Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature: over 400,000 monthly users

Judith Sanders: Feeding the Horses at Crystal Spring Farm

Out past the empty barn,
twin Percherons, tall as steeples,
canter across their meadow
to greet my small son and me.

October 13, 2021 · 2 Comments

Gregory Djanikian: The Aestheticians of Genocide

Along the Euphrates, some women
died in their own blood, and some,
holding their children close,
threw themselves into the river

October 12, 2021 · 4 Comments

Rosaly DeMaios Roffman: When Christina Called

And when he was little and screamed 
because the circus in town was rained out
she then told him to wait–to please wait–
that old issue of trust in the steady gods

October 11, 2021 · 2 Comments

Elizabeth Romero: Wind

The evidence of wind is in the scarves
Of people waiting for the bus

October 10, 2021 · 2 Comments

W.S. Merwin: Remembering

There are threads of old sound heard over and over
phrases of Shakespeare or Mozart the slender
wands of the auroras playing out from them

October 8, 2021 · 3 Comments

Jose Padua: Until the End of the Rain and the Sudden Demise of Endless Rainy Nights

let us gather our objects of grief like fierce weapons
against the kingdom of the ruling class

October 7, 2021 · 5 Comments

Rebecca Weiner Tompkins: A Red Tractor

It’s not weather or seasons I’m really thinking about,
merely the time of year, in a year of big changes,
when the best, most awaited change is about to happen

October 6, 2021 · 4 Comments

Majid Naficy: The Cypress of Abarkuh

Once with my father
I sat in its shade.
We were coming from Isfahan
And wanted to go to Ferdows
From the desert.

October 5, 2021 · 2 Comments

Pauletta Hansel: The Road

There’s only past throwing
its shadow on the lane that sends you back
toward what is gone. Your eyes will soon adjust.

October 4, 2021 · 2 Comments

Michael Simms: Meconium

it is sacred, the way
soil clinging to the seed
of a new shoot
pushing out of the earth
is sacred

October 2, 2021 · 11 Comments

Nan Shepherd: Real Presence

We are love’s body, or we are undone.

October 1, 2021 · 1 Comment

Robert Gibb: Frances Perkins at the Homestead Post Office

Minimum wage, overtime, social security . . .
A storm of progress to the angel of history,
The debris of paradise scattered about
The aggrieved, beseeching crowds.

September 30, 2021 · Leave a comment

Marco North: the falling boy (too bitter a fruit)

He was one of many trying to escape, grabbing onto the plane thinking they would let him in.

September 29, 2021 · 4 Comments

Barbara E. Young: Cousin Jill

I like a woman who can fall
Jack said to Jill.

September 29, 2021 · 2 Comments

Enter your email address to follow Vox Populi and receive new posts by email.

Join 12,141 other followers

Blog Stats

  • 4,314,821 hits

Archives