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Samuel Miranda
Poems

About the Poet

Samuel Miranda is an educator, poet and visual artist who makes his home in Washington, DC.

His work has been published in the anthologies Full Moon on K Street: Poems About Washington, DC and DC Poets Against the War, and the journals the Chiron Review, MiPoesias and Beltway Poetry Quarterly, among others.

He has performed at the Kennedy Center, The Smithsonian Museum of American Art, The Arts Club of Washington, GALA Theatre, and other venues.

Miranda curated the Sabor Sunday reading series in Washington DC, which brought two poets, a trio of musicians and two visual artists into conversation, and is currently working with DC based artists and musicians to create collaborations between the arts.

He develops and facilitates interactive poetry workshops for youth and adults and holds an MFA from The Bennington Writing Seminars.


Spring 2016 »

Things Spanish Joe Learned from Salome About Playing Bass

Clave

You don’t need to play the clave.
You need to hear it,
you need to feel how it fits.

Tumbao

A tumbao needs to be carried
like the scent of tobacco and cologne
on a sharply ironed güayabera

Dancing

When you play it loose,
you will move bottoms out of chairs
make them sway.

Suéltate
y tócalo
así.

 

~

Correspondence

Qué bueno saber que estás felíz aunque lejos de nuestra bella islita. (Amparo Rodríguez)

This distance is yours but I feel it as if
my own soles had traveled it.
I hope my words, curled onto these lineless
sheets paint a safe road home.

You ask me for images
but I am hesitant to send them,
they show
how tired your absence makes me.

I have sewn a white dress
so it stands out
in the black and white photo I will send.

You send me postcards
that chart your path and I travel
outside these simple wooden walls
to visit you and dance.

When your letters come
I etch the words to boleros in them
so that you will hear my voice singing.
Match the cadence of your marching
to my song until your boots
become patent leather shoes
and I can feel the pressure of your hand
on my waist, guiding me
far from the dreams
that show your footsteps moving away.

 

~

Burning Rolling Pins

I carve rolling pins
to see what the wood has to offer
cut away layers until
I release the stories
these cylindrical hosts
have held within them.

The memory of fire
makes me want to burn things
transform their truth
watch how the story changes
as flames take hold.

I place a torch
to the stories
I have carved
watch the blue flame
eat away at the tales
erasing any fiction
I might have included
in the original telling.

 

~

Samuel Miranda ~

 

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