WHEN HE’S GONE

by Kay White Drew

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

…do unto his Mar-a-Lago North
what he has done to the Presidential residence:
tear it limb from limb, let
the wrecking ball swing free.

Gather the people from the four directions
to bear witness. Sing and chant, each
in your own tongue. Release your grief
and joy: the reign of terror is finally over.
Trash or melt down the tawdry gold things.
Remove with care the remnants
of happier days and the relics of the founders.

When the dust has settled, bring sages
and shamans and clergy of all denominations
to purify the space with prayers, smudge-sticks
and incense, libations and offerings
in rituals of repentance and reconciliation.

Dig a new foundation, build a new structure
that reflects our mongrel variety,
embraces us in all our multifarious glory.

       Not the White House.
       The People’s House.

Kay White Drew is a retired physician whose poems appear in various anthologies and internet outlets including The Intima, Gargoyle, and The New Verse News. She’s also published short stories and several essays, one of which was nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and a memoir, Stress Test, about medical school in the 1970s. She lives in Rockville, MD with her husband. Reading and spending time in nature keep her sane(ish) in these difficult times.

NO ROOF, NO DOOR

by Paul Burgess

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

To get the house of which I'd dreamed,
The fastest route, or so it seemed, 
Was knocking down each door and wall, 
Destroying ceiling, den, and hall.
With wrecking ball, I'd swiftly smash
And relish every violent crash. 
 
The pile of rubble where I stand 
Was all I'd thought about or planned. 
Rebuilding seemed the easy part, 
But now I wonder where to start. 
I'd barely planned the building's frame, 
But bragged I'd surely put to shame 
The house in which I'd lived before,
Yet now, I've got no roof, no door, 
No wires, no pipes, but just a heap
Of rubble where I'll have to sleep. 

Paul Burgess lives in Lexington, Kentucky. He is the sole proprietor of a business that offers ESL, translation, and interpretation services. He speaks several languages fluently. When not writing strange poems, he enjoys playing guitar, reading, and hiking. He has contributed poems to Blue Unicorn, The Orchards, Parody, Lighten Up Online, Dirigible Balloon, The New Verse News, OEDILF, and other poetry publications.

HAIKU

by Richard L. Matta

colossal dark crane 
where there was a wrecking ball
a star 

Richard L. Matta grew up in New York and now lives in San Diego. Some of his work is found in Ancient Paths, Dewdrop, San Pedro River Review, Third Wednesday, Gyroscope, and many international haiku journals.