MITT ROMNEY PRAYS TO JANUS

by Ed Shacklee


O Thou, who looks both ways through every gate,
Who makes my well-intentioned path seem straight,

Who forked the subtle serpent's silver tongue,
And took away my spine when I was young,

I praise Thee, Lord, who with two faces smiled
Upon Thy faithful, ever faithless child.


Ed Shacklee is a public defender who represents young people in the District of Columbia.  His poems have appeared in 14 by 14, The Flea, The Raintown Review and Shot Glass Journal, among other places.
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BLACK FRIDAY / BLOODY SUNDAY

by Alan Catlin


In the News:

Lady pepper sprays
fellow shoppers to gain
better access to limited-
time-only sale items.

Temporary employee/store
guard, trampled by shoppers
at Walmart opening.

Thousands wait in line
for midnight opening
of Circuit City mallstore
for while-supplies-
last-sale.

Estimated 150 million
shoppers took to streets
on Black Friday, nearly
half of US population.
Analysts describe the phenomena
as a “National Obsession.

The future not some new 9-11
World Trade Center burning event
but President Bush’s post
apocalyptic vision of defeating
the enemy at the malls with our
credit cards, our cash, our consumption;
what we buy defines us. All the surveys
tell us so.


Alan Catlin has published numerous chapbooks and full-length books of poetry and prose, the latest of which, from Pygmy Forest Press, is Deep Water Horizon including several poems originally published in The New Verse News.
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TWILIGHT OF THE GREATEST GENERATION

by Zev Shanken


Born in the Twenties before the Wall Street Crash,
raised with the lessons of the Great Depression,
The Greatest Generation went to war to stop
madmen from ruling the world.

They married too soon and learned from TV
how to think you know things you don't know.
They watched their kids invent sex, their sons invent peace,
their daughters invent women, their gays invent pride.

They watched Jews invent Israelis; Hispanics, Latinos;
blacks invent Africans; Orientals, East Asians.
They watched the century's greatest distracting inventions,
while all along Wall Street was inventing new tricks.


Zev Shanken teaches English at High School for Health Careers and Sciences in Washington Heights, and lives in New Jersey.  His father fought in World War Two and was a freedom rider in the early 60s.  Zev participated in SCLC and SNCC projects in Cambridge, MD and Orangeburg, SC in the 60s.  His chapbook, Al Het, was published by Blue Begonia Press, Yakima, WA, in 1996.
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GREENBACKSTREETS

 Poems by Charles Frederickson; 
Graphic by Saknarin Chinayote 

WALL MAIN SESAME EASY MEAN

Empowering humanimals many shapes colors
Genders political persuasions solidarity struggle
Solo voices blending Kumbaya harmony
Heart soul mindful ethical ideals

ABBEY YELLOW BRICK SILK ROCKY

Armani salvation army deep-pocketed lobbyists
Soldiers of misfortune held hostage
Designer label redeemers rebels radicals
One size doesn’t fit all

HIGH FREE TOLL BROAD APPIAN

Facebook Twitter coming of age
Wronged passage rites we-mail armed
Leaderless cellular not hierarchal movement
Declaring “we are the 99%”

TIN PAN GASOLINE BOWLING OOP

In gold wet rust standards
24 karat necklace missing links
Two-faced silver dollars uncommon cents
Clenched fistful of counterfeit greenbacks

PRIMROSE DOS OFF THE BEATEN

Winner takes all capital gains
Blue chip off Titanic iceberg
What lies beneath hidden assets
Deep freeze global economy meltdown

BOARDWALK PARK PLACE MARVIN GARDENS

Insider trading places duping outsiders
Debt equity swaps bondage hexchange
Corporatocrazy mortgage bailouts subsides bonuses
Greedy least needy tax breaks

VIA DOLOROSA (WAY OF GRIEF)

Dr. Charles Frederickson and Mr. Saknarin Chinayote proudly present 27 free downloadable YouTube videos @ charlesthai1.
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CHILDREN FOR WALL STREET

by Janice D. Soderling

"And shall I still be allowed to wear ribbons in my mane?" asked Mollie. 


--Animal Farm, George Orwell

Her panties are thongs.
She is sexy as lard.

Her gilt purse is frayed.

She is tattooed and scarred.



The shops stretch for acres
with see-throughs and bows.

Synthetic her wants and

synthetic her clothes.



She hasn't much money,

but spends what she's got

on frail fishnet stockings.

She wants to be hot.



Ruby Rose, Lara Bingle,
thin-limbed and wall-high,

look down on this sad child

and croon "buy or die".



Pierced lip and smeared lipstick,

black hair streaked with green,

she flicks through the racks.

She is nearly sixteen.


Janice D. Soderling is a previous contributor to The New Verse News. Her poetry, fiction and translations appear in many online and print venues, most recently Magma Poetry (England), Twelve Stories (USA), The Chimaera (Australia) and The Literary Bohemian (Czech Republic). Now Culture (USA) nominated “Cock-of-the-Walk” to Sundress Best of the Net.
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POETS LAUREATE MAKE NEWS

by Bill Costley


Mayor Bloomberg lets NYC cops
demolish a signed first-edition donated
to Occupy Wall. St., by Philip Levine,
current US Poet Laureate.

