Poets are made by mode of enchantment,
and mine has been an exquisite one.
It comes from our common ground,
sometimes from dark underground,
even from sparkling highs of heaven.
Some days, somewhere, untied to myself,
world loses the poet and gains the autist,
till a good soul recognizes me,
reconnecting the mode,
like an out of order gadget.
Published in Red Wolf Journal, May 21, 2016.
We live in a consecrated land, former battlefield,
again, and again sanctified by fallen warriors,
that have given their best for us.
They have baptized this earth with blood, sweat
and tears, which seasoned the ground, making
double and sweet the fruits by the harvest time.
Published in the April National Poetry Project 2024 on Instagram by Writer Shed Press and on the Chapbook of this Project.
On “Wheat Field with Crows”, the last painting by Van Gogh.
The fullness of a golden wheat field is crowned
by a flock of dark birds in its migratory flying away.
The health and vigor of the landscape contrasts
with the menace of a cloudy and stormy sky,
which does not prevent the birds’ journey.
They know from birth the right route
and are the owners of the sky.
Poor humans do not fly, and are always doubting
their choice of the three roads Gogh has painted.
We are the owners of the earth and its richness,
but we have not even a little of the crows’ sense.
Published in Young Ravens Literary Review, Issue 4, May 31, 2016.
http://www.youngravensliteraryreview.org/issue-4.html
Returned by Post – “unable to gain access”.
Dad, we have had no opportunity to talk.
You do not believe how much has changed
this world which so fondly you have bequeathed
to all of us.
The grocery man does not accept cash,
everybody needs to have a bank account
and a credit card.
No more milkmen nor glass bottles, but
milk boxes that all people buy at immense
supermarkets, with their cameras sleepless
and furtively watching over us.
No more sidewalk chairs on the front porch
and neighbors sharing the latest daily news.
There are no more letters,
no business letters, no love letters;
there are only e-mails, sent by a computer,
which is called a PC.
Photos are saved in a computer and no of more
glued in a photo album, no more the fun you
and mom had in collecting them.
All people have cell phones that we must take
anywhere we go, and nobody has more privacy.
But, in spite of all of this, we are still alive
and remind of you every day.
Published in Creative Talents Unleashed, June 12, 2016 (Featured Writer).
http://www.creativetalentsunleashed.com
Published in Tree House Arts, April 11, 2018
Published in Snapdragon, A Journal of Art & Healing, Sep 15, 2018.
I am proud of the youth of my generation.
I came from a past that only must be seen
in its black and white.
Current bright colors cannot even approach
warmth of singular and peculiar bygone era.
Just we who lived and loved in it are enough
and qualified witnesses to so amazing a past.
Time of the candid, simple and naive living,
with fewer choices, as only black telephones
and only white fridges.
Moreover, time to encounter enduring lovers,
that confront life’s disillusions, jointly reaching,
so many years ahead,
these colorful unsettled contemporaneous days.
Published in Whispers, April 29, 2016.
http://www.whispersinthewind333.blogspot.com
Published in The Basil O’Flaherty, July 2016 issue.
After (or would it be before?) Dostoyevsky.
“Unto the woman He said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow
and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children”
Genesis, 03, 16.
So much must a woman love her companion,
after God has said weird, even cursed words.
By acute a wisdom, once she taught man
the science of good and evil, really then needed
for their own survival; without it, by now,
where and what just would be all of us?
We know we were to be naught over naught.
Thank women, world has grown and grown,
sons and daughters professing more and more
a loyal cult that consecrated as saint shrine
this earth we have inherited from forefathers
and so stern a God.
Published in Snapdragon A Journal of Art and Healing, March 2015
http://www.snapdragonjournal.com
I am not afraid of tears, at least mines.
They washed my body and eased my soul,
having vanished for so long.
Perhaps they do not realize all strength
given to me by soothing past times.
At age, my mind is modeled to think that
it is not worth weeping, for life is trouble.
I want to turn to my early days,
to my youth, my infancy, and learn anew
to cry whenever I fall down; then weep
prettily enough to please longing.
No one ever need or must see such tears,
that will pour from my innermost being,
then work warming and pushing ahead
to final struggles compulsive a fighter.
Since I and this world were introduced,
many, many years ago,
we have nurtured unconditional a passion,
that has lasted all the time.
We have enjoyed every day living together,
although huge crowd gathered around us,
prompt to envy and end this endearment.
Never have I been afraid of,
for they don’t know, or even imagine,
what kind of power that enrobes
so true and tireless a lover’s heart.
When I fall asleep, far from the world,
I don’t let it on strange hands,
averse to my delight.
I leave it, in the fogs of night,
in the care of nothing less than
its Creator.
Published in the July 2016 issue of The Basil O’Flaherty.
We use masks beforehand provided by destiny,
most of which have not depended of our choice.
Like characters on a movie set, we appear and walk
through scenario and plot made by unknown director,
again and again saying words contrary to our feelings.
Like people at a fancy dress ball, we continue dancing,
incapable of throwing off those horrible masks.
Sometimes, also, we act as puppets to lure children,
unable to frustrate the one who pulls the strings,
ending so undesirable one performance.
Few are capable to throw away the disguises
or dismantle the puppeteer’s manipulations,
showing their onw faces and their own feeligs.
“Genesis 6:1 – When man began to multiply on the face of the land and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw that the daughters of man were attractive. And they took as their wives any they chose”
The Bible does not tell us, but,
when the sons of God began to fall in love,
their parents tried to prohibit such incipient
and abnormal courtship.
Their sons had to marry, as always had,
women of their lineage, not the daughters
of those strange and odd people.
But there was the first, second, third and so on,
and a new ascendancy has been established,
as of the conquerors and the conquered,
the Lords and the Serfs, and,
most noteworthy, that of
the Gods and the humans.
Published in Mocking Heart Review, Spring/Summer issue 2016.
http://www.mockingheartreview.com
Published in the Basil O’Flaherty, July 2016 issue.
http://www.thebasiloflaherty.weebly.com
Published in TreeHouse Arts, August 01, 2018
edilsonmeloferreira 