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New Verse News, TheNew Verse News, TheTHE NEW VERSE NEWS covers the news and public affairs with poems on issues, large and small, international and local. It relies on the submission of poems (especially those of a politically liberal bent) by writers from all over the world. 
Articles
SO, HOW'S THE WEATHER?
2008-08-30 12:32:00 by Ana Doina For Dan RomascanuIgnore the distressing foregroundthe rampage, the killed pedestrians,the orphaned, the maimed. The Palestinian manshot dead in the bulldozer is not visible anyway,although the BBC's headline speaks only of himand the faultless blue skies.Just look at the blessed Jerusalem weather31 C degrees at the time the pictures were takenhumidity a typical 35% - trulya gorgeous summer dayin the place we all worship.The forecast should be good in the coming weeks.Follow the news, there will be more snapshots,Jerusalem is always in the headlinesand the weather is unerringly picture-perfect.Pick your favorite drink now,and have a nice day.Ana Doina, a Romanian born writer and amateur photographer now living in United States, left Romania during the Ceausescu regime due to political pressures and social restrictions. Her poems and essays have been published in numerous American and international magazines and anthologies. She was nominated fo... More About: Weather
FOR DEL MARTIN (1921-2008)
2008-08-29 13:07:00 by Mary Saracino“Lesbian rights pioneer Del Martin , whose trailblazing activism spanned more than five decades, most recently in the battle for same-sex marriage, died Wednesday, just two months after she made history again by wedding her longtime partner in San Francisco City Hall .” -- San Francisco Chronicle, Thursday, August 28, 2008 Rainbow flags flutter half-mastin the Castro District breeze,America’s red-white-and-blue bows, too,over San Francisco’s city hall in tribute to Del Martinactivist, writer, barrier-smashing womanunabashed lesbian unafraid to proclaimher Self to a world that didn’t wantto hear about it way back in 1955;some patriots have lavender skinthat glows brilliant-neon in the shymoonlit back alleys where shame hides;some uppity Amazons, like Del, swingtheir double-bladed labyris of hopeswathing a path through overgrown fields of bigotry,carving a serpentine route toward a future worldwhere who you love no longer mattersas long as you love f...
HOT TALK
2008-08-28 10:00:00 by Spielstark nakedwe’re equal in the saunauntil i realizetwo buzzed jerks on the tierbehind and above meare tossing severed iraqibody parts into their gablike they are chalking upempty coors cansfriendly rick the guy whomanages the pontiac lot down on 4thstarts squirming whenthe jelly-bodied soldier says:“if them blue-state fuckersdon’t like ar’ war let them volunteertheir righteous asses over there!”rick joins in: “it’s not my war”i feel jelly-body’s knee againstthe back of my neck as he jolts to say:“it’s yer god-dam country we’re savinaint’ it”rick says:“according to your king”the temperature of the saunaseems to double as i abruptlymake myself disappearwhile i dry off from a cold showerrick passes me—head down—a mounting bruise abovehis left cheekboneA Pushcart Prize contender, frequently published online and in independent press journals in the U.S.A., also in Nepal, Wales, Britain, Indonesia, Scotland, Ireland, and in Canada, The Poet Spiel... More About: Talk
MAYOR NAGIN RECEIVES
2008-08-27 10:00:00 AWARD OF DISTINCTION FOR RECOVERY, COURAGE AND LEADERSHIPBy Diane Elayne DeesAugust heat melts Chocolate City;sidewalks buckle, minds on fire.Mayor on attack, mayor on defense;at least he's in town. Bright lights shineon new scandals--media monstersout to destroy a city on the rebound--just ask His Honor, but approach himslowly or he'll coldcock you.That's a promise. Reporters outto get him, city council out to gethim, bloggers out to get him.Nobody can get him to takeresponsibility. Denial is a part of grief:Get him an engraved plaque,and sing his praises.Diane Elayne Dees is a Louisiana writer. Her political poetry has appeared in Out of Line, The New Verse News, HazMat Review, Mobius, and the 2008 and 2009 editions of the Syracuse Cultural Workers' Women Artists Datebook. A former political blogger, Diane publishes the women's professional tennis blog, Women Who Serve.___________________________________ ___________________
THE FLAVOUR ORANGE
