Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Arlene Weiner: November

He tears off summer’s dress,
exposes trunk and limb, threatens
worse coming. Yet he brings gifts…

November 4, 2019 · 1 Comment

Paul Christensen: The Rain It Raineth Every Day

They say the average cloud weighs about the same as eighty elephants. A big storm such as now darkens the sky overhead must be an infinite parade of elephants milling around in the dark gray pastures above us.

October 27, 2019 · Leave a comment

T.E. Hulme: Autumn

And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.

October 18, 2019 · Leave a comment

Robert Frost: “Out, Out—”

The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.

October 11, 2019 · 1 Comment

Peter Schireson: Hinge

We hold her X-ray
up to the light—

September 19, 2019 · Leave a comment

James Wright: A Blessing

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.

September 13, 2019 · 2 Comments

Paul Christensen: Summer’s End

Summer is like old gold, dark with age. You feel its strength become mellow and pliable in the soft breezes. There is wisdom in the heat that still simmers along the edges of noon, as if it were trying to tell us that illness or aging are as natural as drawing breath.

September 8, 2019 · 1 Comment

James Wright: Depressed by a Book of Bad Poetry, I Walk Toward an Unused Pasture and Invite the Insects to Join Me

The old grasshoppers
Are tired, they leap heavily now,
Their thighs are burdened.
I want to hear them, they have clear sounds to make.

August 30, 2019 · 5 Comments

Rick Campbell: Archeology

I have come a thousand miles for this. J&L’s ruins, a gravel plain on the Ohio’s west bank. There’s little left but an archeology of memory—smokestacks, ovens, foundry, smelter, slag. … Continue reading

February 27, 2019 · 1 Comment

John Keats: To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To … Continue reading

October 26, 2018 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Carrying a Sign

Leaves on the wind circle in the air Like emissaries from another world Frantic warnings No one heeds them, they Push toward their usual destinations With their everyday faces   … Continue reading

October 15, 2018 · Leave a comment

Paul Christensen: After the Equinox

It’s fall here in southern France. The tourists have thinned out to a trickle of rubbernecks aiming their smart phones at almost anything green or shaggy with vines. They hardly … Continue reading

October 7, 2018 · Leave a comment

Deborah Bogen: October

A train pulls into the station. Passengers break like billiard balls, glide to cars and uses. Ezekiel the pushcart vendor hawks his hot potatoes. This is the month of the … Continue reading

October 3, 2018 · Leave a comment

James Wright: Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio

In the Shreve High football stadium, I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville, And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood, And the ruptured night … Continue reading

September 30, 2018 · Leave a comment

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