November 6, 2009

"Summer Storm" by Geoffrey Philp

Summer Storm


After thunderstorms have cleared the city,
after the homeless have abandoned their cardboard palaces,

fog older than Tequesta circles, Seminole arrowheads
and Spanish jars, dulls the sawgrass’s razor,

turns away from the charted rivers,
slithers over the boulevard I could not cross

when the names Lozano and McDuffie rhymed
with the scent of burning tires, and away

from churches with broken steeples that grow
more vacant each Sunday because their faithful

folded their arms while balseros floundered, boriquas
drowned, and negs joined their sisters and brothers

 on the ocean bed. Yet something like music
rises from the sound of the gull’s wings beating a path

over Calle Ocho, Little Haiti, La Sawacera, like the bells
that echo over the Freedom Tower, bright as the final

burst of the sunset against the billboards, gilding the sea
grapes’ leaves washed clean by the evening rain.

***

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2 Comments:

Rethabile said...

Love it. Takes me away from smoggy Paris to the wide spaces you speak of. Where the noise of automobiles is replaced by "the sound of the gull's wings beating a path" somewhere.

http://geoffreyphilp.blogspot.com/ said...

Give thanks, Ret!
This is why I live in Miami. It's so close to America.

1Love,
Geoffrey

Copyright Geoffrey Philp, author of Who's Your Daddy?: And Other Stories.

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No part of this blog may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author (geoffreyphilp101@gmail.com),except in the case of brief quotations.

"This is how writers must think, this is how we must sit down with pen in hand. We were here; we are human beings; this is how we lived. Let it be known, the earth passed before us. Our details are important. Otherwise, if they are not, we can drop a bomb and it doesn’t matter.”

~ Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones


"The immediacy of a work of art is what gives it lasting life. It is a paradox, of course, which is to say a life-giving contradiction, the opposite of a solvable mystery. And when one focuses the thoughtful mind on what is there before us, what is immanent, then a sense of loss hazes in, ineluctably. For that idea-generating surrender to the immanent must pass, and quickly. The trick is to enshrine that surrender in the work, so others can experience it inexhaustibly. That is the function of art—not self-expression, not social commentary, not innovating on or reacting to what other artists have done. To defy the temporal, the flux, art enshrines."

~Ricardo Pau-LLosa @ Americano

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