2008-08-25 10:00:00 by David ChorltonThe day we had tickets for baseballtemperatures reached one hundred and eight.We had one unopened bottle of mineral water,clear and sparkling with an orange essence.You can’t bring that in here the security guard said it’s flavouredso we grumbled and tried the next gate down.Same reaction. It's just water we shouted.It's flavoured the guard replied you can’t bring flavours in.So I said something beginning What the fuck is wrong . . .while my wife unscrewed the topand we sprayed a little on the security shoeswhich brought the Sheriff’s officers to escort usfrom the property. It wasn’t so much the dollar twenty-fivefor the bottle but the apparatus that hurt.Somebody makes up these rulesin an office, deciding what is water and howto make the ball park safer for concessions.We walked to the station to catch the bus home,past the homeless nobody has managed yet to wash away,with fans streaming in the other directionarriving too late for the national anthem.O... More About: Orange
BIDEN OUR TIME
2008-08-24 06:57:00 PoeArtry by Dr. Charles Frederickson & Saknarin ChinayoteWunderkind stutter nonsense tongue untwistedShoots from lip taking onDrug companies HMOs oily motivesSpeaking – and speaking – his mind U.S. Prime sizzle at stake Mixed Grill marinated mutton skewered Same Old Shish kebab leftovers Shorn woolgathers’ naked untruths exposed Kid gloves removed brass knuckles Never shying away from prizefight Subtle sparring jabs uppercut punches Going for McBush jugular knockout Humble roots soil shaken off VEEP transplant 4N policy expert Embers rekindling fire of idealism Phoenix rising igniting eagle-eyed HopeThe dynamic duo of always toptimistic upstARTs, Charles Frederickson & Saknarin Chinayote edit AvantGardeTime s.c... More About: Biden
ON FIRST READING KAY RYAN'S POEMS
2008-08-23 10:00:00 Homage to New Poet Laureateby Earl J. WilcoxWhereWere youThose yearsI needed youWhen criticsTold meLittleTallThinPoems Did notWorkOnlyOld maidsLike Emily DickinsonOr old farts,Like me,WritePoemsSticking upLike aMiddleFingerAt the world.Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he has contributed 37 poems to the New Verse News.____________________________________ ____ More About: Reading
VOLUNTARY POVERTY
2008-08-22 11:47:00 by Bill CostleyWayback in the quick-rising ‘60s‘voluntary poverty’ arosewithin the disaffected 1st-world'smiddle-class: suddenly its children‘went back to the land’ to escapeparents’ plush suburban homesfor a ‘conscious’ anti-consumerist,‘natural’ pre-'50s lifestyle.A half-century later it’s mergedwith the whole foods movement,irrelevant to any known poverty,its ‘perfectly priced’ mantra an insultto the world's starving. Admit thatneo-consumerism’s co-opted it;re-break the consumerist mold.Declare ‘adequacy’ universal,‘enough’ everyone's need.Bill Costley serves on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco chapter of the National Writers Union.___________________________________ _____ More About: Poverty , Voluntary
AMERICA BOUGHT THE FARM
2008-08-21 12:04:00 by David PlumbCash poured from clouds and crucifixesdevoid of beard and harp.Tiny kings who once sold watcheson their right arm held the trump card.Oil-slicked ducks, lakes poisoned, grain dipped in yesterday’s grease.The Party ongoing, strident, planned, driven, awardedkissed, the carpet rolled out.If Adlai had been too intellectualToday’s good old boys were THE BOYS.Fiddling, waving wands. always at the teeOne hole to the next, a bogey, a birdya wink, an aside, cigars passed out.Air awash in cough and melt.From Beijing to Brooklyn it stunkand still the parade never stopped.If the flag wavered, an exposed breastposted the obvious solution.A motel room, a fling in the sheets.Don’t forget to leave something on the dresser.The economy, why of course.“Whatever,” kept the boat afloat.The affront to heroics and myth splatteredin sophomoric, whimsical and abortive dances.Amnesia that even the poets welcomed.Blank effusive verse coddled in fellowships, grantsimages without shoes,... More About: America , Farm
TRANSPLANTING SPIDER PLANTS DURING THE WAR WITH IRAQ
2008-07-08 08:00:00 by Susan Roney-O’BrienPot-bound, the plant wants dividing.I dump it out, try to pull snarled roots apart.At first, people I’d never met were dying, mouthspacked with sand. Osama had resurfaced.If, finally we cut him down, I thought,cells will divide, regroup, swell againlike those within my co-worker’s bodythat rounded out her belly like a childsplit, then balled to kill her.I cut the root ball into sections,seat each cutting, tuck them in with earth.Yesterday the boy next door came home in a box.His flag-draped coffin filled the undertaker’s hall.I place the repotted spiders on the windowsilland hope they will survive.Susan Roney-O’Brien teaches, reads for The Worcester Review and writes. Her work has appeared in Yankee, Prairie Schooner, Diner, Concrete Wolf, Beloit Poetry Journal, The Christian Science Monitor, Margin, Rock and Sling and other magazines. She has won the Worcester County Poetry Association Contest, the William and Kingman Page Poetry Book Award for her ... More About: Iraq , Plants , Spider
