Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Dawn Potter: Heat Wave

a squirrel is hurling insults, and beneath his screeches the cicadas
insist and sigh, insist and sigh, unmoved by his grandiloquent snit.

September 13, 2021 · 6 Comments

Dawn Potter: Mother to Son

Always with the video games when you’re sad,
as if the gunshots are manna, or music,
which isn’t to say I think you’re planning
to shoot up a grocery store—no, no

August 11, 2021 · 2 Comments

Dawn Potter| Nocturne: A Marriage

In the ancient night
the vines of summer choke
breath choke memory
blooms fatten and fall

June 16, 2021 · 5 Comments

Dawn Potter: Senior Photo, 1982

They say there is a me
who is beautiful but I
snub her in the chalk-dust
hallways, on the bronzed
fields.

April 26, 2021 · 1 Comment

Vox Populi: You are invited

You are invited to attend a reading by some of the most talented poets in the country. The time is 8pmET Tuesday, March 2.

March 1, 2021 · 4 Comments

Dawn Potter| Song: The Famous Vision of America

an emptiness, too, in the bright
flicker of a cardinal on my back fence

February 24, 2021 · 2 Comments

Dawn Potter: Soul

Today, a bird invisible among the trees
cries Jericho Jericho Jericho O no O no
all the afternoon long.

October 4, 2020 · 3 Comments

Dawn Potter: Confused Prayer

Faith is a tattered blanket in this age
of fear: a drape of old skin, soul’s girth
swelling with sugar-song, a late-stage
hymn soldering heaven to earth

August 1, 2020 · 2 Comments

Dawn Potter: Concord Street Hymn

Yes, there will be
daffodils in every stanza of this poem
because it is spring in Maine

April 25, 2020 · 3 Comments

Dawn Potter: Sonnet in Search of Poems I’ve Never Written

I’ve been meaning to write about a patch of mossy
frogs’ eggs in a vernal pool, about a single contrail
chalking a blue November sky…

February 24, 2020 · 9 Comments

Dawn Potter: Canto

The season was autumn. Threads of smoke
unwound from the chimneys. Every compass pointed
toward winter.

November 10, 2019 · Leave a comment

Dawn Potter: A Listener Sends Six Letters to God, in Autumn

Last night, while I was at the piano,
my landlady pounded the butt end of a rusty musket
against my chamber door.
To all appearances, she hates my sonata.

September 21, 2019 · 2 Comments

Dawn Potter: Epithalamion for Grendel

He strides into storms, he wades into pools of silt.

July 29, 2019 · 3 Comments

Dawn Potter: Respectable Woman

No one could mistake me for a department-store model but I’ve kept my figure— not an inch of overflow, nothing to shock a stare. Express myself remains the motto, but … Continue reading

January 23, 2019 · Leave a comment

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