Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature: over 400,000 monthly users

Haya El-Refai: Laya’s first Eid

When war comes, it steals everything: souls, memories, homes, happiness, love and safety. Instead, it brings fear, blood, death, darkness and terror.

September 9, 2021 · 10 Comments

Laure-Anne Bosselaar: Parentage

I’m from the ocean’s melancholy, dragging
its anchors back & forth, never quiet, never
still, waves so restless they can’t mirror the moon.

August 18, 2021 · 6 Comments

Martha Silano: Poem that Begins at the Core

A mother who lived to peel apples,
bake the most exquisite pies. Suffuse the air
with delicious love. A father gah-gah for fossils,
mummies, cow manure.

July 19, 2021 · 2 Comments

Meg Pokrass: Moments with Crochet Hooks

Back then she and her mother waited for the phone to ring, for money to plump itself up and walk through their door. Moments passed with yarn and crochet hooks.

July 3, 2021 · 1 Comment

Linda Parsons: Checkers with my Granddaughter

She’s not out for blood but, like her father,
a natural strategist and soon has me
in her grasp.

June 14, 2021 · 4 Comments

Hayden Saunier: A Cartography of Home

My mother was a place. She was the where
from which I rose.

March 31, 2021 · 7 Comments

Carolyn Miller: Three Poems

And in the evening, after the sun had set 
and the birds were alighting in the trees, my mother, 
in her housedress and apron and cheap leather shoes 
and my father’s dress socks, went out to water the flowers…

March 29, 2021 · 1 Comment

Judith Alexander Brice: My Papa’s Music

We weren’t a talking family
especially when it came
to discussing why I locked myself
in the bathroom upstairs

January 13, 2021 · 5 Comments

Valerie Bacharach: Gratitude Journal

I was sure that I had failed my mother, unable to keep her in her home, as I had once promised.

December 29, 2020 · 6 Comments

Rosaly DeMaios Roffman: Writing Prompt #2 | An Imaginary Phone Call

Make an imaginary phone call to some person or thing to tell them something you never told them.

December 5, 2020 · 4 Comments

Edna St. Vincent Millay: The courage that my mother had

The courage that my mother had
Went with her, and is with her still:
Rock from New England quarried;
Now granite in a granite hill.

May 10, 2020 · 1 Comment

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