HALF-HAPPY WITH INDIA TURNING INTO A TRILLION DOLLAR ECONOMY
2008-07-06 08:00:00 by Vivek SharmaWhen half of my nation sleepswith half-filled bellies, under the half-roofs,with half-hopes of a mouthful tomorrow,when half of my nation grows up with half-rightsto education and employment,with half-health produces babies, with a half-heartchokes before the stoves that burn wood,and cook half-water curries made with half-salt,when half-length men walk the streetshalf-naked, willing to work for half-wages,half-grown women slip into beds at half-price,when half-sane leaders pocket half-funds,and divide the nation into halves that fight,(haves and not-haves all half-fooled)when half-castes organize into brigands,and seek half-reservation for their half-intellect,when half of the news is of rapes, riots, extortions,half-nation worries about Naxalists, Maoists, terrorists,half-resolved cases haunt the courts,where victims of the crime wait their half-livesfor half-compensations,when half-history is distorted or concocted,sacrifices of men like Gandhi half-known, half-res... More About: Economy , India , Dollar , Happy , Half
HISTORY ON TRIAL
2008-07-04 08:00:00 by HL“The past does not repeat itself, but it rhymes.” a quote attributed to Mark TwainIn a rhyme of history, the war tested TiberiusWaits for his predecessor to pass.Caligula came first this time.The madman chose the warriorWhose time now pastCan only chant the hollow platitude,VICTORY with HONOR.While the Senate fakes loyaltyTo save their phony asses,Their fool carries the message,But the real disaster waits in secrecy.Basking in a war turned disaster,Not German, but all the verbsAdded like historical after thoughtsSay, the emperor is irrational,The empire is doomed.Yet there is no victory in treason,No savior in divination.All the enemy deaths and bloodCannot reverse the tragic patternThe modern Rome didn’t get backwardsEnough, to forswear a different ending.HL is a computer-nerd bicyclist who cranks out poetry as he rides along prairie grass and gravel roads. He says, "War is not the Answer / Ride a Bicycle," and more at his HL link here and in the left ... More About: History , Trial
NEW YORK MAN ACCUSED OF HIDING IN WOMAN'S COUCH
2008-07-02 08:00:00 by Amy HolmanLet me be your dust mite,a fetish carvedof turquoise and gut-wound tight.Let me be your dust mitebeneath the weight of you, my rite, your fright,my fetish; I'm starved.Let me be your dust mite,a fetish carvedinto down and innerspring.Let me be yourtightly wound dinner flinginto, down and inner—springme with all your might, sinew, curve, and swing.I am seeking when I'm hiding, orinto down and innerspring,let me be yourprivate dick--or eyein the sofa spud. I will grow on you.I've cut your moorings, haven't I?Private? Dick or eye,I sight my target, you are mine. Tryescaping, imploring. True,private dick--or eye--in the sofa, spud. I will grow on you.Amy Holman has been playing around with current news and/or headlines for a couple of years, here and there, including publications in Failbetter, Archaeology (online), Unpleasant Event Schedule, Rattapallax, Shade, and soon, on the Red Morning Press web site. She is the author of Wait For Me, I'm Gone, which won the 200... More About: New York , York , Couch , New-York
GAZA
2008-06-30 08:00:00 by J. R. SoloncheFor this you can blame Olmert.For this you can blame Sharon .For this you can blame Barak.For this you can blame Netanyahu.For this you can blame Peres.For this you can blame Shamir.For this you can blame Begin.For this you can blame Meir.For this you can blame Eshkol.For this you can blame Dayan.For this you can blame Ben Gurion.For this you can blame Atlee.For this you can blame Truman.For this you can blame Balfour.For this you can blame Jacob.For this you can blame Esau.For this you can blame Isaac.For this you can blame Abraham.For this you can blame God.For this you can blame the desert.J.R. Solonche is coauthor (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.____________________________________ __________________ More About: Gaza
MISSISSIPPI
