Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Emily De Ferrari: On Killing Flies with Dr. Seuss

I killed them in the window. I killed them on the door. And when I killed a hundred flies I kept on killing more. Why is my heart so cruel, … Continue reading

August 18, 2018 · 2 Comments

Riad Saleh Hussein: A Serene Evening

This evening is serene, This evening is not calm. I am a man or a pack of dynamite— Under my trench a red goose or a black unicorn. The woman … Continue reading

August 17, 2018 · 1 Comment

Robert Okaji: Aleppo

A father sings to his son, dead two days, and the platitudes persist. Widow of night. Lantern’s trick. What trace, you wonder, exists of humanity in these etched walls? Light … Continue reading

August 16, 2018 · 1 Comment

Majid Naficy: Calabrian Fig

Every morning when I go stair climbing I see her with a rake in hand Standing by a fig tree In front of her Roman house With arches and domes. … Continue reading

August 15, 2018 · 1 Comment

Al Maginnes: The Book of Forgetting

By now she’s tired of stories spotlighting her early deeds, actions too endearing to be plotted, or the years before she came, blanks of time distant as fires in the … Continue reading

August 14, 2018 · Leave a comment

Kate Daniels: Relapse

Several of the young men from the treatment center are already dead.  They spanned the demographic spectrum so no conclusions can be made about why they did, or didn’t, make it. … Continue reading

August 13, 2018 · 1 Comment

David Huddle: Even Then I knew

for Lisa Fay Coutley Our mother was often desperate because of my brothers and me—once she threw the dish drainer at Charles, slapped the back of Bill’s head so that … Continue reading

August 11, 2018 · 5 Comments

Louise Bogan: Words for Departure

Nothing was remembered, nothing forgotten. When we awoke, wagons were passing on the warm summer pavements, The window-sills were wet from rain in the night, Birds scattered and settled over … Continue reading

August 10, 2018 · Leave a comment

Walter Bargen: Dogs of Beauty

Somewhere in some other place their kind are wild, meant for the verdant and exotic, and on the west slopes of the coastal range, near Palos Verdes, where the foothills … Continue reading

August 9, 2018 · Leave a comment

Susan Sonde: A Dagger of Sunlight Lies across His Bed

The room is quiet but for the rustle of the blanket under which he’d slept burrowed deep in the nest sense, that wholesome dark down there, where he lay on a … Continue reading

August 8, 2018 · Leave a comment

Jay Carson: Baroque

I remember the hollow cross above my mother’s bed And the day it opened to me accidentally. Me, playing, although perhaps always snooping. The back slid off like a caster … Continue reading

August 7, 2018 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Face in the Mirror

I have nothing to give you. Nothing is so marked that it cannot cheat you By its own nature and pass through your hands Like fairy money.   I stand … Continue reading

August 6, 2018 · Leave a comment

Michael Simms: The Garden and the Drone

We come to the garden because it is beautiful. Arborvitae, hydrangea, anemone— Even the names are beautiful.   The men who call themselves our leaders Seem far away. We feel … Continue reading

August 5, 2018 · 11 Comments

Audio: ‘Fern Hill’ read by Dylan Thomas

. From a Caedmon recording: Dylan Thomas reads Fern Hill, his poem of a green and golden childhood. Email subscribers may click on the title of this post to listen … Continue reading

August 4, 2018 · 1 Comment