Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 400,000 monthly users. Over 6,000 archived posts.

Nancy Krygowski: “Here’s a Partial List of Mass Shootings in the United States So Far This Year”

Here’s the full list of the people the murdered have kissed.
Here’s a pair of slippers made of birds’ beaks, ear plugs made of screams.

November 30, 2022 · 19 Comments

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer: The Prayers

I had not imagined drowning 
was the way to reach the shore.

November 27, 2022 · 17 Comments

John Crowe Ransom: Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter

We looked among orchard trees and beyond  
Where she took arms against her shadow,  
Or harried unto the pond
The lazy geese

November 18, 2022 · 4 Comments

Baron Wormser: Against Hope

Hope gives us a margin for our industriousness that keeps inventing new purposes for new machines, an industriousness that often seems to be only making everything worse. 

October 23, 2022 · 19 Comments

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer: Embracing the Mess

I like it best when the memories are everywhere—
and I stumble over the ghosts of wooden train tracks,
trip on the spot where you used to do push-ups

October 19, 2022 · 12 Comments

Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum: A Good Man

To this day, my sister and I wonder if Dad
Got it right. “Fear,” he explained years later,
“Is sometimes the only tool.”

October 13, 2022 · 9 Comments

Lasse Söderberg: For Tomas Tranströmer

You know the broken history of things,
the alchemy of stones, a world masked
in the blind light of God.

September 25, 2022 · 2 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Infinitives

To dust it — not often enough. To stare at it — too often.
To never open it anymore. Keep his ashes hidden.

September 19, 2022 · 12 Comments

Barbara Hamby: Letter to a Lost Friend

There must be a Russian word to describe what has happened
between us, like ostyt, which can be used
for a cup of  tea that is too hot, but after you walk to the next room,
and return, it is too cool

September 12, 2022 · 2 Comments

Michael Simms: The Horses

People loved her as they might love
A flag or a map or a story
Of a country of green pastures
And low stone walls

September 9, 2022 · 29 Comments

Baron Wormser: The Shuffle

Lost my soul in the shuffle.
Got a self instead.
Not a fair deal, not even-Steven,
Not Roger-dodger.

September 8, 2022 · 8 Comments

John Balaban: Anna Akhmatova Spends the Night on Miami Beach

What killed her was the talk, the empty eyes,
which made her long for the one person in ten thousand
who could say her name, who could take her home,
giving her a place between Auden and Apollinaire

August 23, 2022 · 10 Comments

Barbara Hamby: Ode on Dictionaries

A-bomb is how it begins with a big bang on page
one, a calculator of sorts whose centrifuge
begets bedouin, bamboozle, breakdance, and berserk,
one of my mother’s favorite words, hard knock
clerk of clichés that she is

August 17, 2022 · 3 Comments

Michael Simms: You Taught Me

you pointed
At the bubbles rising in the pitcher
Of beer to explain consciousness
Which was blurred by that time
Of evening

August 11, 2022 · 11 Comments

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