Vox Populi

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

Dawn Potter: Now that I’m old

now that I don’t have sex every night or carry two fat boys,
one on each hip, up small mountains,
I have to go to exercise class

March 7, 2022 · 4 Comments

Wendy Mnookin: In the Small Rotary

where Route 100 meets School Street,
two cows graze.

March 2, 2022 · 1 Comment

Sally Bliumis-Dunn: Diminution

Did she believe—she did, I think— the right
cliché could save us, help us not to feel
alone, so many bees in that same hive—
spilt milk, sow’s ear, Achilles heel.

January 31, 2022 · 2 Comments

Valerie Duff: Follow You Into

In the Wellesley 
Botanic Gardens
the seedlings 
spread in rows

January 19, 2022 · Leave a comment

Wendy Mnookin: A Love Poem

I don’t want to complain about my mother, because she did a lot of nice things. Some very considerate things. She came to Boston when my younger son was born … Continue reading

January 12, 2022 · 5 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

Pauletta Hansel: The Stepmother’s Lament

Tell me,
what am I
supposed to do
with all this love?

November 29, 2021 · 4 Comments

Kari Gunter-Seymour: Conflagration

I hoped returning
would spark memories, fill her with light,
the way the heat of day warms the bones.

November 12, 2021 · 7 Comments

Lisa Zimmerman: That Blue

When the poet said blue city of bees
I was reminded of the blue cotton robe
my husband gave me, a shade my mother loved

November 10, 2021 · 8 Comments

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

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