Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature. Over 15,000 daily subscribers. Over 6,000 archived posts.

T.S. Eliot: Rhapsody on a Windy Night

The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things

December 9, 2022 · 8 Comments

Robert Frost: Provide, Provide

The witch that came (the withered hag)
To wash the steps with pail and rag
Was once the beauty Abishag,
The picture pride of Hollywood.

September 23, 2022 · 2 Comments

Robert Frost: In a Disused Graveyard

The ones who living come today
To read the stones and go away
Tomorrow dead will come to stay

October 31, 2021 · 4 Comments

Robert Frost: Reluctance

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping

December 18, 2020 · 12 Comments

Michael Simms: Blue Notes

I think of Fats Waller whose left hand leaped down the keys, showing the path for every jazz pianist who followed, including the great Art Tatum and the minor Billy Joel.

November 28, 2020 · 11 Comments

Robert Frost: The Need of Being Versed in Country Things

Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,
Like a pistil after the petals go.

September 11, 2020 · 4 Comments

Gary Margolis: Ending the War

one morning
in August, she can walk
away from her fury
of pines, and catch
her breath

August 29, 2020 · 3 Comments

Ed Bieber: All At Once

After weeks of waiting patiently
for the first dandelion to appear,
we opened our door on a shocking
sea of vibrant, yellow, near-stemless
lion’s teeth.

July 9, 2020 · Leave a comment

Robert Wrigley: The Consciousness of Everything

That time’s lost now, when a stone could hurt,
when a feather missed its wing,
when sky kissed clouds and grass kissed dirt
and nothing thought itself just a thing.

May 26, 2020 · 2 Comments

Robert Frost: For Once, Then, Something

Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well…

May 8, 2020 · Leave a comment

Robert Frost: Storm Fear

I count our strength,
Two and a child,
Those of us not asleep subdued to mark
How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length…

January 10, 2020 · 2 Comments

Robert Frost: Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

December 27, 2019 · 2 Comments

John F. Kennedy: The Purpose of Poetry

In a 1963 eulogy for Robert Frost, John F. Kennedy described poetry as “the means of saving power from itself.”

December 1, 2019 · Leave a comment

Peter Makuck: Grackles

But after a few minutes
they become bold and
like dark thoughts
return

November 26, 2019 · Leave a comment

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