Five Poems by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

 

Stumbles, Ambushes, and Spells

 

‘Yo no creo en brujas, pero que las hay, las hay’

(Galicia’s cruel saying)

 

There was a thief that a bad luck set him

on the way to your house;

a rapist that someone drove his madness’ eyes

and his insane desire to that dear friend of yours,

or, who knows, the weight of evil,

even to your beloved daughter.

A runaway truck that went around, didn’t catch you,

but wrecked a car with your friend’s sister,

also destroying her life and her family’s.

An irate driver who picked you up in traffic,

for, without any motive or reason, to overflow

all his hatred towards this world we live in.

That drug dealer who once saw at your son

a certain hopelessness of youth and guided him,

without pity or hesitation and with all wickedness,

on the sordid path of addiction.

That one you thought your friend but directed you,

with false truths and promise of great gains,  

for a business he never had money or courage to.

That stranger (maybe even a friend),

who, hidden from you and from due respect,

set eyes of malice and sin in your wife.

That sullen and unpredictable man, let loose on the streets,

instead of locked up in a bughouse, who can, on the outbreak

of the moment, just take your life. 

So are some ways generated by witches you never knew, 

nor had never wished to know,

who, for free and pleasure of wrongdoing, also for envy,

collide daily with your brothers and sisters,

and are always looking for you too.

(Published in Fevers of the Mind, July 12 2023)

 

 

Fallen into Oblivion  

 

No more guys and girls happily driving

   open-air convertible cars on weekends, 

   free of seat belts tethering their bodies,

   sweet winds swaying, fighting and playing 

   their loose hairs.

No more

children walking on the streets to school,

   carrying notebooks in their arms,

   not in backpacks, not on buses.

No more

young boys playing marbles in holes

   they had dug on vacant lots near home,

   their mates flying kites heavens above.  

No more

bicycling around only for pleasure,

   without protective helmets and gloves.

No more

family sitting on the front porch after dinner,

   sharing the latest neighbourhood news.

No more

walking in the fields by night,

  under tender and puissant the moonlight. 

No more

people greeting each other and sending good vibes,

   even if they were unknown.   

No more

fresh milk bottles delivered home by the morning,

   but milk boxes at immense supermarkets,

   with sleepless cameras furtively watching over us.

No more

letters, no business letters, no love letters,

   only emails to be lost in cyberspace.

No more

couples who face the difficulties of everyday life,

   profess mutual and sincere one forgiveness,

   respect the common oath once made,

   so engendering true and honest a love. 

No more

parents, sons and daughters going out together at night,

   carrying in common dreams, dramas and desires,

   like a pack of wolves who have not learned to segregate.

No more

growing, assembling and sharing rooms and lives around,

   indifferent to some strange customs of those

   who never knew to love and like themselves,

   our children becoming children of all of us.

(Published in Fevers of the Mind, July 12 2023)

 

 

Days of Fury

 

Yesterday a friend of mine was praising a local psychologist.

She is excellent, the best in her profession, he said.

Do you believe that a mother died and her husband,

aware of the approaching doom, had entrusted

such psychologist to prepare their dear daughter,

unique and sensitive a girl.

for the terrible episode in question.

Then, it was noted that, at the funeral

that one day took place, the girl did so well,

receiving the guests, even smiling,

just as she was at a party.

When my family and I come to be harassed

for life misfortunes, may we honour

the human inheritance and true feelings

we have been endowed since long time.

May we pour out all grief and anguish

we will then pass by.

And, if we feel that way,

let us pull out all our hair.

(Published in Fevers of the Mind, July 12 2023)

 

 

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,

hard struggling to make their lives a story.

I love hearing someone making something,

even if it is the buzzing of bees.

(Published in The Lake, Dec 01 2021)

 

 

Passage to Paradise

 

The emotion that lies at the heart,

not shown in gestures and words,

cannot be measured or felt,

but for myself.

Disillusionment, sadness and despair,

even rejoicing and pleasure,

have created tears, salty and hot ones,

which have leavened the soil where I live,  

bringing forth flowers, fruits, children.

Have nourished and ennobled my spirit,

paying the toll I owe to the lord of the fief.

I am sure they are leading me to Canaan,

the promised land where evil finds no shelter 

and milk and honey flow abundantly.

Where the woman I desire is waiting for me,

at the door of my house, longing and needy,

wife and lover.

 

(Published in PPP Ezine April 2019)

Edilson Afonso Ferreira, 79 years, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than in Portuguese. Widely published in international Literary Journals in print and online, we began writing at age 67, after his retirement from a bank.  Since then, he counts 190 poems published, in 295 different publications. He was nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2017 and his first Poetry Collection – Lonely Sailor – was launched in London in 2018. His second, - Joie de Vivre – has been launched in April 2022. He is always updating his works at www.edilsonmeloferreira.com. (190/295 …. often, one poem first published in a Literary Journal is later republished in another one)