SYMPHONY OF THOUSANDS

by Barbara H. Williams

 

 

         

 

   after No Kings Day 2, October 18, 2025

 

Each played a part 

and played it well

just by being there––

good-natured fellow humans 

there for all that binds us

 

who face a common threat 

and care about our neighbors––

don’t we all need safety 

shelter, air and water

peace and equal possibility

a government which functions

for the good of all?

 

And we wore yellow, primal

bright and jovial yellow

listened, clapped

and raised our voices––

at least five thousand 

stood together 

in our little town

five thousand of us

 

and it felt intimate 

and neighborly–– 

skins all shades 

a rich array of ancestries 

and mother tongues––

 

carrying the red, white and blue 

in concert, jubilant

with twenty-seven hundred 

other towns and cities, communities

in every state across the land

 

more than seven million 

citizens together––in agreement.

 

Barbara H. Williams is Managing Editor of US 1 Worksheets. Based in Princeton, New Jersey,  she was for many years a professional flutist and music teacher. She began writing poetry in 2013, with poems appearing in The Raven’s Perch, US 1 Worksheets, The Paterson Review, and The New Verse News. A member of the DVP/US1 Poets Collective, and a Pushcart Prize nominee, her first collection of poems, Continuo, was published in 2024 (Cool Women Press). 

MIRRORING OUR TIMES

by Lylanne Musselman

Lylanne Musselman is an award-winning poet, playwright, and visual artist. Her poetry has appeared in Pank, The Indianapolis Review, The New Verse News, and Tipton Poetry Journal, among many other literary journals and anthologies. A seven-time Pushcart nominee, she is the author of eight poetry collections and is currently working on another.

DAUGHTERS

by Clare Richardson-Barlow

Judith Butler

Amid all the other breaking news consuming the United States this month, the University of California, Berkeley, arguably the nation’s most elite public university, gave the Trump administration a list of 160 names of faculty, staff and students, as part of an investigation into “alleged antisemitic incidents”. While all the names on this list are significant, one name in particular that UC Berkeley handed over to the Trump administration stands out: Judith Butler, the eminent queer theorist, literary theorist and philosopher, and one of the most famous public intellectuals in the United States today. In addition to Butler’s name representing one of the most high-profile academic scalps demanded by the Trump administration in its campaign against higher education so far, Butler’s name is also notable for another reason: Butler is proudly and publicly Jewish, and has written extendively about their Jewish identity and how it informs their politics. In the name of “fighting antisemitism”, the Trump administration is publicly making an example out of arguably the most famous Jewish public intellectual in the country today. —The Guardian, September 22, 2025

They pass the names along,
as though paper could hold a body.
Butler’s among them—
the one who told us
gender is a stage,
a script rehearsed until it feels like bone.

Now the government calls their name,
writes it as accusation,
as though thought itself
were treason.

I think of the mothers in Palestine,
their daughters’ names whispered
to checkpoints and borders,
written into files,
circulated in offices
where no one sees their faces.
A name becomes a burden to carry,
a permission denied.

Butler compared it to Kafka—
to McCarthy, to lists, to silence—
and I believe them.
A list is never just a list.
It is the beginning of forgetting
and the rehearsal of fear.

And still,
I return to the crib
where my baby curls her hand around mine,
her pudgy fist the size of a plum.
She cannot ask yet what it means to be a girl,
but already the world
is writing her story,
already she is among the daughters
who must learn to abide.

Butler’s voice is not just theirs.
It is the echo of every woman
who has been told to hush,
every mother
who has watched her child’s name
crossed out by a hand of power.

What is silenced will not stay silent.
What is written down
will be read again.
Even in exile,
even in mourning,
Her many voices endure—
not performance,
but song.

Clare Richardson-Barlow is a writer, political economist, and lecturer at the University of Leeds. Her work spans academic, policy, and creative forms, with a focus on climate, energy, and justice. Before academia, she worked in Washington, D.C. think tanks on international policy. Her poetry and essays often explore womanhood, memory, and myth, especially how women’s voices are silenced and reimagined as strength. Originally from Oregon, she now lives in Yorkshire.

STANDING UP, POURING OUT

by L. Lois

Vancouverites rallied at the U.S. Consulate [last month] to protest the imposition of tariffs on Canadian imports. —City News, March 4, 2025

runways paved through city
blocks for us to walk
places to put our protest
cars stopped
by the coupling of bodies
massing to chant
the poison must be choked
 
texting the message
email chains binding keyboard wrists
worn raw by tyranny
feet shuffling out the door
marching down
cement plazas giving way
to anger echoing between the buildings
 
hubris weights its own downfall
compassion and arrogance
feel the same in a cold heart
the court jester turns to inform
sacred trust scattered across ballots
gathered by the greedy
presumes civility requires passivity
 
voices lift
to swing their signs
feet pound
freedom's patience
taxed and thin
hydrants knock open
spewing cleansing

Author’s note: As a Canadian, I will be joining the April 5th mass movement by gathering with other concerned global citizens outside the US Consulate in Vancouver, British Columbia.

L. Lois lives in an urban hermitage where trauma-informed themes flow during walks by the ocean. She is pivoting through her grandmother-era, figuring out why her bevy of adult children don’t have babies. Her poems have appeared in Poetry Breakfast, Open JA&L, Fictional Cafe, The Mid-Atlantic Review, Washington Square Review, Sparks of Calliope, and other literary publications.

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.

