Vox Populi

A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 15,000 daily subscribers. Over 7,000 archived posts.

Elizabeth Romero: Surfaces

We are trapped waiting
Moving behind the windows
The night weeps and heaves

January 29, 2023 · 9 Comments

Elizabeth Romero: The Next Big Thing

Oh, beautiful death from the sky!
Please, do not strike me
Or my dark tree.

November 16, 2022 · 3 Comments

Elizabeth Romero: Happiness

I live in a pink truck at the edge of the sky.

October 31, 2022 · 9 Comments

Elizabeth Romero: My Real Resume

I want to know why the corporate mentality sucks so bad.

September 10, 2022 · 6 Comments

Elizabeth Romero: The Sisters Who Raised Me

Now I thank the black butterflies, the Sisters who raised me.
Sister Jane, who taught me how to garden and identify weeds.
Sister Marie Therese, kind and soft. Sister May Bride
Who defied authority to comfort me when I was disgraced.

April 16, 2022 · 8 Comments

Elizabeth Romero: Album

Here are my two sons in 1968
In their father’s arms.
He looks harmless.
They look doubtful and uneasy.

December 15, 2021 · 3 Comments

Elizabeth Romero: Wind

The evidence of wind is in the scarves
Of people waiting for the bus

October 10, 2021 · 2 Comments

Elizabeth Romero: Strawberry Moon

The moon in her lopsided veil
like a hillbilly bride
her face round and pale pink
against the darkening blue.

August 10, 2021 · 1 Comment

Elizabeth Romero: On the Corner

If
(by some miracle)
We could be both dead and alive
Rise from the blood and ashes
Gauzy like movie ghosts

June 28, 2021 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: My Aunt’s Pantry

It took everything, every bit of strength I had,
To say, The others will be missing us.
He turned on his heel and left.

June 8, 2020 · 1 Comment

Elizabeth Romero: Queen of Nothing

It’s good to be the queen of nothing

April 15, 2020 · 1 Comment

Elizabeth Romero: Day’s End

Let’s say I’m someone
empty as a pitcher,
discordant as traffic, human as an alley cat,
stiff-legged and torn-eared.

March 4, 2020 · 2 Comments

Elizabeth Romero: So, Mr Death

So many I’ve lost; I see them
Down a long corridor the door open
To a bright snowy day.

November 6, 2019 · Leave a comment

Elizabeth Romero: Being Poor

It can be waiting
And telling your children to wait
Wait their whole childhoods away.
It’s knowing they blame you.

September 4, 2019 · 1 Comment

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