Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Chard deNiord: Open Letter to the President from a Citizen, August 21, 2019

I write to you, Mr. President, from inside
the cell in which you’ve locked the country
with ICE.

August 22, 2019 · 1 Comment

Sharon Fagan McDermott: This Against the Night

Sweet hyssop and the sweltering hives
from which sail bees, their resolute flight
into July, into my garden.

August 21, 2019 · Leave a comment

Majid Naficy: In Spite of Your Aching Body

In spite of your aching body
Get up from your bed
And come to watch the river

August 20, 2019 · Leave a comment

Sandra McPherson: Garden Monk

— Lucien Stryk, Davis, California, 1988

August 19, 2019 · 2 Comments

Eva-Maria Simms: Letter from my 60th Birthday

I broke into tears before the great abbey door because the lament of the elements had overwhelmed my heart.

August 18, 2019 · 7 Comments

Virginia Woolf: Becoming an Artist

Hamlet or a Beethoven quartet is the truth about this vast mass that we call the world. But there is no Shakespeare, there is no Beethoven; certainly and emphatically there is no God; we are the words; we are the music; we are the thing itself.

August 17, 2019 · Leave a comment

Naomi Shihab Nye: To Netanyahu

My Palestinian father named his donkey after you…
Now I think he insulted the donkey.

August 16, 2019 · 6 Comments

Jose Padua: Around the Corner from the Neighborhood Convenience Store and Four Thousand Miles from the Streets of Barcelona

the good ole boy,
sitting up high in
his pickup truck
and smiling smugly

August 15, 2019 · 1 Comment

Joan E. Bauer: For Auden — Circling Toward Home

Art, you claimed: born of humiliation.
You knew that early & you had the gift
of double focus, of seeing the world
with more than one lens.

August 14, 2019 · Leave a comment

Sydney Lea: I Was Thinking Of Beauty

I was thinking of beauty
as something that will return–here’s Curtis Porter’s sweet horn–
outlasting our disputations.

August 13, 2019 · Leave a comment

Molly Fisk: That Kind of Woman

We try them on as subjects, our mythical forebears,
wondering who we are: Penelope. Persephone. Eve.
Eurydice. Sleeping Beauty, Cassandra, Ophelia, Cinderella.
Barbie.

August 12, 2019 · 2 Comments

Danusha Laméris: Small Kindnesses

For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now.

August 11, 2019 · 3 Comments

Doug Anderson: Orchid

Finally, a small wind to move the curtains.
Hot in this upstairs room. Outside,
the dogs sleep on the cool concrete floor
of the garage.

August 10, 2019 · Leave a comment

Anna Akhmatova: Lot’s Wife

“It’s not too late, you can still look back
at the red towers of your native Sodom,
the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed,
at the empty windows set in the tall house
where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed.”

August 9, 2019 · 1 Comment

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