Guidelines



Submission Guidelines: Send 1-3 unpublished poems in the body of an email (NO ATTACHMENTS) to nvneditor[at]gmail.com.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, August 22, 2020

MY FRIEND'S HOUSE IN THE REDWOODS

by Joan Leotta




He raised a family there.
Hoped to die there he told me,
but not in a fire.

Out now.
Unbowed.

Wonders what he’ll find
when he returns,
life on hold as fire rolls.

Out now.
Unbowed.

Television radio, his eyes and ears,
trending views of crackling flames,
ash piles where homes once were.

Out now.
Unbowed.
Hopefully, he waits.


Joan Leotta has evacuated for hurricanes and feels the pain of all of those who are forced to leave their homes--for any reason.

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

by Tricia Knoll





We have feasted
so long
on anger

slathered on our bread
heating up our coffee
fried up in lard.

We knew
that angst and anxiety
pickle up that anger.

Fear makes food
taste like sawdust
and worms

until the wellspring
fills, runs clear,
and someone takes

the child’s hand
to offer a clear
and cool sip

and the old song
something can be saved
the game can still be played

sprinkles like rain on what burns
slides like teardrops
pours like love.


Tricia Knoll was for many months in the Bernie Sanders wing of Democratic voters, a loyal Vermonter. She has a voice disability and was deeply moved to hear Brayden Harrington's speech in support of Joe and the selflessness of a man who stops to help a kid with stuttering. She is preparing letters every day for Vote Forward to urge liberal leaning voters to vote.

5.59 MILLION CASES



Sarah E. Colona is the author of three poetry collections: Hibernaculum (Gold Wake Press, 2013), Thimbles (dancing girl press, 2012) and That Sister (dancing girl press, 2016). Recent poems appear in TheNewVerse.News.

Friday, August 21, 2020

OUR DICTATOR

by Carol Dorf


Art by Adrian Teal


When the young ask “Why
did you let it go on so long?”
they have forgotten

an essential fact—he was
our dictator—small fingers,

and disconnected
speech rhythms of our crazy
uncles raging on.


Carol Dorf has three chapbooks available, Given (Origami Poems), Some Years Ask (Moria Press), and Theory Headed Dragon (Finishing Line Press). Her poetry appears in Shofar, About Place, Great Weather For Media, Slipstream, The Mom Egg, Sin Fronteras, Heresies, Feminist Studies, Scientific American, and Maintenant. She is poetry editor of Talking Writing. She is interested in the intersections between poetry, disability, science and parenting. 

Thursday, August 20, 2020

GO BALLOONS

by Richard Garcia
                        from the Democratic Convention, 2004  




No confetti. No confetti yet. No confetti. All right. Go balloons. Go balloons. We need more Balloons. All balloons. All balloons. Keep going. Come on guys, let’s move it! Jesus, we need more balloons! I want all balloons to go, goddammit! More balloons! No confetti. No confetti. No confetti. I want more balloons. What’s happening to the balloons? Jesus! We need more balloons. We need all of them coming down! Balloons. Balloons. Balloons.  What’s happening! They’re not coming down. All balloons. What the hell! There’s nothing falling! What the fuck are you guys doing up there? We want more balloons coming down. Go balloons! Go balloons! Go balloons!


Author's note: This is a found poem gathered from versions of an unintentional international audio transmission at the Democratic Convention 2004.


Richard Garcia's poetry books include The Other Odyssey from Dream Horse Press, The Chair from BOA, and Porridge from Press 53. His poems have appeared in many journals and anthologies. He has won a Pushcart prize and has been in Best American Poetry. He lives in Charleston, S.C.

NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND

by Dawn Corrigan


“Rat Race to the Meaning of Life” by Channing.

   I am waiting   for the Age of Anxiety   to drop dead   —Lawrence Ferlinghetti, "I Am Waiting" 1958

I keep hearing parents
fretting if they don't send
their children to school
they'll fall behind.

Parents, I bring you news:
The rat race is over.
The rats won.
Time for something else now.


Dawn Corrigan is waiting, too.

PLAYGROUND SNAPSHOTS, 2020

by Melissa Balmain



“NYC Playgrounds Reopen with Social Distancing” —ABC, June
“Word of the day is 'sorry-go-round' (19th century): a repetitive cycle of depressing actions or events.” —Lexicographer Susie Dent, August


June
The slide that’s so fast it feels buttered,
The swing set and bouncy-horse ride,
The seesaw where toddlers and dolls sit astride—
Unshuttered!

