Today's News . . . Today's Poem
The New Verse News
presents politically progressive poetry on current events and topical issues.
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Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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.
Saturday, March 08, 2025
DOES IT UPSET YOU?
Wednesday, October 23, 2024
THE VOICE OF ONE CRYING IN THE WILDERNESS
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The Guardian, October 19, 2024 |
In Missouri, one Christian speaks truth
On behalf of some transgendered youth.
A preacher for parity
Out there's quite a rarity;
Elect this good woman, forsooth!
Steven Kent is the poetic alter ego of writer and musician Kent Burnside. His work appears in 251, Asses of Parnassus, Light Poetry Magazine, Lighten Up Online, New Verse News, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Philosophy Now, Pulsebeat Poetry Journal, The Road Not Taken: A Journal of Formal Poetry, Snakeskin, and Well Read. His collection I Tried (And Other Poems, Too) was published in 2023 by Kelsay Books.
Thursday, August 08, 2024
WE THE PEOPLE
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“Why are Nigerians protesting? Young people were roused by events in Kenya.” —The Guardian, August 3, 2024 |
You and your peeps pillage the purse of the people;
State proceeds hang beyond the reach of the people.
Passing frivolous bills, paying frivolous bills;
A despot’s impunity in full glare of the people.
Yesterday, presidential yacht. Today, presidential jet.
What frivolity awaits tomorrow? ponder the people.
A new SUV to distinguish a senator. A new
Minimum wage? Uncalled for; can’t pay the people!
In this theatre of independence, the noose of nostalgia
Dares favour the colonist’s over the anthem of the people!
And now the streets rage with chants of hunger,
Tell, who can quell the anger of the people.
Certainly not those traditional stools that have stood
As stooges. Not those episcopal enemies of the people.
Why buy the institutions and become a monopolist
When you could buy hearts and be a man of the people?
On where lays your heart, Lord? Where else
Do your feet stand but on the ground of the people?
Anayo Dioha is a Nigerian and has been previously published in the The New Verse News among other online and print literary journals.
Saturday, July 13, 2024
JULY OF ELECTION YEAR 2024
This year, if I keep my pace,
I’ll read over 100 books.
I don’t know if this is a victory
or a sad state of affairs.
I don’t know if I am in love
with the world or addicted
to distraction. Preachers and
politicians used to call novels
filthy and frivolous, wanted
us to read only stripped facts
and sermons on virtue. Now,
we’re pleased if children read
at all. Everywhere you look
screens hold miniature stories,
trapdoors and tunnels toward
truth and illusion. Last week,
I asked a 24-year-old which
candidate will win the youth
vote for president. Biden is
ridiculous, she explains: all
those gaffes-turned-memes.
Trump, she decides. He’s funnier.
Funny? I ask. He has wittier
insults. He says what we all wish
we could say. Democrats are
schoolmarms, then? I ask.
Mothers who make you feel
ashamed? What about the danger
to our democracy? Low wages /
high rents. It’s all the same to us.
We need more facts and tracts
on virtues. We need novels, too,
about civil wars and WWII,
about loss and love and grief
and trees, anything to help us
feel, in our bones, what it is
we have to lose. Actually, she says,
face lighting, RFK is trending
on TikTok. His policies are crazy,
I say. He’s doing pull ups, she says.
He looks strong. People like that.Sunday, May 14, 2023
OLD MAN IN THE BUNKER
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Five-year-old Vladimir Putin with his mother, Maria, in July 1958. |
You too were once a child.
Learned to lace boots, the rabbit round the tree.
Slung school books in a sack,
crunched snow underfoot along the river,
the Neva black enough to swallow dawn.
Rain dripped from the larches.
There was only you–
your brothers ghosts before you were born.
One died under siege,
a casualty of co-conspirators:
Nazis, starvation, diphtheria.
You learned German, loved the clarity of Marx.
When the many act as one, they are an unstoppable engine.
