Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Molly Fisk: She Lived to See

ate only bites but
always well: warm boysenberry pie,
bone broth matzoh ball soup

July 20, 2020 · Leave a comment

Miriam Levine: Invisible Kisses

And survivors with numbers tattooed on their arms, straight as a
bookkeeper’s sum,
the ink indelibly blue, unlike the blessedly changing ocean.

July 1, 2020 · 1 Comment

Daniel Burston: John Prine, Working Class Poet (1947-2020)

John Prine was a national treasure, whose songs about love, loss and aging – many written while he was still a relatively young man! – reflect his working class roots. But even so, they have a universal and timeless relevance.

April 10, 2020 · 3 Comments

Chard deNiord: Last Goodbye in the Time of Corona

The darkness arrived without your voice
or touch, my love, and yet I heard
your voice and felt your hand in mine.

March 31, 2020 · 6 Comments

Molly Fisk: Elegy (for Leah)

her infinite soprano
and my street drawl voicing words that could
depress a saint

March 9, 2020 · 1 Comment

Connie Post: How to Sort the Living from the Dead

Forget all the nonsense
about eyes opened or closed
or breathing
or brain waves

February 20, 2020 · Leave a comment

Sharon Fagan McDermott: Orchid Room, Phipps Conservatory

Grandma lived to be ninety-three
and wore the fabric of that tale to a soft sheen
with her retelling. Where does the past lie?

February 6, 2020 · 3 Comments

Sydney Lea: Passing the Arts and Crafts Fair

There aren’t many like him anymore, the handy, soft-spoken old ones, who still know how to farm, how to raise up a house you can live in, how to still-hunt a whitetail.

January 17, 2020 · Leave a comment

Louie Skipper: The Beginning

I keep trying to persuade my father
into a better opinion of me now that he is dead.

January 16, 2020 · 2 Comments

Edna St. Vincent Millay: Dirge without Music

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind…

January 3, 2020 · 1 Comment

Miriam Levine: Candlewood

We go into the dark and the dark opens.
Boats tipped with light and moon on the water.

December 9, 2019 · Leave a comment

Elena Karina Byrne: Reality may still be unacceptable Gerhard Richter

A Repeating Dream I’m Belly-Down at Eleven
beneath barbwire like bedsprings during night-climbs

September 2, 2019 · 1 Comment

Sharon Fagan McDermott: This Against the Night

Sweet hyssop and the sweltering hives
from which sail bees, their resolute flight
into July, into my garden.

August 21, 2019 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Kirschner: Jones Beach

He went out. Into the ocean’s black maw. To save. To rescue. Didn’t, as they say, come back. Death is funny like that, precise, dissolute.

August 4, 2019 · Leave a comment

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