August
The parents and nannies (masked, wary)
Wipe down every bench, toy, and snack,
Still praying the sorry-go-round will go back
To merry.


Melissa Balmain's poetry and prose have appeared in The American Bystander, The Hopkins Review, Lighten Up Online, McSweeney's, The New Yorker, Poetry Daily, and elsewhere. She edits Light, a journal of light verse. 

Wednesday, August 19, 2020

MARLON RETIRES

by Anita Cabrera



Photo source:  Photo credit: Lucas Jackson/Reuters via The New York Times.


In uniform-approved black shoes
feet now less nimble, snug inside
compression socks, he brings
checks and bills, report cards and
acceptance notices. Stuffs in flyers,
voter registration forms, packages
small enough to fit, before trudging
ahead heavied with our secrets (a

Card from prison, lien or loan). A
habit or skill not to sweat or to
complain through heatwave days or
winter rains? Varicose veins and
senile terrier nips endured with
tempered grace. Each pause at
box or slot, obedience to route and
oath. Gives us time to ask about
his family, catch him up on ours.
For years I called him

Merlin before learning Marlon is
his name, as in Brando. The
months his child lay quiet in a
coma, he kept a steady measured
pace, balanced the envelope of
grief and duty. Both our temples
greyer now, he’s ready to go
out of circulation, fly first-

Class, get whisked away, back to
where he can rest his legs, just
in time, before all of
our mail piles up
undelivered.


Anita Cabrera is a poet, essayist and fiction writer whose work has appeared in The Berkeley Poetry Review, Brain, Child Magazine, Colere, Acentos Review, The New Guard, and other journals. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Award, and adapted and performed by the Word for Word Theater Group. Ms. Cabrera lives and teaches in San Francisco, CA where she is active in dance and recovery communities.

Tuesday, August 18, 2020

CLEARLY

by Barbara Loots





Clearly this explains a lot
about the president we’ve got.
For basement, substitute your bed.
Computer?  Say tv instead.
Every click of Twitter thumb?
Neurons in the brain go numb
until the whole damn thing is gone.
The skull is empty. Sad. Poor Don.


Frequent contributor to lightpoetrymagazine.com, Barbara Loots keeps an eye on the news from Kansas City, MO. New collection The Beekeeper and other love poems coming soon from Kelsay Books. 

I CAN'T VOTE

by Marsha Owens
“Sorted” by Pia Guerra at The Nib, August 17, 2020.


Blue mailboxes thrown onto truck beds
helter-skelter like toy soldiers tossed
onto a playroom floor, except I see
pictures—this is not make-believe—
but a real-time story much like the one
Anne told in her diary except by this point
in Germany trucks and trains carried people,
her father, other fathers, mothers, gone
to god knows where, and still Anne
believed her father would come back
someday, just stroll through the door
like coming home from work. . .but
we all know that’s not how her story ended.
So where is the mailbox graveyard?
Is someone burying
these mailboxes
next to Democracy
and the 2020 election—
they were such a fine
couple in new jersey just
a few days ago—but now
they lie close to my friend
who died from COVID-19,
just across from
Sweet Liberty
and Blind Justice
in a spot near
an eerie gravesite
that echoes
a lament into each
dark night,
i can’t breathe.


For her bio, Marsha Owens samples Nikki Giovanni: "I've been considered a writer who writes from rage and it confuses me. What else do writers write from?"

Monday, August 17, 2020

THE PROBLEM OF ERASING THE WIRING IN THIS HOUSE

by Frederick Charles Melancon


Artwork source: Vox


We rip out the old lines.
Fragments of bright copper

shine on concrete still trapped
in white and black casing.

New yellow cords replace
white insulated ones.

Asked the electrician does
this make any difference.

Reports to everyone
it’s safer, but confides

running through each cable
is the same old power.


Frederick Charles Melancon lives in Mississippi with his wife and daughter.  Even as an untrained electrician, he knows to turn the power off before touching the power lines.

SUMMER THUNDERSTORMS

by Earl J. Wilcox




Dark clouds hover, hover, hover.
Some are totally nasty. Others phony.
A few are pretty, fluffy, frilly... like
suburban housewives in Philly.

