Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

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 · 3 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

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 · 6 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

Doug Anderson: On Sex, Politics and Poetry

My friend Jane Legrand has written “I must find something to do with all that I feel.” What a perfect expression of why we write act direct draw sing photograph. … Continue reading

September 16, 2016 · 1 Comment

Doug Anderson: On Politics, Poetry and Love

Truth pronounced begins to petrify. Except in the case words so woven they keep an inner fire alive that flares at the reader’s breath. Poetry is yeast inside language. Imagination … Continue reading

August 26, 2016 · 1 Comment

Doug Anderson: The Eye of the Heart

Opens in sleep when there are no fingers to close it. As if it were dead. It is open all day as well but only speaks in the dark when … Continue reading

August 19, 2016 · 1 Comment

Doug Anderson: The Men Who Fought the War

The Vietnam War lives in kind of a fog just off our left shoulder. It hovers there, will not go away, demands to be seen. But we don’t look. It … Continue reading

August 7, 2016 · 2 Comments