Former Poet Laureate
Robert Hass & his poet wife get beaten in
Occupied Berkeley on 09 NOV.
He writes about it 19 NOV
in the Sun. NYT

American poets finally make news
in ways anyone can appreciate
on either coast.


Bill Costley has served on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco Bay area chapter of the National Writers Union. He lives in Santa Clara, CA. The latest volume ( Number Eleven)  of Costley's  New Verse News epic The Chen@id can be accessed by clicking here.
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GIVING THANKS

by Lee Patton

 46th November

 This sky seems to write no promises--
 its gray sheet stretches taut, papering
 over the sun. Turkey gravy and pie juice
 bleed on my clients' blotted-ink addresses,
 but I know ‘em by heart.  The streets deliver me
 again, with meals for the homebound.

 Opposite Freedom Park's drained fountain
 an old lady totters to her next meal in robe
 and sneakers.  Every other citizen braving this
 chill seems to be on crutches or skinny wheels:
 "Could you hold that door for me, Sonny?"

 In her room near the emergency exits,
 Judith cries at the offered goods--enough
 for the long weekend, with pie and cake
 besides--and I beg off her gratitude,
 I who only brought and did not buy,
 did not package, did not bake.

 Through his door-chain's widening wedge,
 Mr. Gomez forgets his reserve and shinnies up
 the IV of his dormant self-delight, then frees
 the door and offers his arms to me.

 At the icy crack of noon, feeble shafts
 of sunlight tender a greeting to the street,
 throwing the chimneys' steam into blunt relief
 against faint blue haze.

 Life, I want to tell Judith, has kissed me
 on my sweet ass for so many years
 that I've forgotten the need for wishes on bones
 and lost track of any promises, kept or broken,
 scrawled in disappearing ink
 across November skies.


Lee Patton, a Denverite, writes fiction, poetry, drama and commentary.   Quarterlies that have published his work include Best New Writing 2012, The Threepenny Review, The Massachusetts Review, The California Quarterly, and Hawaii-Pacific Review. His second novel, Love and Genetic Weaponry:  The Beginner’s Guide, was launched from Alyson Books in 2009.
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EARLY THANKSGIVING MIGRATION

by Laura Rodley


On our way back home,
from the train window we watch
the dried grass, mesquite, and pinon,
terra cotta adobe homes high
in the Sandia Mountains.
In the San Felipe Pueblo,
a pink hog gutted lies
on its side, its squat people
surrounding it eye the passing train,
the round prickly pears stubby and burned
black by the sun, arroyos dry
footprints fleshed out in its red sand
dirtbike tracks fresh.
As we speak your name
a gathering of cranes flash
before the window, stalking green fields
irrigated underground, their intermittent
bending for barley, final harvest,
cranes such as you had seen
driving back roads in Artesia
flush with dried out sparse green leaves
and the hard green fists of pecans in orchards
waiting for our train to come in,
cranes tall as grey emus gliding, you said
and here the cranes,
the only time we see them,
as we lift your name to the wind.

Laura Rodley’s chapbook Your Left Front Wheel is Coming Loose has been nominated for a PEN New England L.L. Winship Award and a Mass Book Award.
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FOLLOWING ORDERS

by Tom Karlson



Quan and Bloomberg
New York to Oakland
Master and poodle
Deliverers of well being and health
Big love sent with
Riot gear
Rubber bullet
Beanbag scatter gun
Hunting
Old women
Pregnant females
Kids
Books
At 2 am

Exploding the occupations
Spreading the occupations

Quan and Bloomberg
Following orders
Poodle and master

99 and the 1
The sixties are done
Long live the tens
Long live the tens


Tom Karlson is founder of Poets for Peace, Long Island, NY.
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FIVE FADING MEMORIES OF NOVEMBER

by J.R. Solonche

November 22, 1963

1.
Gunshots.
A Lincoln convertible.
Walter Cronkite’s tears.
A black veil.
The wheels of the caisson.

2.
A Lincoln convertible.
Walter Cronkite’s tears.
A black veil.
The wheels of the caisson.
Gunshots.

3.
Walter Cronkite’s tears.
A black veil.
The wheels of the caisson.
Gunshots.
A Lincoln convertible.
.
4.
A black veil.
The wheels of the caisson.
Gunshots.
A Lincoln convertible.
Walter Cronkite’s tears.

5.
The wheels of the caisson.
Gunshots.
A Lincoln convertible.
Walter Cronkite’s tears.
A black veil.


J.R. Solonche is co-author (with wife Joan Siegel) of Peach Girl: Poems for a Chinese Daughter (Grayson Books). His poems have appeared in many magazines, journals, and anthologies since the 1970s. He teaches at SUNY Orange in Middletown, New York.
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AMERICA'S HEART

by Paul Dickey


I have a stick I bought on eBay 

from a flogging tree 

once in a now closed museum.

I have a poem.

I have a quotation from Martin Luther King.
I have a true story.
But they say poets anymore 

shouldn’t break America’s heart.

