Vox Populi

A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature

Paul Christensen: Rainy and Cold Today

The soul is hungry in spring, and there is only the crisp, silent air to feed it.

April 18, 2021 · 4 Comments

Paul Christensen: We’re all waiting here

I smell the earth for the first time as I take a walk, my first in many months of being housebound.

March 28, 2021 · 8 Comments

Paul Christensen: Winter is Dying

It is a relief just to breathe again without a shudder. The past has been very hard on us, with the terrible vengeance of a disease we can’t control, a government in tatters from the lies and treachery of a tyrant eager to become a New World Putin.

February 28, 2021 · 3 Comments

Paul Christensen: The October Twilight

Leaf by leaf, the sky unfolds its ancient sunlight and lets the fragments of history drift to the ground, one broken fact at a time. How difficult it is to gather up the ruins of time and try to make sense of what we are — the foreground we emerged from, the burden of our legacy as inheritors of shame and guilt.

October 11, 2020 · 5 Comments

Paul Christensen: Three Cheers for Autumn

I woke up this morning to a chill in the air. I closed the bedroom windows and shivered into my clothes, then hurried down to the kitchen to consult the … Continue reading

September 21, 2020 · 2 Comments

Paul Christensen: The Reluctant Summer

I could feel the rage building as I saw the nation writhe, then uncoil its wrath and take to the streets. I was demoralized to realize that my whole life had been lived in the twisted emotions of a country poisoned to its soul with racist hatred.

June 14, 2020 · 1 Comment

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

Paul Christensen: Snow Bound

The snow and the dark wind, the impassable wastes of one’s backyard, the icy draft that leaks in under the front door tell you you have no place to go. You must sit down and allow the slightly old-fashioned language of self to drift in.

January 19, 2020 · 3 Comments

Sydney Lea: Passing the Arts and Crafts Fair

There aren’t many like him anymore, the handy, soft-spoken old ones, who still know how to farm, how to raise up a house you can live in, how to still-hunt a whitetail.

January 17, 2020 · Leave a comment

Paul Christensen: The Rain It Raineth Every Day

They say the average cloud weighs about the same as eighty elephants. A big storm such as now darkens the sky overhead must be an infinite parade of elephants milling around in the dark gray pastures above us.

October 27, 2019 · Leave a comment

Paul Christensen: Ghosts and Memories

It’s the place where the dead are sleeping, barely breathing in the moist black earth along the creek. They will rise when the time comes, and ask the living for a candle, perhaps a dish with a cookie on it.

October 13, 2019 · 1 Comment

Paul Christensen: Walmart, Walt Whitman and me

I admit it. I sometimes go down to Rutland, Vermont to the Walmart Superstore. My friends are all good liberals and the conscience of Middlebury ways, so I know reconsiderations … Continue reading

July 10, 2015 · 4 Comments

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