Thursday 11 February 2021

Three Poems by Edilson A. Ferreira


The Land we will reach

When night comes and sleep does not appear,

I ride through unsuspected worlds,

have memories even from days I did not live,  

by sure dreams I did not realize.

The yearning is loose; I have to fill the void,

so that I arrive in full to another day waiting for me,

new challenges, new fights.

The new day will be powerful and pugnacious,

unlike me, one day older and not being able to hide

on the face and soul, the marks of misfortune and sorrow,

unrequited loves, dislikes and mismatches.

I will show that I did not renounce the human inheritance,

and, along with dear fellow ones I lived, loved and suffered,

having watered the road even with sweat and tears.

Always sure that we will reach, at the end of the journey,

the promised land, and, unlike Abraham,

who just had a glimpse, we will took secure possession, and,

dancing and partying, that day, we will throw to the skies,

sound and honest a laughter. 



Fears and Feelings

There are certain weekends and holydays

when I feel somewhat insecure.

I worry if walking ghosts have occupied 

the void of empty streets and closed doors,  

looking at me as an intruder or suspicious

on their walks.

I miss hearing the sound of hammers and

hoes, the strident come and go of saw blades, 

the brushing of pens on paper or keyboards 

being typed throwing feelings to the world.  

I love the imprecations of painters and artists

when they can’t find the pure art they look for.

I love children screaming through the sidewalk,

running endless races only they are capable of.

I love the noise of people in the streets and alleys,

corners and places,

as they move to destinies, only they are aware of,

struggling hard to make their lives a story.

I love hearing someone making something,

even if it is the buzzing of bees.


Published in the March/April 2018 issue of Indiana Voice Journal.

(Revised by the author)



From the Origin of Things

I keep always in a secret oak chest,

invisible, safe and inviolable,

all my prayers and hopes, loves and troubles,

triumphs and defeats, hugs, dismay and discomfort.

They are a mosaic of the days I have lived, witnesses

of laughter and affection, tears and sobs, which show

that I didn’t run away from life, having lived it honoring

the sacredness with which it was once conceived.

They will be the passport for my re-entry into the fellowship

to the one who sent us to this common arena of smuggles,

afflictions and despairs and, from time to time,

happiness, fearlessness, even a certain human pride.

Sometimes this chest becomes heavy and unbearable,

and I need to empty it, because other days and passions

are waiting to be cloistered.

Hidden from human eyes, I open it and its content is burned;

emanations are mixed with the indecipherable clouds above us, 

and, like an old Pandora’s box, gives rise to bonanzas, lulls, 

besides, occasionally, storms and thunders.

Luckily, to date, tornadoes and hurricanes have not appeared.


Published in Poetry Poetics Pleasure, PPP E-zine, January 04, 2021.          


Mr. Ferreira, 77 years, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than in Portuguese. Widely published in international journals in print and online, he began writing at age 67, after retiring as a bank employee. Since then, he counts 157 poems published, in 240 different publications. He lives in a small town (Formiga, Minas Gerais state), with wife, three sons and a granddaughter. Nominated for The Pushcart Prize 2017, his first Poetry Collection, Lonely Sailor, One Hundred Poems, was launched in London in November of 2018.  He is always updating his works at


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