ROE WORLD

 by Mary K O’Melveny

Cyndi Lauper and Laura Dern

Women have no rights required to be respected

say five jurists whose words hurl us back to ancient time.

What actions are required to see this travesty corrected?

 

This outcome—undesired by most—was not unexpected.

Women have been told for centuries that men’s role is prime,

that women have no rights required to be respected.

 

Some say our decisions must be made by men, elected

but clueless, whose laws transform our choices into crime.

What actions shall we take to see such travesty corrected?  

 

Once a woman’s bodily autonomy has been rejected

by folks who’ve no idea the mountains we must climb,

how can we ensure that anyone’s liberty will be respected?

 

Diminishments of human rights are always quite connected.

Misogyny, like slavery, depends on whose lives we define

as worth the actions needed to see such travesties corrected. 

 

Look in the mirror—do you see the person you expected?

No matter age or circumstance, the time has come for rage sublime.

If women have no rights required to be respected,

revolution is what we need to see this travesty corrected.

Mary K O'Melveny is a recently retired labor rights attorney who lives in Washington DC and Woodstock NY.  Her work has appeared in various print and on-line journals. Her most recent poetry collection is Dispatches From the Memory Care Museum, just out from Kelsay Books. Her first poetry chapbook A Woman of a Certain Age is available from Finishing Line Press. Mary’s poetry collection Merging Star Hypotheses was published by Finishing Line Press in January, 2020.

THE USHERS OF AID

a villanelle by Jeannie E. Roberts

“Giant sequoias are hardy souls. They have stood their ground in California for as long as thousands of years, surviving drought, earthquakes and wildfire. With their thick bark and seemingly sky-high crowns, they have generally defied any fire that would turn them into kindling—and even thrived after a burn. The heat causes the trees’ pine cones to burst open and release seeds to the ground. But as hotter blazes like the KNP Complex fire—ignited by lightning on Sept. 9 and still uncontained—headed into the Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks in the Sierra Nevada, the trees needed some extra help. And they got it in the form of aluminum foil. Now, the largest tree, by volume, in the world is cradled in shiny, silvery wrap.” Carla Hall, Los Angeles Times, September 26, 2021. Photo: The historic General Sherman tree is wrapped in protective aluminum foil at Sequoia National Park in California. (Gary Kazanjian / AFP via Getty Images via Los Angeles Times)

The world is on fire, flames fill our home. 

The Earth’s rising heat ignites global burn. 

The ushers of aid fall to humans alone.

The forest floors smolder as embers roam. 

Infernos scorch fauna, flora, and fern. 

The world is on fire, flames fill our home.

Some trees are stalwart, persist as if stone—

most render ash, where Earth serves as urn. 

The ushers of aid fall to humans alone.

Encircled in tin, from large base to loam, 

General Sherman stood strong, ever firm.

The world is on fire, flames fill our home.

The famous sequoia thrived, held its own—

it beat the fierce grind, conquered the quern. 

The ushers of aid fall to humans alone.

Envision our planet polished like chrome, 

where vigor exists with each gleaming turn. 

The world is on fire, flames fill our home. 

The ushers of aid fall to humans alone.

Jeannie E. Roberts has authored five poetry collections and two illustrated children's books. Her work appears in Sky Island Journal, The New Verse News, Verse-Virtual, and elsewhere. Her newest collection, As If Labyrinth—Pandemic Inspired Poems, was released by Kelsay Books in April of 2021. She is a Best of the Net award nominee.

LEMMINGS

by Katherine West

"As the Delta variant spreads, Republican reluctance will mean thousands more deaths."

—Salon, July 9, 2021

They come from far and near we don't know why

We hear them long before we see the crowd 

We fear they come together now to die 

Some try to staunch the flow of blood and lies 

Some turn away, the noise of death too loud 

They come from far and near we don't know why

They bring their children sick enough to fly 

Their freedom flags now used to make their shrouds 

We fear they come together now to die 

Some recognize a neighbor with a cry 

They look away their faces pale and proud 

They come from far and near we don't know why 

They fall before they cross the finish line 

They call for help forgetting all their doubt 

We fear they come together now to die 

We watch their souls return to love and sky 

The stain of rage and hate we can't wash out 

They come from far and near we don't know why 

We fear they come together now to die 

 

Katherine West lives in Southwest New Mexico, near Silver City. She has written three collections of poetry: The Bone Train, Scimitar Dreams, and Riddle, as well as one novel, Lion Tamer.  Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Writing in a Woman's Voice, Lalitamba, Bombay Gin, The New Verse News, Tanka Journal, Splash!, Eucalypt, and Southwest Word Fiesta. The New Verse News nominated her poem "And Then the Sky" for a Pushcart Prize in 2019. In addition she has had poetry appear as part of art exhibitions at the Light Art Space gallery in Silver City, New Mexico and at the Windsor Museum in Windsor, Colorado. Using the name Kit West, Katherine's new novel, When Night Comes, A Christmas Carol Revisited came out in 2020, and a selection of poetry entitled Raising the Sparks will come out in 2021, both published by Breaking Rules Publishing.  The sequel to When Night Comes will also be released by BRP in 2021. It is called Slave, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Revisited. She is also an artist.

