Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Doug Anderson: Poem

I can’t help but write it, get up in the morning and there it is. Useless, worth nothing on the market. No piece of oil field technology, nor can it … Continue reading

January 26, 2018 · 1 Comment

Doug Anderson: Death

Death is sitting at the foot of my bed. “Get up,” she says. “The sun is out and the horses are waiting for grain. Besides, love will blindside you again … Continue reading

January 3, 2018 · 2 Comments

Doug Anderson: Homage to Tu Fu

Snow quiets away the day. Still it falls, and the horses   gather it on their backs. Black water moves beneath the ice   where the Swift and Ware rivers … Continue reading

December 27, 2017 · 1 Comment

Doug Anderson: Morning Blues

Winter sneaking through the trees with his bag of salt. Winter sneaking through the trees with his bag of salt. Dark days coming ain’t nobody’s fault. Used to think love … Continue reading

December 9, 2017 · 1 Comment

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 · 2 Comments

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