Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Paul Christensen: The Pandemic Blues

Everyone around here is sluggish. The young woman who checks my purchases off the conveyor belt dabs her eyes and stifles a yawn. She keeps shaking herself awake as the … Continue reading

July 25, 2021 · 7 Comments

Paul Christensen: My Mazda and I

The monks of Europe often planted their vines in cemeteries to ward off thieves, and believed you could taste the blood of ghosts when you drank. My mother would sip her wine and look away dreamily and then back at me as if I had come home from a long journey, with the Mazda parked in her driveway.

July 18, 2021 · 4 Comments

Paul Christensen: What the Rain Says

She would die soon but neither of us knew that. Right now, the precious hours were dissolving in the pale afternoon light, just as the rain began again.

May 9, 2021 · 8 Comments

Michael Simms: Coming to Terms

There is no lasting happiness
in this world, only
particles of happiness,
fleeting, unpredictable,
transitory as a fragrance
or a falling leaf

April 10, 2021 · 28 Comments

Jason Irwin: Sickness Will Surely Take the Mind

Maybe it all started with the murder of John Lennon, or the books my mother bought me on JFK and MLK. Whatever the reason, by the time I was thirteen I was a hardened news junkie always looking for a fix.

March 27, 2021 · 1 Comment

Valerie Bacharach: Elegy for Nathan

An addict is an actor, able to look you in the eye, smile, and lie so convincingly that you begin to question yourself.

February 21, 2021 · 6 Comments

Sydney Lea: Gradus ad Parnassum

On the other hand, the open handed
blows left scarce a mark, applied to your head or neck

January 28, 2021 · 1 Comment

Paul Christensen: The Muse of Memory

Nothing stirs but the wind that rattles rain gutters and pulls on the hinges of blistered shutters. A pair of boots has been left out on a patio of gray flagstones, the mud still clinging to their heels like forgotten promises.

January 3, 2021 · 5 Comments

David Huddle: Parable of the Same Scene Every Day for Years

Consider my mother gazing out her window
over the kitchen sink as she washes breakfast, lunch,
and dinner dishes for fifty-some years.

April 23, 2020 · Leave a comment

Sarah Gordon: Threshold

You see them there
their arms weary with
holding the guns
withholding their fire
You see them in the light

January 6, 2020 · 1 Comment

Christine Skarbek: A Personal Pantheon of Phenomenal Fellows

On this Thanksgiving, I survey all the deliciously delightful people who have touched my life and kudize them all. However, there are four in my personal pantheon that are absolute standouts. Oddly, they are all men.

November 28, 2019 · 2 Comments

Adrie Kusserow: The Adoration

All morning I groom you with tiny lovenames.
I am a cat, you are my kitten, cowlicked
with locution.

October 23, 2019 · Leave a comment

Michael Simms: Love

When I was a child, my mother told me
God has many faces
And She reveals Herself
In many ways.

October 13, 2019 · 20 Comments

Video: Mumford & Sons — “Beloved”

A boy visits his mother in the hospital and imagines a perfect day with her: And as you leave you must know you are belovedAnd as you leave I can … Continue reading

May 11, 2019 · Leave a comment

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