Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

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

Marco North: Landyshi (their ocean)

At night, the trees bend hard. The crows are awake, chattering their secret language in the darkness.

August 9, 2019 · Leave a comment

Philip Terman: Such Abundance

When he called for help,
they put him on hold
longer than he could stand
and he broke
the phone in half.

August 8, 2019 · 1 Comment

Pablo Neruda: I’m explaining a few things

Treacherous
generals:
see my dead house,
look at broken Spain

August 7, 2019 · 2 Comments

Robert Okaji: Five poems

What’s wrong, you ask.
I’ve breathed your dream too
long, I say. Now I must wake.

August 6, 2019 · 12 Comments

Karen Friedland: These Limpid Days

how ridiculously grateful I am now
for whatever divine forces brought me here,
to this very porch, this very summertime

August 5, 2019 · 1 Comment

Elizabeth Kirschner: Jones Beach

He went out. Into the ocean’s black maw. To save. To rescue. Didn’t, as they say, come back. Death is funny like that, precise, dissolute.

August 4, 2019 · Leave a comment

Louie Skipper: Startled Again

3 a.m: Startled again in the mirror by my huge head.

August 3, 2019 · Leave a comment

Video: Theo and Celeste

As Theo and Celeste play a game of ‘would you still be my friend if’ to test their new friendship, their hypothetical questions become reality, forcing them to confront their deepest fears and strongest yearnings.

August 3, 2019 · Leave a comment

James Wright: Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.

August 2, 2019 · 1 Comment

Jose Padua: Where I’m From And The End Of These Days of Smooth Skin

Walk so that everyone knows where you’ve been
and where you’re going, weathering
both trouble and affection, the gravel roads
turning into dirt.

August 1, 2019 · Leave a comment

Sandy Solomon: Reading Suite Française

“Remove your yellow star.
Head for Switzerland or try
for Nice. Don’t write your will
Don’t imagine what the Germans feel.”

July 31, 2019 · 1 Comment

David Huddle: Collusion

Ignorant high school bully that he is,
our fake President tweets out a nickname
for anyone who thwarts or critiques him–
those who care about decency or ethics
or just basic intelligence.

July 30, 2019 · Leave a comment

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