Vox Populi

Vox Populi: A Public Sphere for Politics and Poetry

Jose Padua: Restraint

It takes great effort on my part, walking the colorful, tree-lined streets on these fresh and beautiful new spring days, not to turn to the next person coming my way, … Continue reading

April 10, 2017 · 1 Comment

Jose Padua: Sometimes the Blizzard in My Head Makes It Hard to Find My Way Through the Snow

Twenty years ago during a fierce mid-March blizzard in New York City I walked two doors down from my apartment building to the China Wok carryout at the corner of … Continue reading

March 2, 2017 · 1 Comment

Jose Padua: On the Persistence of Color as a Way of Seeing the World

Less than fifty years ago it would have been illegal for me to marry the woman I’m married to in the state where I now live. I didn’t know this … Continue reading

February 13, 2017 · Leave a comment

Michael Simms: The Very American Poetry of Jose Padua

What are poets for in destitute times? — Hölderlin . Every poem is a subversive act. In an age when our senses are benumbed by competing media screaming for our … Continue reading

January 4, 2017 · 1 Comment

Jose Padua: Reflections on a Formation of Birds Seen Above a Parking Lot in Lebanon, Pennsylvania During the Winter Solstice

Though some will tell you otherwise, with reasons ranging from aerodynamic efficiency to a following of a leader in order to make it to a certain destination, there really is … Continue reading

December 21, 2016 · Leave a comment

Jose Padua: The Wall and What Surrounds It

I’m thinking that someone else has probably already written a poem about building a wall around Donald Trump’s penis so I’m going to write about the leaves this fall; the … Continue reading

December 9, 2016 · 1 Comment

Jose Padua: On the Revolutionary Properties of Sound and Speech

Silence is the edge of everything that makes sound; the slicing tone of the violin is preceded by a pushing back of the border of everything that is not that … Continue reading

December 5, 2016 · 1 Comment

Jose Padua: On the Purpose of These Stories and the Effort We Put into Them

If I were the war on drugs would I look upon you with great suspicion when you step on the subway train on your way to work in the morning; … Continue reading

November 21, 2016 · Leave a comment

Jose Padua: The Shape of Change to Come

When my five year old son painting with water colors on the scratched-up table in the kitchen of our hundred year old house suddenly takes his brush over to the … Continue reading

November 7, 2016 · Leave a comment

Jose Padua: The National Anthem

I am writing this because my world is being made uninhabitable by assholes. I am standing still on a manhole cover that’s about to explode upward as the shoreline moves … Continue reading

October 17, 2016 · 1 Comment

Jose Padua: When We’re Dancing the World Feels Like Higher Mathematics

When we’re dancing the world feels like higher mathematics, equations of irrational numbers that exist in the real world the way ghosts haunt dark abandoned buildings on the edge of … Continue reading

October 3, 2016 · 1 Comment

Jose Padua: How the Gardener of Sorrows Tends to the Sadness of Things

I tend this landscape of terrible sadness because it is my duty to bring order to this garden of loss, to pull out the weeds that crowd out the flowers … Continue reading

September 20, 2016 · 1 Comment

Jose Padua: Still Life with the Wrecked Monuments of My Youth

First, the hospital where I was born was torn down. Next, the building where I went to grade school was no longer a school and the apartment that was the … Continue reading

September 5, 2016 · 3 Comments

Jose Padua: A Song for Sunshine

This evening when I got home from the store I laid a bag down on the kitchen table and said to my wife and daughter, “Check this out.” My wife … Continue reading

August 22, 2016 · 2 Comments