DIVERSITY, EQUITY, AND INCLUSION AND HOPE

by Cathy Lee

Today, in a quiet English classroom

In Southeast Ohio,

An English teacher 

And special needs teacher 

Discussed how to incorporate 

The work of students in the special needs classroom

In this year’s school-wide literary anthology

Of poems, stories, and art.

This year’s theme 

is hope. 

Some of these high school students will 

Be able to circle images of pictures

That give them hope.

Some of these students 

Have the ability to write a few sentences

And draw a picture about

what gives them hope.

Most of these students 

Rarely get included 

in school-wide projects,

Often remain hidden

And anonymous

Like Boo Radley.

But we 

are working 

To change that. 

While pompous politicians 

Flaunt their abilities to dismantle 

Programs for DEI, 

We move forward,

Inviting the voices

Of our fellow humans  

Who can name hope

By circling an image of a bird,

Or drawing their dog,

Or writing about a yummy piece of apple pie. 

Mmm, mmm. So good.

Cathy Lee is a wife, mother of almost adulting daughters, one in college and one in high school, and a high school English teacher in Southeast Ohio. She enjoys running, baking, and reading. 

DISCOURSE FLAMED OUT

by Kenneth Johnson

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

Words once enlightening,
now smoldering on a trash heap,
thoughts unraveled like smoke
rising, intertwined, undecipherable.
The air, thick with thieves,
is a place where meaning
crumbles, dissolves
before it can be formed.
Voices that once nurtured
dialogue now carefully hone 
their obsidian edges.
Once, we built conduits,
word by word,
constructed to withstand scrutiny,
to span great divides.
Now, we stand at the ruins,
watching the remnants 
flicker out into darkness.
Discourse flamed out,
the ashen particles
becoming less dense
as they float aimlessly,
finally disappearing.

Kenneth Johnson is a Pushcart-nominated poet and visual artist living in Claremont, California. He is the author of the chapbook Molten Muse.

PANTOUM: THE TALIBAN TALI-BANS WINDOWS

by Steven Croft

No more open casements, no more moments at windows

Bring back the view of flowers and the love-burned orchards

Buildings now a punishment, knowing prisoners love windows

Talibs say: "Seeing women through windows is an obscene act"

Bring back the view of flowers and the love-burned orchards

To bodies now haram, faces now haram, our voices now haram

Taliban warn: "Seeing women as women is an obscene act"

Captive in darkness, dark-bitter roots till these walls come down

To bodies now haram, faces now haram, our voices now haram

At breast, our babies, throats filled with milk and woodsmoke

Captive in darkness, seeds for flowers, till these walls come down

No more subterranean, no more cavemouth blocked

At breast, our babies, throats filled by milk and woodsmoke

In the candlelit square of mirror, I hope myself, hopeless

No more subterranean, no more cavemouth blocked

But for the world I've stopped hoping, hope tombed long ago

In the candlelit ghosts of windows, I see myself hopeless

My pain bleeds down the panes, alone with my punishment

For the world will not see us, our hope tombed long ago

For the world will not see us, it stopped looking long ago

Steven Croft lives on a barrier island off the coast of Georgia. His latest chapbook is At Home with the Dreamlike Earth (The Poetry Box, 2023). His work has appeared in Willawaw Journal, San Pedro River Review, So It Goes, Anti-Heroin Chic, The New Verse News, and other places, and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net.

BEAR WITH ME TODAY

by Linda Laderman

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

Bear with me today 

because I’m thinking

about what’s in front

of us in this second, 

whatever, wherever 

you might be—bear 

with me. I’m almost

out of my mind. Feel

my chest, tight, like

elastic ready to snap.

Put down a metaphor

for brittle, body, break.

My body is taut. Rat 

a tat: a series of knocks 

at the door. Slam it shut.

Do you have a warrant?

I don’t do much sleeping.

My body weeps, pulled 

into the undertow. I’ve no

resistance to the rising

tide. Silt, salt, foam, wall.

Bear with me. I beg you,

you who believe, let your

god know this would be a

good time for it to lift up

its countenance among us.

Bear with me if I repeat my

fears—if my refusal to let go 

scares you. I want to know

why you wander door to door,

in pursuit of something you

imagine, but haven’t found. 

Do you hear? The rooms rife 

with past choices, old voices.

I don’t know how this ends. 

Bear with me. I’m searching for a conclusion.

Linda Laderman is a Michigan poet. Her poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals, including Action-Spectacle, SWWIM, Rise Up Review, and Rust & Moth. She is a past recipient of Harbor Review’s Jewish Women’s Prize. Her micro-chapbook What I Didn’t Know I Didn’t Know can be found online at Harbor Review. In past lives, she was a journalist and taught English at Owens Community College and Lourdes University, in Ohio.

NOTHING

by Lynn White

ABC (Australia), August 27, 2024

In those streets

of men and boys,

in that country 

for men and boys,

she feels like a person with no face,

her face space covered,

her identity occupied

by a swirling mist of confusion

like nothingness being born.

Sometimes 

she wishes for a blank space

that she could fill herself

with a Magritte apple

or even a woman

even herself

un-blanked

and visible.

Now, in those streets

of men and boys,

in that country 

for men and boys,

she feels like a person with no voice,

Magritte’s apple is choking her,

muting her

so even in her home she whispers

her songs and curses.

Only in her head does she shout

that something will come of nothing,

that something must come of nothing.

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality and writes hoping to find an audience for her musings. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Apogee, Firewords, Peach Velvet, Light Journal, and So It Goes.