IN UFO NEWS, A VILLANELLE

by Jeannie E. Roberts

 

A spherical shape was noted in flight. 

The object was dark; it moved back and forth. 

Scanned above water, it dropped out of sight.

The strange craft was tracked with IR* at night. 

The vehicle plunged, then altered its course. 

A spherical shape was noted in flight.

The video’s rendered in raw black and white. 

It splashed. It splashed, the audio reports. 

Scanned above water, it dropped out of sight.

Mark bearing and range, strategic advice. 

The U.S. Defense confirmed the clip’s source. 

A spherical shape was noted in flight.

 

Insight has teamed to discern greater heights. 

The Pentagon’s deemed it a special task force. 

Scanned above water, it dropped out of sight.

Intrigue orbits the phenomena of life. 

An archive exists, the “UAP* Drawer.” 

A spherical shape was noted in flight. 

Scanned above water, it dropped out of sight.

  

*Author's Notes: IR: Infrared; UAP: Unidentified Aerial Phenomena.

Jeannie E. Roberts has authored seven books, including her newest chapbook As If Labyrinth—Pandemic Inspired Poems (Kelsay Books, 2021). She's listed in the Poets & Writers Directory and is a poetry editor of the online literary magazine Halfway Down the Stairs. When she’s not reading, writing, or editing, you can find her drawing and painting, or outdoors photographing her natural surroundings. Roberts is an animal lover, a nature enthusiast, an equal rights advocate, and an ally of marginalized people.

THE PANDEMONIUM AT FREEDOMLAND

by Rick Mullin

Please Scream Inside Your Heart,’ Japanese

Amusement Park Tells Thrill-Seekers                          

—National Public Radio, July 9, 2020

We’d ask you, please, to scream inside your heart.
Consider others and the outcomes of your actions.
Secure yourself. The ride’s about to start.

The mechanism of this rocket cart
will get thrown off by any loud distractions.
We’d ask you, please, to scream inside your heart.

In Freedomland, survival is the art
of navigating obstacles and factions.
Secure yourself. The ride’s about to start.

The dark comes fast. It’s difficult to chart
the course of cannon shots and counteractions.
We’d ask you, please, to scream inside your heart.

It’s quiet now. I feel we’ve grown apart
composing our corrections and retractions.
Secure yourself. The ride’s about to start.

Democracy, the Slide of Bonaparte…
forget those rusty Freedomland attractions.
We’d ask you, please, to scream inside your heart.
Secure yourself. The ride’s about to start.


Rick Mullin's newest poetry collection is Lullaby and Wheel.

SOOTHE-SAYING

by Charlotte L. Rea

Cartoon by David Horsey, originally published in The Seattle Times in 2019. 

The day I stopped watching the news,                                              
a wannabe king danced on democracy’s tomb.
I looked to the moon, my long-trusted muse

and trembling asked, what more can we lose?
My life feels hopeless and filled with doom.
To stop-watch progress through the news

is folly, said the moon. Don’t let the ruse
of the haughty turn your heart’s hope to gloom.
Look to me, the moon, your long-trusted muse.

See how the stars and galaxies persevere—whose
presence across the ages is there to illume,
if you stop and watch with care. The news

is like a nova, dazzling but fleet. Wisely choose
what occupies your gaze and what you consume.
I welcome your wisdom, my long-trusted muse.

I’m always here to comfort not to confuse,
be faithful in my company—but never presume
that because you stop watching the news
I, the moon, can be more than a muse.

Editor's note: The previous posting of this poem formatted it incorrectly. Its nature as a villanelle is properly presented here in the reposting.

Charlotte L. Rea is a native Virginian who spent twenty-six years on active duty in the United States Air Force. She explains, “I am more appalled every day about what is happening to the democracy I spent a large portion of my life defending. This poem was a way for me to keep current tumultuous times in perspective.” Rea currently lives with her dog, Maggie, at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

THE ELDERS

by Michael Cantor

The city bosses and their smoke filled rooms
gave us Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower;
and once you get beyond cigars and booze,

the smell of Scotch and misbegotten power,
there’s still the knowledge that those drunken fools
picked out Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower.

But now we’ve fixed the system, passed new rules—
the people choose their leaders, not some hacks—
and all acknowledge that those party tools

were mostly focused on each other’s backs.
Today, the public’s voice is clear and loud—
the people choose their leaders, and the hacks

just keep the score; and we can all be proud
that this is how democracy will flower.
Indeed, the public’s voice is clear and loud:

the rule of law has fundamental power.
But every night that inner tune resumes:
The city bosses and their smoke filled rooms
gave us Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower.

