Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Leslie McGrath: Bedding Down

Our annual animal shaped day by dayas the world shifts and shifts again O the plushchestnut coatsoft mouthfor carryingthe newyear in O skinnytail tappingbashfullycirclinginto sleep. Copyright 2018 Leslie McGrath

December 31, 2018 · 1 Comment

Leslie McGrath: Bitterness in the Mouth

When did the word for stranger and bitterness in the mouth come to mean a kind of audacity? I’ve seen in some men a distinctly American gall– they glide over … Continue reading

October 30, 2017 · Leave a comment

Leslie McGrath: Litany

Each day’s a train bound for Calgary, St. Paul, Santa Fe, its flickering windows a foreign film.   The doors will never open. But the tracks will beckon. You’ll lay … Continue reading

October 13, 2017 · Leave a comment

Leslie McGrath: An Insight

Your heart’s just fine From an etherized twilight I hear myself disagree, I don’t think so He snorts Look at the screen to your left and I’m face-to-heart with my … Continue reading

September 30, 2017 · 4 Comments

Leslie McGrath: Her Dementia

I walk the earth I have forgotten. I speak a language lost to me. This wind is cello, this woman cotton. I walk the earth and have forgotten which memory’s … Continue reading

September 20, 2017 · 3 Comments

Leslie McGrath: Surge/Wick/Raze

1. Surge Under the strobes mounted on their camoed Jeeps National Guardsmen seem to wobble as they check my ID before waving me into the dark. This is not my … Continue reading

September 12, 2017 · Leave a comment

Leslie McGrath: Late Summer Afternoon with a Friend

I spent the day with my friend Alfred. Neither of us has much family, so we’ve made it a priority to see each other close to my June birthday and his … Continue reading

September 2, 2017 · 1 Comment

Leslie McGrath: Luna Moth

I last saw one decades ago. There were nine or ten that July night moon-green and big as dinner plates some affixed to the doorscreen, others hovering like slow applause … Continue reading

July 24, 2017 · Leave a comment

Leslie McGrath: At a Roadside Stand in Salem, CT

I bought a half-peck of Macouns and a pumpkin whoopie pie big as a pumpkin   I’d pulled in for a closer look at the crowd in the parking lot— … Continue reading

July 6, 2017 · Leave a comment

Leslie McGrath: Mumblety Peg

And when the truth about the emperor’s clothes was revealed
the crowd convulsing with laughter at his flaccid gullibility

June 9, 2017 · Leave a comment

Leslie McGrath: A Winter Impulse

Two waxwings at the suet cake. One pecks, the other picks what falls. It takes a winter impulse: work together to get through. What if it had been that way … Continue reading

February 3, 2017 · 1 Comment

Leslie McGrath: Trump-wrung

It crackled like a stun gun the news (I swear it did) and when we picked ourselves up off the floor (tiled, concrete, packed-earth, marble) of our assumptions it was … Continue reading

January 2, 2017 · 2 Comments

Leslie McGrath: An Anniversary

(Newtown, CT December 14, 2012) Cue the half-mast flags sagging eleven listless days before Christmas and the entreaties to return to our senses. It takes nearly a month, an advent … Continue reading

December 14, 2016 · 1 Comment

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