RAINING IN ALBANY

It's raining, now.
No, not that kind of rain!
The one that spills shadows from the sky;
the one that pours slivers of steel into our hearts
and slices deep, deep, until we faint from hurt.

It's raining that rain that drops images images of you
cut against the vague, deserted buildings;
the one that makes the sloshing cars,
crawling up my street, ghosts coming and going,
possibilities of you...

It's raining the rain of an infinite sadness,
pain that obfuscates your smile and breathes despair
down my neck, my body and my soul.

It's that kind of rain that conceals lovers,
desires unfulfilled because your absence
is remedy for cure, where cure is unattainable.

It's raining hard, heavy, streets flood,
church towers grieve, and I stand in the rain
catching drops in my mouth,
hoping that one of them is you...

July 30/1AM/Jose Valduar

WAITING FOR WORDS

It seems appealing that we write for fun
whatever comes to mind--
the masturbated life of a virgin nun,
strange, indeed, but not one of a kind,
the stunning sunset, but still only a sun,
or the debts and riches of blue-collar grind.
But words and commas show little appeal
if they appeal at all,
like jokes of chirping birds on a window-sill,
or children stumping, screeching, chasing balls.
Perhaps the reason why I stand so still,
and in this stillness wait for the committed call
of reason - should reason find my thrill
of writing about something that is whole.
Make no mistake, for I'm alert and crave
new metaphors and dreams;
what greater bravery than not being brave
and, thus, rejoice the still and quiet beams
of sunsets past? lest not we save
the latest words for last, which shall redeem
the wait, and say them when it's grave.

JV

OCTOPUS

You came here to tell me who you fucked,
who's your man, now...
wise ass sitting on my stoop,
licking your wounds and grinning.

But it's you, still, drawing circles
on flat pages
without depth,
spinning around to fall where you began.

Move on, now. EVOLVE!
It won't be long
before the seasons change
and there is nothing left but the bare ground.

I can't help it but smile
at the idea of having loved you.

Had I known you were coming,
I would have asked for my octopus...

JV

THIS NIGHT IS YOURS (MARCH 9, 2001)

I want this night to be your starry sky,
You universe of hope, your promised land.
I want to write your wishes in the sand,
And let your monsoon wave faint like a sigh,

In the arms of a lover and a friend.
I want your eyes to beg, your heart to fly,
The flame in you to dare to laugh and cry,
As if this shy beginning had no end.

I want to be for you the missing touch
That keeps your pilgrim heart from finding peace,
And your imprisoned lust from asking much.

I want to be the passion that you miss,
The burning fire that you hide and crush,
The letter to yourself, sealed with my kiss.

JV

EACH SPRING

Each Spring
hope whispers and hovers
over us; the aspiration of life,
the mid-wife of new, of fresh,
the renovation of flesh in green
dress, freedom of the oppressed,
now, blasting buds.
The cold is gone, and nature has a way
to sway its gown, to frown
at what is left of winter's rage.
Only the sage, the dreamer
and the clown notice the change.

How can we re-arrange persons
to follow nature, to flow
from winter into hope,
to rise again after they cope
with rage?

But hope
is for the clown, the dreamer and the sage.

JV

INTERPRETATION

The things I dare not say I said
once, in daze immersed,
things about my life, dispersed
like wind-blown leaves around my head.
I'm told that strangeness breeds my tongue,
the rhythm's wrong, improper pause,
- the fine print woven in each clause
is silent notes, and silence in my song.
Your thoughts are not my thoughts, for I
struggle for sense in dreams
- struggle for dreams in life, it seems
-and end it with a sigh...

The First

The first woman you love
is the last woman you love....
the first woman you love
is the only woman you love...
Whores walk up my street and I say no
Divorced women walk up my street
and I say no
Gay men walk up my street
and I say no
Tired widows walk up my street and
I say no
Young betrayed girls
walk up my street
and I say no
and I'm tired of explaining
and saying no
while love fucking lingers in me
like cancer
like love
like cancer,
like something
worth dying for...
The first woman you love
is the last woman you love...

and I said no!