The magazine my wife reads has launched,

for Mother’s Month, a writing contest.

A married woman should report works

and troubles on raising her children,

showing the drudgery of everyday life.

To the winner, an unpriced diamond ring.

A brilliant writer, surely confident in her pen

and in her extreme love for our three sons,

soon she started writing.

Then, there was a lot of school homework,

the babysitter left our service

and our youngest child has become ill.

Today, work still incomplete,

she missed the contest deadline.

I’m rightly concerned one diamond ring

will wrongly adorn some mother’s hand.

Published in Spirit Fire Review, April 2018 issue

http://www.spiritfirereview.com

We founded churches, schools, hospitals,

we created priests, teachers and physicians;

some of us we acclaimed kings and judges,

some others, beggars and prisoners.

We care for our children instilling in them

those dreams we were not able to fulfill.

We have changed our course many times,

both on the road and in our minds,

so little different from those primitive hordes,

turning to the wind like a ship of old sailors.

We have never had even that natural gift of birds,

who know from birth their journeys and returns

in each season of their lives.

Saints and sinners, side by side, we write our history,

which, some day, will be read, and they will know that,

if we have never  lacked wit and sapience,

it has never lacked a plenty of love.

A love full of disappointments, but blended with the joy

of alone colonizing a planet given to unknown ancestors,

which, despite life’s scars, has been always handed

to welcome ever new generations.

Published in Indiana Voice Journal, March-April 2018 issue.

http://www.indianavoicejournal.com

Showing that it did not come for love,

did not know how to be gentle and affectionate.

It came for lust and voluptuousness, not the breath

of a lover, but the madness of the impassioned.

It did not learn to be breeze, was born this way,

snorting and showing its claws,

without notice or warning.

Knocking at the doors and all of a sudden

forcing the windows,

like a river which comes out of its bed

and floods the lands around.

It did not waste time making swirls or pranks;

its shot was direct and accurate, without pause or rest,

like a shameless male, clothes off and in open air,

covering, without modesty or prudence,

his chosen female.

It has warned not to scrimp its desire,

not turning into a hurricane.

Published in Tree House Arts, Jan 31, 2018

http://www.treehousearts.me

Published in The Chamber Magazine , May 7 2021

http://www.thechambermagazine.com

Published in PPP Ezine, May 2021

http://www.poetrypoeticspleasureezine.wordpress.com

This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©

There was once a summer,

lost in the folds of time,

where, no one knows,

has existed happiness.

It has appeared only for us,

nobody else’s.

Never affected by daily hardships,

always shielded from world’s rust,

it has remained in our hearts

and we know it will not disappear,

even by the collapse of our bodies.

Nothing can end such a love,

born in hot winds, baptized

in fresh rain and crowned,

as blessed by the skies,

by stunning and mystical lightning.

Published in Free Lit Magazine, January 23, 2018, The Bildungsroman issue.

http://www.freelitmagazine.com

I know there is a final day for my life on earth.

I have striven to earn the prize of the righteous,

which is, after death, living in the Paradise.

But, oh my God, I love so much this planet

You granted to us from so earliest ages!

I love every sunrise, every new day calling me

to join forces to open new work fronts.

I love that scarlet red sunset that announces

the early evening, enchanting and bewitching

haunted nights always full of beautiful women,

loving sisters of our race, only found here,

nowhere else.

I learned to love hard and harsh the way

we were condemned to gain our bread,

since the disobedience of our forefathers.

I think I will never be able to say goodbye

to this homeland, mine and of all of us.

Perhaps, if I come to deserve an eternal life,

may You leave me here, enchanted as an elf

or a fairy, forever feeling its brown ochre scent,

among sinful, yet amorous brothers and sisters.

Published in Indiana Voice Journal, March-April 2018 issue.

http://www.indianavoicejournal.com

How much longer must we hope

for a life free of the devil’s seed

and of the fallen angels’ malice?

For a faith that everything remains

on inflexible plans of a Holy Spirit?

For a love that goes beyond barriers

between countries, creeds and races;

including whites, negroes and browns,

elderly and young, men and women?

How much longer we continue to disregard

invisible motionless cloud overlapping us,

which, at due time rewards and punishes

all sons of amorous yet stern our Creator?