Jose Padua: Nirvana
enjoying the
path I’m taking
and the unobscured view
of blue mountains
as my hair
slowly turns
gray
Jose Padua: This Curved Road Toward Space
The last time I was charmed
simply by someone’s good looks
it was something like 1963.
Jose Padua: What I’m Reading
History is layered, full of bones and ghosts, herself a storm of beau- tiful, frightening talent.
Jose Padua: Whether You’re Going Away or Going Home Depends More on the Direction of the Wind Than on The Time of Day or What State You’re In
thankful for the colors
blue, green, and the almost
red that appears in the half dark
near the afternoon’s end
Jose Padua: A Brief Meditation on the Clouds That Hover Over the DNA Building in York, Pennsylvania
I always knew this was
where the instructions
were written
Jose Padua: Those Years That Went Down
daytime drunks
still gather,
no longer hidden by
the ornament
of night
Jose Padua: With the Morning Moon Shining Down Upon Me through These Thick Walls
This morning I pounded
a nail into the wall
using a book
by Franz Kafka.
Jose Padua: I Am a Small Guitar
I am a small guitar in a large room on a Saturday
sometime after four when the last lunch guest
has driven home, beating the rain…