Valhjim's Space

Is but reflection of that world divine,
Where Beauty perfect is, and love doth shine
So pure in Jove’s majestic light unfurl’d.

Spenser, too, in his Four Hymns, had travell’d
To that glorious realm of fair Love’s shrine,
And found his love by God’s own light refin’d,
And all his verse by glorious Beauty impearl’d.

But, I, by Love, more favor’d yet have been,
For in the hazel hues of her fair eyes,
Th’ eternal light of Beauty have I found,

While Heaven’s pure delight I find within,
When, with our bodies’ twin’d, we both arise,
And are, by our true love, in Heaven Crown’d.


—Jim Valero, 05/17/09.

I turn around and you’re always there,
following me wherever I go—your eyes
hold no secrets, except, perhaps, the miracle
of your love, and your pure existence—bright,

transparent, like this sunny April day—your eyes,
like the day, have always brought Immense
happiness

into my life.

                          —Jim Valero, © 04/10/09.

Just a Spring ago, you were laughing and
making funny faces, you would come and
sit on my lap, and hold tight, and kiss me—

Now you are so tall and strong and serious,
you don’t seem to laugh much with us, but care
much about the face on the mirror—

I would be lying if I said I don’t feel
proud of how you’ve grown tall, strong,
and handsome, how I love your smile and
undiluted company.

I would be lying too if I said I don’t miss
the old funny-looking bird who flapped his wings
but could not quite get off the ground—

the younger you, sitting on my lap, holding
tight around my neck.

Perhaps, we parents are always destined
to melancholy, to always color our memories
with a certain melancholy blue, longing for

the brighter Suns of our children’s early days,
when things were no so complicated, and
the mirror, the clothes, and another heart

did not lay claim to your attention, your laughs,
and your utterly unique existence.

                                —Jim Valero, © 04/11/2009.

If you must kill me slowly with your close
Distance, at least, let me die in your arms,
Such blissful death, my love, as only those
Who ravish’d be by lovely Venus’ arms.

What harm in this, dear goddess, if lips be free
To kiss and hands and limbs entwine in bliss
And ecstasies divine? I’ll welcome thee,
Sweet Death, if thou come’st smoothly with all this!

Disdain, thus, not, this day, to quench the fire
Of my desire, for Time stops not to wait
A better day, and soon our love in mire
Must lie, when Age our bodies devastate.

Then, come, my love, and die with me such death
As resurrection finds in love’s sweet breath.

--(c) Jim Valero, 2009.

Outside,
hovering over wood—green leaves
glitter under noonday sunlight, birds
chatter in the oak tree, unconcerned

about anything but their own
joyful, inexplicable existence.

--(c) Jim Valero, 2009.

Once I was there, the grass whispering words

I did not hear, while leaves kept falling

Indifferently. I felt the same for pirates and lords

And knaves, because I knew little about feeling

And cared less about men. But then I found an ode

In the pages of a book by a name I didn’t recognize

And with a rhythm I never met before. I got the mode

When a voice began the reading—a sound so wise,

Too deep, further passionate and tender than others—

And I accepted your gift, worthily, with speechless lips

And surprised eyes, till the language of the writers

Danced happily in the sacred chambers of my heart.

Your poetry is a most valuable present, professor Jim,

Thank you for sharing the essence of your own secret life.

—Stephany Hernandez Munoz, Summer, 2008.