Be sure to bury dissenters.
The bond of unity is their blood.
Your grandfather knew who to serve:
in the scullery, spiraling skin
from potatoes, simmering Stalin’s own soup.
And now there is you: eyes lidded like hangman’s hoods,
a smile like razor wire. Fingers that drum
commands to missiles and men.
There: another apartment block, its insides clawed open.
There: the wet pavement, the body of a mother
in her bright kerchief,
Beside her the body of a child,
rain falling on its open hand.
Originally from the Midwest, Robert Darken now resides in Connecticut, where he teaches high-school English. His poems have appeared in One Art, The Orchards, and Red Eft Review.
Friday, February 17, 2023
ARKABUTLA, MISSISSIPPI WITHIN HOURS OF THE SHOOTING ON FEBRUARY 17
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Law enforcement personnel work at the scene of a shooting, Friday, Feb. 17, 2023, in Arkabutla, Miss. Six people were fatally shot Friday in the small town in rural Mississippi near the Tennessee state line, and authorities said they had taken a suspect into custody. —CNN, February 17, 2023 |
Small town. 300 people.
Unincorporated.
around noon.
Not many details now.
Man with gun
pulls into driveways.
Shoots six dead.
Sheriff: we have arrested
the guy who did it.
No known motive.
On February 24-25
youth age 10 – 15
are invited to join
a night time guided
over uneven
terrain which will
observe all age-appropriate
hunting regulations.
Must be accompanied
by an adult.
Tricia Knoll is a Vermont poet who understands no town is too small to endure gun violence. Her own hometown experienced a mass shooting within the last six months. She recently learned it may require shooting six squirrels to make a meal.
Monday, April 12, 2021
TO THE REPUBLICAN LEGISLATORS OF ARKANSAS
Saturday, January 16, 2021
PEOPLE LIKE US AND THE DAY YOU WERE BORN
Heading in to the Quickie Mart I can tell right away something’s wrong,
the kid behind the counter with the plexi-glass wrap-around going at it
with a customer, giving him a piece of her mind, or more. I think perhaps
she caught him stealing, or worse, but he’s a business guy, gray suit, gray tie,
and when I open the door it’s not anger at all, it’s passion I’m hearing,
passion in a Quickie Mart. She’s just a kid, early 20’s or so, hair pulled back,
masked, oversized glasses fogged up. She’s saying, …when even we can see
what’s going on, us average people, people like us, then you know something’s wrong.
And the man doesn’t speak, just nods and turns away, goes past me
like a broken ghost, back to the world again. And I turn to her in this
tiny temple where we all come and go for milk and tickets and cigarettes
and gas, and ask her what it is that all of us should know, all us average people
who gas and gulp and come and go. She says, …the Capitol, what those people did.
And I tell her I agree, it’s a sacred place, that they call it the People’s House,
that Lincoln ended slavery there with the 13th Amendment in the Capitol,
that when you’re actually there it feels more like a church. And then I can’t stop.
I tell her it’s good what you did, speaking up like that. I tell her Siddhartha
says your birthday isn’t really the day that you’re born. It’s the first time
you stand up to your parents, to anyone with power over you, and tell them
the truth. That’s the day when you’re truly born, when you first come alive.
I want to say she was smiling, gleaming like a newborn held up to the light,
but she was wearing a mask. I gave her a twenty for pump number five.
John Hodgen, Writer-in-Residence at Assumption University, won the AWP Prize for Grace (University of Pittsburgh Press). His new book is The Lord of Everywhere (Lynx House/University of Washington Press).
Wednesday, September 23, 2020
THE CREW
Never enough love
for friends of our youth
some of whom get left behind
or so it feels
Hearing one of us went down
unnatural, too soon
I don’t know what to tell myself
with each fresh loss
I turn a little more inward
not ambiguous
layer on layer
What is it we all wanted for each other back then?