Michael Cantor’s first full-length collection Life in the Second Circle (Able Muse Press, 2012) was a finalist for the Able Muse Prize and 2013 Massachusetts Book Award for Poetry. A chapbook The Performer was published in 2007. His work has appeared in The Dark Horse, Measure, Raintown Review, frogpond, New Walk, Think, Light, and numerous other journals and anthologies.

DENIAL VILLANELLE

by Judith Terzi

Cartoon by Rob Rogers.

I didn't leave the fridge door open all night.
I didn't leave the front door ajar all day.
I didn't leave the water boiling. Fire fright.

I didn't leave the bathroom light on. Energy blight.
I didn't leave the water running in the sink, btw.
I didn't leave the fridge door open all night.

Pas moi, pas moi. Must have been Mike.
I didn't leave the toothpaste top off in the mêlée.
I didn't leave the water boiling. Fire fright.

I didn't take the papers off the desk. No sleight
of hand in dawn's early light. No fingerprints, eh?
I didn't leave the fridge door open all night.

Yes you, you ate the apple pie. We have to indict.
I didn't, I didn't steal the cap, the coke, the hearsay.
I didn't leave the water boiling. Fire fright.

I didn't eat the last Twinkie. Pas moi, alright?
Then who stole the cookies from the cookie tray?
I didn't leave the fridge door open all night.
I didn't leave the water boiling. Fire fright.

Author of Museum of Rearranged Objects (Kelsay Books, 2018) and five chapbooks, Judith Terzi's poems appear widely in literary journals and anthologies. Her poetry has been read on the BBC, nominated for Best of the Net and Web, and included in a study guide for the artist-in-residence program for State Theater New Jersey. She holds an M.A. in French Literature.

POST-TRUTH VILLANELLE

by Ned Balbo

‘President Trump . . . can usually be counted on to blame “both sides.” Be the topic race relations, international affairs or the “civility” debates, Trump often refuses to point a finger.’ —Eugene Scott,  Washington Post,  July16, 2018

“We’re not so innocent—I blame both sides,”

the President declares. The sound bite fades,

and one more false equivalence provides

fuel for our growing fears . . . What purpose guides

the morning tweetstorms that alarm his aides?

He says he’s innocent but plays both sides—

victim, aggressor . . . Taking aim, he chides

“fake news” or deep state Dems for his misdeeds,

reporters stonewalled when his staff provides

truth-challenged briefings . . . Shrugging, he abides

the torch-lit violence of Alt-Right brigades,

or followers gone rogue—“I blame both sides,”

he tells us—but when bribe or blackmail leads

him to berate our allies, order raids, 

or mock due process that the law provides

for refugees, he bellows forth, divides

us,  stands with tyrants proudly, adds, “Besides, 

what’s done is done. There’s no point taking sides”—

Who profits from the chaos he provides? 

Ned Balbo’s books include Upcycling Paumanok (Measure Press, 2016) and The Trials of Edgar Poe and Other Poems (Story Line), awarded the Poets’ Prize and Donald Justice Prize. 3 Nights of the Perseids (University of Evansville Press, forthcoming) was selected by Erica Dawson for the 2018 Richard Wilbur Award. He recently concluded three years as a visiting faculty member in Iowa State University's MFA program in creative writing and environment. He is married to poet-essayist Jane Satterfield.

NOT MY SON

by Anna M. Evans

McAllen, Texas, June 2018

Last night a woman crossed the Southern border—
heat haze and scrub, to armed men with blank faces
and rumors of a presidential order.

She had a baby with her who adored her
and sang him lullabies of safer spaces
last night. This woman crossed the Southern border

leaving her town of ruin and disorder
because she trusted others knew what grace is,
and hadn't heard the presidential order.

She didn't fear the men who came toward her,
explaining she would be one of their cases
last night. This woman crossed the Southern border

and begged asylum. First, the men ignored her,
then warned the women to stay in their places
while they enforced the presidential order.

No mi hijo! the refugee implored, her
stricken mind confused by legal phrases.
Last night a mother crossed our Southern border.
We took her son by presidential order.

Anna M. Evans’ poems have appeared in the Harvard Review, Atlanta Review, Rattle, American Arts Quarterly, and 32 Poems. She gained her MFA from Bennington College and is the Editor of the Raintown Review. Recipient of Fellowships from the MacDowell Artists' Colony and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, and winner of the 2012 Rattle Poetry Prize Readers' Choice Award, she currently teaches at West Windsor Art Center and Rowan College at Burlington County. Her new collection Under Dark Waters: Surviving the Titanic is out now from Able Muse Press, and her sonnet collection Sisters & Courtesans is available from White Violet Press.