Jose Padua: Ten Sonnets for Electric Motherfuckers
What thou lovest well remains electric like the ocean’s
breaking waves; what you break turns dialectic like
a brick thrown through the window of an oligarch’s
flagship store.
Jose Padua: On Driving up Stonewall Jackson Highway with the Intention of Declaring Sovereignty Over the Surrounding Territories
I drive with the windows
rolled down
and the stereo
turned up loud
to Ella Fitzgerald
singing “Blue Skies”
as I look up
Jose Padua: And I Walked Through the Market and Stared at the Harbor Lights Through the Soft Rain
And sometimes the best way
to express belief of any kind
is to laugh
Jose Padua: Reflections on a Lesson that Would Soon Be Made More Clear to Me by Gil Scott-Heron
In 1971 I’m
thirteen years old
watching a big
Vietnam war protest
on television
Michelle Bitting: Walls
Worst I had to deal with, well, I suppose that time my son was shut in a padded room and shit himself at the special needs school. He was 13 and having one helluva wiring crisis. I got called to come get him after he graffitied his feces across white walls.
Jose Padua: Days of Being Wild
in the late middle
of my mortal days on earth
I am still wild in the heart
Vox Populi: An Interview With Our Editor
On Friday, we caught up with poet, blogger, editor and activist Michael Simms at his kitchen table where he was preparing his Saturday morning post for Vox Populi.
Jose Padua: Self-Portrait as Human and as House
I can’t imagine how boring I’d be now
if I’d always been the best person
I could be instead of operating
at fifty percent of my capacity
or sometimes even less.
Jose Padua: Prelude to a Highly Personal Confabulation of Zen and the Art of War
how I could one day live in New York City
with half my mind in a flame-like state
of absolute intensity
Michael Simms: The end of civilization as we know it
I want to apologize for walking in
When the dog was licking
Your bald head as you lay
On the couch drinking rum
Straight from the bottle…
Jose Padua: Glenn Gould’s Search for Petula Clark
Thinking of what might have been,
I save every piece of paper and take my time
coming down from the mountain, believing
in the wisdom of taking the long way home.
Jose Padua: Notes on the Crepuscular Effects of the Music of Thelonious Monk on the Noise of White Supremacy
the little glimmers
of late autumn light
are more than
enough to take you
where you need
to go
Jose Padua: The Old Man and Other Bright and Beautiful Landscapes
an evening sky hanging
over a slowly moving brown river as
dark birds flashed their wings before
disappearing into the lush mystery
of tall swaying trees was a memory
that came rushing to me from the quiet
Jose Padua: On the Loving Grace of Well-Oiled Machines
but maybe that’s how
patriarchy works,
so fast and efficient
when it comes to killing,
so in love with the magic
of finding beautiful new worlds
to destroy