Glory? Fame? No―
togetherness
Thursday, February 27, 2020
THE IMMIGRANT BOY'S LAMENT
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Photograph by Oleg Ver. |
Monday, January 02, 2017
CHICAGO, OUR KIND OF TOWN
Two girls, 13 and 14, were shot on the South Side as a violent Christmas weekend came to a close during one of the most violent years in Chicago in decades. A total of 61 people were shot in the city during the holiday weekend, according to data kept by the Tribune.. Seven were killed on Christmas Day alone. "A Violent Christmas in a Violent Year for Chicago: 11 killed, 50 wounded," Chicago Tribune, December 27, 2016
Chicago, once celebrated by the poet
As the Hog Butcher for America,
Proudly singing to be alive,
You have become
The People Butcher of America,
Killing the brawling laughter of youth.
Why has America abandoned the fight
To keep old Chicago's spirit alive?
That spirit and everything else can go to hell
As long as Wall Street is doing well.
People? Who cares if they survive
As long as corporations thrive.
America, when you wake in the middle of the night
And an inner voice calls your name,
Have you no sense of shame?
Saturday, August 20, 2016
WALT WHITMAN AT THE 2016 OLYMPICS

O for any and each the body correlative and attracting.
Singing the muscular urge and the blending…
the welcome nearness… the sight of the perfect body.
The splendor of the opening ceremony and around the
corner the reeking-of-life favelas monitored by
Praetorian Guards with automatic weapons. Keep out
the riff raff, the plenty persons near but not
the hot, the right ones.
The corruption of city-states, the poor, the beggared,
and the rich, the corporate and the incorporate; the
dopers, tokers, and politicians.
The athletes, lithe, lean, and lovely, and the “bulge.”
Ah! The fit-witless and the bulge of youth, the beauty
anyway and incorruptible discipline and dedication
irrelevanced by “commercials.”
And on Copacabana Beach, “We don’t need a stadium
to play volleyball.”
Oh Latin America, Oh Columbus, Columbanumbus!
The New World screwed screwing itself.
The hungry gnaw that eats me night and day…
I need another glass of cachaca and a plate of feijoada.
Tonight I dance with the dancers and drink with the
drinkers. Everyone is my friend even the crooks
on the Olympic Committee.
Bob Katrin is a writer and poet living in Southern Pines, NC.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
TO THE NEW REBELS
Spartacus on a hill
dreaming up at a tapestry of stars
as slaves from a far flung empire
prepared to fight Rome.
What made the ragged minions
with nothing to call their own
except misery
dare to challenge Caesar's throne,
its fearsome weaponry,
legendary battles won,
and all the philosophical sophistry
used to justify its reign?
What gave them the temerity
to defy gods, to tear down
idols, to question
the exalted certainty of the known?
Look into the eyes
of a mother who has lost her son
to a centurion,
a father carrying the remains
of a child slain by drones.
Listen to the cries
of a generation doomed to oblivion
and you will know why you must rise
as they have done.
Margery Parsons is an activist and poet; she lives in Chicago, works for an arts organization, loves movies and music.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
REBEL RECRUITS
Vulnerable youth conceived in poverty
Prime target uncivil war combatants
Desperate underage struggle too easily
Manipulated brainwashed drugged forced submission
Hungry for attention affection acceptance
Needing sense of belonging diversion
Exploited as sex slaves spies
Human shields cooks pregnant wives
Unwanted offspring rescued from abortion
To be sacrificial misbegotten martyrs
Both innocent victims guilty perpetrators
Carrying out barbaric violent acts
Indoctrinated to commit atrocities without
Flinching first kill your family
Relatives neighbors never to return
Crybabies humiliated emotional outburst taboo
Conditioned response demonstrating fearless bravado
Nevertheless dying as helpless kids
Uneducated unable undone unanswered prayers
Resurrected displaced lives forever stigmatized
Our global eradication goal to
Eliminate poverty provide educational options
From evolution to unforgettable revolution
Restoring former child’s damaged psyche