2008-06-27 08:00:00 PoeArtry by Charles Frederickson & Saknarin ChinayotemIssIssIppI mighty global warming victim Four eyes but cannot see &n bsp; Beyond questions asked repeatedly over&over &nbs p; &nb sp; Again&again& again but gone answeredMinnesotaproot source Itaska’s icy depths Ioway too little too late & nbsp; Illinoise clamoring for fed-up relief ; &nbs p; Downstream bent on human MissouriWhere NEWS meteorologist Twain meet Running rampant through ten(se) states ; Of emergency declared belonging evacuated &n bsp; & nbsp; ... More About: Mississippi
70 WORDS WE CAN SAY ON TV
2008-06-26 07:27:00 PUNCH LINES FOR GEORGE CARLINby Earl J. WilcoxHere lies a man of sorrow and mirth,who crafted a joke better than BettyCrocker baked a cake, showed usa heart more often than DaddyWarbucks, and loved the human racedespite believing most of us are notmuch better than Swift’s Yahoos.If somehow reincarnation is possible,one could do worse than return asGeorge Carlin. Wherever he is tonight,can we really imagine he’s at rest?Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he has contributed 35 poems to the New Verse News.____________________________________ ____ More About: Words
YESTERDAY’S NEWS
2008-06-25 08:00:00 by Scot SiegelSleepless or dream consciousness,Doesn't matter – another twenty thousand troopsDo their second tour of dutyIn less than eighteen monthsOur commanders entrenchedIn the Oval Office are making maps againThey keep the blinds downWhile Generals at the Pentagon shout ordersTo their heirs in the green zoneWho keep pulling the blinds openStraining for a view of the draw down coming...*Meanwhile, the druggist’s eldest son from Spearfish, South Dakota and the plumber’s lesbian daughter from Mobile , Alabama and the nurse’s sister from Hollister , California a nd the valedictorian from Bliss, Idaho and the veterinarian’s brother from Sandoval , New Mexico and the failed actress without a permanent address in LA and the burned-out waitress runaway and the young rapist wh... More About: News
HEADED FOR A FALL
2008-06-23 08:00:00 by Linda O"ConnellGoing to hell in a hand basket sounds saferthan taking a plunge in the stock market.If the American dollar won’t buy a nickel's worth of product overseas,why am I paying sky high prices for milk and bread?And what's with the petro places playing pokerwith my tens cents per gallon either way?Day, after day, after day.I'm ready to stash my cash in a mason jar,which I thinkis better by farthan banks on the brink.I used to fear the fatsos at the food buffets playing with my meat,Now it's the Double D branded cows:diseased and dying before we fry 'emthat makes me not want to eat.There's more and more to worry aboutE Coli on my veggies, bacteria in the air,poison in the water,toxins in my plastic ware.Double Dumb's trickle down theoryopened the floodgates,cannibalized the middle class,sent industry and soldiers overseas,as we the people, collectively closed our eyes, shut our mouthsand relinquished personal freedoms in the name of the great old U. S. of A.Today... More About: Fall
THE SON RISES IN THE WEST
2008-06-22 08:01:00 by Gerard SarnatHomeless hubbub 'cross from posh mall,beside railroad tracks, sad cold facts:a bold disheveled unleveled ghostly street Jesus-- shoulder straggly beard and hair,bare feet on shards and concrete --guards courage cart lifted from Safeway(full of garbage). Remote unto himselfin ragged rank raincoat,hands grasping storm soggy Bible,he gestures absurdly to birds, preaches at trees,celebrates amidst the leaves and shit,screeches to no one in turded Stygian grottoesbehind chic Silicon Valley restaurantsbeyond a heater liberated from patios aboveto the center of the center where bored druggedlibeled disabled unhoused unlucky sick mengather to suck luke coffee,rejoice in day-old discarded raspberry tarts,some awaiting deliverance -- others the bus.In hole-y dissolute jeans, old hiking boots,ill-fitting ill-suited navy blue parka,gnarly mittens, ratty ski maskpulled over nose and ears;I wander the parking lotfrom here to there then back again,black bag grasped tight (clean s... More About: West
IN THE ARMY NOW
2008-06-21 09:00:00 by Becky HarblinThe longest day,the most light Sun willgive us,todaya long shadow madefor long hoursby a tree whose very barkslowly peels awayholding,just barely,loose,and then it fliesin the wind,awayfrom the tree, a parentreluctantto send a child off tolife.The longest day,imagining the childon this solstice, and the stormraging in the distanceand you can’t do,you can not doanything but watchit rageand your child has peeledloose and is freeto dowhatsoldiers do.Becky Harblin is a sculptor who works in concrete and soapstone and also writes daily haiku and senryu. Each morning starts with these meditative 'in-the-moment' poems. Becky lives on a farm with sheep in upstate New York. After years of working in Manhattan she moved to the more pastoral setting and found new inspirations and new challenges. Her poetry has been published on New Verse News, and North Country Literary Journal. You may also view her poems at her Web site.____________________________________ ____ More About: Army