I heard Wisconsin election results just came in.
I heard teachers not teaching,

just sitting on a bench.
I heard teachers not teaching 

outside the capitol.

I heard a door close behind a man who lost his job.

I heard voices in victory from the other room.

I heard a governor say –

but don’t you dare break America’s heart.

I see fire in the Bastrop sky 

where there had been blue.
I see the governor calls for volunteers 

to bring their own equipment
the United States of People
it seems no longer can afford.

I see fish dying on a Vermont street.

I see an old man die in Ohio who didn’t need.

I see a true story about a dream.

I see a poem there in front of you.
 To build again, 

we have to break America’s heart.


Paul Dickey’s first full length poetry manuscript They Say This is How Death Came Into the World was published by Mayapple Press in January, 2011 and was nominated by the press for the 2011 National Book Award in Poetry.  His poetry has appeared recently in Verse Daily, Rattle, Sentence: A Journal of Prose Poetics, Mid-American Review, Midwest Quarterly, Crab Orchard Review and online at Linebreak.  A poetry chapbook What Wisconsin Took was published by The Parallel Press in May, 2006.
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DEMOCRACY REDEFINED

by Ron Singer


Moammar Gadhafi
was a democrat, self-proclaimed.
“In Arabic,” he explained,
“dama means remain,
and kursi is a seat.”
That, you could say,
was ersitz democracy.


Ron Singer’s poetry has appeared, e.g., in alba, Arlington Literary Journal (featured poet, July, 2010), Borderlands: The Texas Poetry Review, The Brooklyn Rail, Evergreen Review, The Hampden-Sydney Poetry Review, New Works Review (featured poet, Fall 2008), and Word Riot. He is currently working on a book of interviews with African pro-democracy activists called Uhuru Revisited (Africa World Press/Red Sea Press). 
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OCCUPY AMERICA

by F.I. Goldhaber


Young and old, jobless
and under employed
they stream downtown
to pitch their tents.

In the face of tear
gas and pepper spray,
false arrest and
imprisonment

they persevere. I'm
reminded of the
Révolution
françaises,  "To the

barricades!" Then the
students, impoverished
bourgeoisie, and
leftists banded

together to fight
for the principles
this young nation
introduced to

the world: Liberté,
égalité, and
fraternité.
We don't set fires

in the street. Instead,
we camp, we march, we
carry signs to
remind passers

by exactly who
the villains in this
conflict are: stock
brokers, bankers,

mega corps who have
bought all three branches
of the U.S.
government.

Unlike seventeen
eighty-nine, police
now throw the first
stones. Across the

country, leaders are
violating the
constitution
they have sworn to

protect, the one that
guarantees"the right
of the people
peaceably to

assemble." This is
where we must make our
stand. On the streets
and when we mark

our ballots next year.
They have the money.
We have the votes.
We're the ninety

nine percent. This: these
tents, these signs,  is what
democracy
looks like today.


F.I. Goldhaber's second poetry collection Pairs of Poems was ranked number three in the Preditors & Editors readers poll for poems. She is an editor, book designer, poet, novelist, and story teller who's written professionally for more than a quarter century and has won a number of awards for her fiction and poetry. Her short stories, novelettes, poems, news stories, feature articles, essays, editorial columns, and reviews have been published in magazines, e-zines, newspapers, calendars, and anthologies. She's also had three erotica novels published under another name.
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WITNESS

by Khary Jackson

When the police violence occurred again later that night, they broke the ribs of another English professor, poet Geoffrey O'Brien. When the police wouldn't stop beating him even after he too had fallen to the ground, a good friend and fellow graduate student, Ben Cullen, rushed in and demanded that they stop. The police, in turn, rained multiple blows on him, bruising his ribs as well. And just in case it's not clear yet that the violence was not only against 'some kids looking to make a fuss,' the police also thought it necessary to jab 70-year-old former Poet Laureate and Pulitzer Prize winner Robert Hass several times in the stomach with a baton as well.

--Huffington Post, 11/13/11

I think they knew what they were doing.
One of them noticed: the poets were out.
If they jab the laureate in the stomach,
if they crack the ribs of the prof, maybe
they will pen a proper witness for the flailing
and lost. Maybe they will make sense of this,
as if swinging batons can be re-imagined
into farmer hands summoning corn from the
ground. Maybe, months from now, they’ll buy their
first book of verse, and finally understand
precisely upon whom they’d been spitting all along.


Khary Jackson is a performance poet, playwright, dancer and musician.  A Detroit native, he currently resides in the Twin Cities where he serves as a teaching artist and writer.  He has written 12 full length plays, one of which (Water) was produced in 2009 at Ink and Pulp Theatre in Chicago.  He has been a recipient of several grants, including the 2010 Artist Initiative Grant for poetry from the Minnesota State Arts Board, the 2009 VERVE Spoken Word Grant from Intermedia Arts, and the Many Voices Residency from the Playwrights' Center, in 2005-06 and 2007-08.  As a performance poet, he has enjoyed great success in national competition, ranking nationally in 2007, 2008 and 2009, as well as winning the National Poetry Slam with the St Paul team in 2009 and 2010.
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