Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Stephen Dobyns: Santiago in Winter

He is gone now, the blind man, tidily dressed
in a suit of dust, with a dusty tie and dark glasses,
who played the clarinet on Paseo Huerfanos,
the paseo of the orphanage…

September 8, 2019 · 2 Comments

Joseph Fasano: The Figure

You rise. You turn back to the room and repeat what you know:
The earth is not a home. The night is not an empty bridle…

September 5, 2019 · Leave a comment

Peter Makuck: After Work

I’m sorry,she said, but you look
just like my father. He died last month.
She found her cellphone
and showed me a photo that looked
as if I’d taken a selfie.

September 3, 2019 · 1 Comment

Roberta Hatcher: By Yellow Lamplight

But what of the happiness they wrought?
Laughter around a table, flavor of onions
and mustard and salt, music to drown the sound
of his weeping. All the gods are fallen.

July 24, 2019 · 5 Comments

Luray Gross: If Two People Are Aware of the Rising Moon

When his mind grew empty
and his heartbeat slowed to a vague stutter,
our father no longer walked the fields at night.

July 8, 2019 · 1 Comment

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Ode to the Schorren

& their skin-thin silt the Scheldt ground down from rocks, slopes & swamps — a rainy-day-gray mud,  that satin muck that slips through fingers &  escapes toward the insatiable North … Continue reading

April 15, 2019 · Leave a comment

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Briar

A friend betrayed me yesterday. I loved him  for his rage, hungers & big flat feet he stomped  . as if he wanted to leave imprints everywhere  he went. I … Continue reading

March 25, 2019 · 1 Comment

Doug Anderson: Eulogy

When I was nineteen and the drummer in the show band that backed you, you took me to your bed. I had been speechless in your presence: your honey whiskey … Continue reading

September 15, 2015 · Leave a comment

Doug Anderson: Prayer for Paul

The fist that held your heart releases, the hot knife of your shame turns to water, the kernels of blackened corn by which you counted your imagined crimes, are carried … Continue reading

July 15, 2015 · 3 Comments

Fred Maus: The Sky Last Night

. The sky troubled me, raucous red and orange, wounded with gray. Between the sky and me, a hill. On the left, pine trees along the crest, sullen, heavy. To … Continue reading

May 26, 2015 · Leave a comment

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