HER DUE
2008-06-20 09:07:00 by Chris FreifeldIf she was backed into a corner,it was a lofty one.I heard the rafters ringingwhen she announced her race was run.My heart was with the harridanswhose time is yet to come. The nagswho pulled a stubborn plow throughstone embedded fields. How fertileis the hard earth now, turningwith the seasons, knowingwhen to yield. Chris Freifeld lives in the U.S.A. where sanity doesn't grow on trees.___________________________________ ___________________
REMEMBERING HAWKEYE
2008-06-19 09:00:00 by Karen Garrisonwar is hellthe swamp is holy refuge from hellwar is here againnot happy daystake me to your swampdrown me in dusty dry ginyour eyes pierce the painwith one liners that Groucho would’ve surelyloved to stealhad he gone to your waryou did him proudnow they go again and againand you aren’t hereuntil late night, in a darkened roomI listen to your caustic rage androllicking sarcasm,and taste your tears streamingdown my frightened lipsI need a family that loves, criesand holds on, that operateson each other’s wounds like yours didbut we are a house dividedI need a man who’s eyes take hold with truthno matter how hard it is to tell,melt me with their sincerityand hold me fixed by their honestybecause he cares so about the casualtiesand homeit came through the situationtime and againyou caredyou spoke outwith courage against a quagmireand now your words are ineternal rerunhere hereI need your flirtingsmiling, prankishinnocent sweetnessa plea for comfort andfleeting ... More About: Remembering
JADED
2008-06-18 10:31:00 by Megan Anne MetzelaarThe plastic lady implores me to careThrough the camera,Mournful imitations seep into my living room,Belying adrenaline rushing her veins,Purple like mine, butHidden beneath alabaster skin,A face pulled tight.Stories like these bought designer shoes,Expensive leather purses,Lunch at Tavern on Green.Voice lifting to the next octave,She tells about the old man,Paralyzed in the street, a hit and run,Onlookers contemplating too longWhether to step an inch closer.They did not step closer.Warning: video is disturbing.Tape rolls, her feigned sighs theAccompaniment, contrived musicLearned through years of practice.The voyeur crowd could be her relatives,A family of frozen white-ice peopleFar removed from the nobler instincts.She secretly likes them, The Plastics,No matter what she says,And would have stood among themOn the sidewalk,Looking at the crumpled manThrough the crowd of her familiars,Wondering who would beHer first interview.Megan Anne Metzelaar rescues waywar... More About: Jaded
LINKING WORDS
2008-06-17 08:00:00 by Deborah Vatcherballistic the cosmos this dreamcomet flaming sun energy crashes headfirstinto Mars its tail smoking disabled and spenton the iraqinvasion.comconfused ; perplexed no hypertext to link to onlya domain name for salewhat etymology—did Cicero Latinize veriloquiumthe tangled wordsroots to the visibletreedepending on the sun’s anglethat casts opposing shades of truthdid some untie sense too late with boots on the groundelements dig into the archeology of meaningreports and Senate committees disputepublished memoirs also refute whatdistortions bent bulletproof facts to fit policylinking Saddam to Al-Qaeda to 9/11spinning the sun around the Earth and the moonDeborah Vatcher is a physician whose practice is currently on hold due to illness. Her poems have appeared in various journals including The Sow's Ear Poetry Review, Rio Grande Review, Fetishes, and the online journals Best Poem, and Flutter. Her first collect... More About: Words , Linking
WHEN THE WATER DISAPPEARERED
2008-06-16 08:33:00 by Joannie Kervran StangelandIt had been going all along,flowing out of pipes and spigotsinto sinks and showers, irrigation ditches,soaking the lawns, the dandelions.Hoses trickled to a drip.Grass dried, and then the dirt.Dishes piled up on the counter,laundry heaped up on the floors.The glasses were full of only air.We drank the air, bought paper plates.The news printed debatesby leading experts in their fields:We were healthy, we were dying,we were melting.We woke up and saw the sunon the curtains, on the oranges,in a square that the cat sprawled across.Our mouths felt dry as dirtand we forgot about any headlinesfrom the capital city.Joannie Kervran Stangeland’s work has most recently appeared in Journal of the American Medical Association and Pontoon. Her first chapbook, A Steady Longing for Flight, won the Floating Bridge Press Chapbook Award. Her second chapbook, Weathered Steps, was published by Rose Alley Press.___________________________________ ___________________ More About: Water