How lovely the sun shines in
Milwaukee—beautiful, spacious
skies, amber waves of grain
brewing an early November tsunami.


Earl J. Wilcox keeps an eye on the weather from South Carolina where storms are predicted.

Sunday, August 16, 2020

BILLY GRAHAM PREPARES TO ENTER STATUARY HALL

by Alan Walowitz


The U.S. Capitol’s Statuary Hall, where two iconic figures from every state hold court, will soon have a new resident: A clay likeness of the late Reverend Billy Graham, the popular televangelist who brought the word of Jesus Christ to the masses through a series of high-profile “crusades,” evangelistic campaigns that saw massive rallies across the United States. For Jews and groups concerned with the separation of church and state, the prospect is a problematic one. Last week, a North Carolina legislative committee approved a scale model of the 10-foot, 10-inch Graham statue, which would be placed at the Capitol sometime next year pending the approval of a congressional committee. If that approval comes through, Graham’s effigy will replace a statue of Charles Brantley Aycock, a North Carolina governor and white supremacist…  Graham, who died in 2018 at the age of 99, was beloved by many and is certainly an improvement over Aycock, who helped engineer the overthrow of a largely Black government in Wilmington, N.C. But the preacher is controversial on several fronts. His record with regard to civil rights was mixed, as he accepted segregation at some of his crusades and critiqued the tactics of marches and sit-ins to end Jim Crow laws. Like many Evangelicals, he also believed homosexuality to be a sin, calling it a “sinister form of perversion.” And while he had a reputation for building interfaith bridges, a major rift with his relationship with the Jewish community emerged in 1994, when Nixon Chief of Staff H.R. Haldeman’s White House diaries became public. Haldeman wrote that Nixon and Graham, alone in the Oval Office after a prayer breakfast in February of 1972, discussed Jewish control of the media. Graham denied having this conversation, but in 2002, the tape was released by the National Archives.In the recording, Graham agreed with Nixon that liberal Jews had too much influence, saying, “This stranglehold has got to be broken or the country’s going down the drain.” Graham further accused Jews of “putting out the pornographic stuff” in the culture and contended that, while he was friendly with Jews who “swarm around me and are friendly to me because they know that I’m friendly with Israel,” those Jews “don’t know how I really feel about what they are doing to this country. And I have no power, no way to handle them, but I would stand up if under proper circumstances.” Graham apologized after the tape became public, telling a group of Jewish leaders he was on his “hands and knees” to make up for the harm of his remarks. —The Forward, August 10, 2020. Photo: An earlier statue of Graham was removed in 2016 from its location in downtown Nashville destined be relocated to a Christian Conference Center near Asheville, North Carolina. —WTVF, Nashville.


"I've read the last page of the Bible; it's all going to turn out all right." —Billy Graham


Far as I’m concerned, the Reverend Graham
may take his place in Statuary Hall. Must’ve been tall,
10 foot 10, the story implies, good reason alone—
but we were at least that high as we made our way
to the stage at Shea that time, to be saved behind
the pitcher's mound. The Jesus-part never stuck, as God
surely knew, which might be why Billy told his presidential pal
he’d have better luck without the Jews controlling all.
And sometimes he didn’t like those Black folks coming
round to those Deep South crusades.  How else
was he to get those crackers to accept
Christ—for Christ’s sake—and be forgiven in his name?
“God will curse all who add or take away,” it says right near the end.
The God I want would love, accept—and, Bill, even sometimes amend.


Alan Walowitz has been published various places on the web and off.  His work was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2017 and 2018 and he is a Contributing Editor at Verse-Virtual, an Online Community Journal of Poetry.  His chapbook Exactly Like Love is available from Osedax Press, and his full-length book The Story of the Milkman and Other Poems is available from Truth Serum Press. 

Saturday, August 15, 2020

AFTER FOLKLORE

by Mark Danowsky





Coming around
not knowing
love was
near arrival

Such joy
is discovery
your magic
arrow missed

My heart
filling deeper
rises gently
fresh struck

Deft archer
snags me
narrow fellow
gone delicate


Mark Danowsky is a Philadelphia poet, author of the poetry collection As Falls Trees (NightBallet Press), Managing Editor of the Schuylkill Valley Journal, and Editor of ONE ART poetry journal.