Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Nature, and Politics

Doug Anderson: Chopping Garlic

Never take this for granted: the smell of it on my fingers and the way when I drop it in hot olive oil it blooms yet again and when I … Continue reading

November 23, 2017 · Leave a comment

Doug Anderson: Pilotless

We always thought, deep down, no matter how badly our politicians lied things would turn around. They always have. After all, this is America. We’ll never go the way of … Continue reading

September 25, 2017 · 2 Comments

Doug Anderson: Because Poetry

Has become of such little use to you Has no meaning outside its tribe Has been supplanted by music lyrics for most of the population who might otherwise be reading … Continue reading

September 8, 2017 · 3 Comments

Doug Anderson: It Ain’t Over

Some things are over before they’re over. A bad marriage. A bad war. It got so a squad would go out, call in checkpoints as if on the move, sit … Continue reading

August 10, 2017 · 1 Comment

Doug Anderson: The Charm

During the reception, while the bride and groom were smiling till their faces ached, wishing it were over, and the parents were alternately weeping and jockeying for position in the … Continue reading

July 31, 2017 · Leave a comment

Doug Anderson: He Came That Way

each day with the sheep, where the clear water from the spring enters the darker water of the river, that very place where it whirls and whorls and makes a … Continue reading

July 19, 2017 · 2 Comments

Doug Anderson: Another Birthday and the Heart Sutra

Now well past the age T’Ang poets sent old men to the mountains to wander and live close to the bone. How a sudden gust could sound a chord through … Continue reading

April 25, 2017 · 2 Comments

Doug Anderson: Mary Anne

Her hands are as strong as mine. She says, these folks don’t have any common sense. And I don’t mean how to count eggs. I mean, look out there. I … Continue reading

April 4, 2017 · Leave a comment

Doug Anderson: Without Diplomas

They failed angelic studies and thus wandered the back streets of heaven. You can find them hanging out in Rumi’s Tavern: not sad, they bear the stain of human life … Continue reading

March 23, 2017 · 1 Comment

Doug Anderson: Live Myth

I would believe in the unicorn if it stood heaving and slathered, snapping flies off its flank with its tail. It does not smell of sweat and stable, does not … Continue reading

January 13, 2017 · 1 Comment

Doug Anderson: Operation Badger Tooth

Once a year, on December 25, a darkness comes up from the earth into my life. On December 24th, nineteen sixty-seven, a battalion landing team comprised of three infantry companies … Continue reading

December 29, 2016 · 5 Comments

Doug Anderson: Morning Poem

  In the detail from Botticelli’s painting, the one of the oranges in their deep green trees at twilight, I’m able to feel it again. As a child, I didn’t … Continue reading

December 7, 2016 · Leave a comment

Doug Anderson: Youth And All That

After Keats My mind was everywhere but seeing. The tree was just another me, the water my fluid state. And others, well, they might as well have been wearing my … Continue reading

November 28, 2016 · Leave a comment

Doug Anderson: Tucson, 1968

We were still, I think, beautiful, even after that jug of cheap Chianti that stained her teeth and t-shirt, our breath combined enough to kill an orchid. I watched her … Continue reading

November 2, 2016 · 1 Comment