FATHER'S DAY
2008-06-15 09:00:00 by Scot Siegel The man hung from a blue-striped tie my mother tugged on Sunday The pressmen could wait, she'd say; then he'd bolt for the door... Hollering four or five; home for dinner he told us... Then we'd wait, and wait... Eight p.m. Chicken rubbery Flies on the rice. City lights blinking through the ink flood... I waited in the street lamp pall I waited with the vagrants Kept vigil by a fire. Waited under the overpass at midnight. Fatherless Waited for the Chevy sound creeping down the alley. The handout: The murmur of my mother greeting him the smell of ink mixed with a strange perfume His hands pulling the cool sheets over my bony body -- Scot Siegel is an urban planner and poet from Lake Oswego, Oregon, where he serves on the Lake Oswego City Planning Commission and the Board of Trustees for the Friends of William Stafford. His first full-length poetry collection Some Weather is forthcoming from Plain View Press in 20...
DUBY@ FEELS @ SENSE OF P@IN
2008-06-15 03:31:00 by Bill Costley"Bush On . . . " The Observer, Sunday, June 15 2008[newspoem]“I feel a sense of painfor those who were tortured by Saddam,by the parentswho watched their daughters raped by Saddam,by those innocent civilians who have been killed byinadvertent allied action,by those who have been bombed by suicide bombers.I feel a sense of pain for death.I feel a sense of pain for the families of ourtroops.“And a responsibility to make surethey understand the sacrifice won't go in vain.They want to know whether or not the President,if he believes it was necessary,whether he is going to see this thing through.Nothing is worse than a politicianmaking decisions based on the latest pollwhen people's lives are at stake.”Bill Costley serves on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco chapter of the National Writers Union.___________________________________ _____ More About: Sense
POTENTIAL
2008-06-14 09:53:00 by Helga KidderIn this age of robots and instant gratification,thank God, I still sadden at a golf ballsized skull discovered gardening,shudder at an immature serpentcaught in the rake among dried leaves.It is easily coaxed between rocks inthis blackberry winter and mist rainroses repay with profusion -- a transitionthat lifts the mind off the ground, nosecloser to home and potato soup inside.My mother's day bouquet blooms yellowin a white basket like new age religion --for a little while -- current TV shows,the wilder the better, a step backward.As long as we can stumble or limp or hopon one foot forward, as long as our eyessee promise on the horizon, a light ahead --the way the early hominid, Orrorin Tugenensis,must have whose bones found in Kenyaconfirmed hip and upper leg had begunadapting to walking upright.Helga Kidder lives in the Tennessee hills. She received a BA from the University of Tennessee and an MFA from Vermont College. Her poems have appeared in Snake Nation Rev...
ONE ERA ENDS; ANOTHER CONTINUES
2008-06-13 08:00:00 by Russell LibbyTwelve different gas stations along my drive home,Only one below $4 a gallon, one last day,And there's a huge snapping turtle,Head up, mouth open,Later two box turtles scratching in the roadside sand.On this last day of cheap gas,The eons-old biological clock keeps time by the sun.Russell Libby writes from Three Sisters Farm in Mount Vernon, Maine. His book Balance: A Late Pastoral was published by Blackberry Press in 2007.____________________________________ ________ More About: Ends
DUBY@ RE-T@LKS HIS TUFF T@LK
More articles from this author:2008-06-12 08:00:00 by Bill CostleyTaking back his having said "bring it on”Dubya retalks his talkin’ for the re-cord:“That was kind of tough talk, you know,that sent the wrong signal to people. I learntsome lessons about expressin’ myself, maybein a little more sophisticated manner –you know, not 'wanted dead or alive,'that kind of talk. I think in certain parts of theworldit was misinterpreted, & so I learnt from that."Bill Costley serves on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco chapter of the National Writers Union.___________________________________ _________ 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 |
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