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)
