Sharing with friends my poem “The Seaman’s Death”, today, Oct 5 2022, published in the Canadian Literary Review “Ekphrastic Review”. Many thanks to the dear editor Lorette C. Luzajic. Read (and enjoy) it at: https://www.ekphrastic.net/
Author: Edilson Afonso Ferreira
Sharing a new publication of mine
Sharing with friends the publication, today, Sep 13th 2022, of my five poems – “On War and Love”, “Chronology of the Pleasures”, “Desires”, “Gloomy Days” and “Rewriting Paradise”, in the Lothlorien Poetry Journal. Many thanks to the dear editor Strider Marcus Jones. Read (and enjoy) it at: https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/2022/09/five-poems-by-edilson-afonso-ferreira.html
Stumbling, Pitfalls, and Spells
‘Yo no creo en brujas, pero que las hay, las hay’
(Galicia’s cruel saying)
There was a thief whose bad luck set him
on the way to your house;
a rapist that something drove his mad eyes
and his insane desire for
that dear friend of yours,
or, who knows, the weight of evil,
even to your beloved daughter.
A runaway truck that went around, missed 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 promises 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 ever 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 Voices 2025, May 2025
Published in Superpresent summer 2025
This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©
Sharing a new publication of mine
Sharing with friends my poem “Another Language”, today published in the August 2022 issue of “The Lake”, highly regarded Literary Journal of London (UK). Many thanks to the dear editor Mr. John Murphy. Read (and, perhaps, enjoy) it at:
The Seaman’s Death
On “Island Funeral”, egg tempera and oil on hardboard, by N. C. Wyeth, 1939.
They were worth a lot, the five years that the painter kept in his
memory and heart the scene of a maritime funeral procession,
that took place on September 11th 1934, in Teel’s Island.
It had been a lapse of time in which he honed and trained his brush,
until 1939, enabling the birth of this masterpiece.
In true, like some others, he had not seen, but heard about,
the transport to the island for burial of a 96 years’ lobsterman,
a remarkable event, remembered long afterward.
The man, one that his family was the name of the island,
where he was born and had lived all his entire existence.
In a bird’s eye perspective, both grave and lyric, we see the collision,
also the coexistence of two worlds, the sea the man had much loved
and the mainland with so hard a hillside to be climbed.
The sea was liquid and bright to honor him in this day,
the earth, substance and shadow, ready for his rest.
This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©
Published in The Ekphrastic Review, Oct 05 2022.
Sharing a new publication of mine
Sharing with friends my poem “Mishaps in Time”, just published in the printed 2022 summer issue of the Literary Journal “WestWard Quarterly”. Many thanks to the dear editor Dr. Richard Leonard.
Sharing a new publication of mine
Sharing with friends the publication, today, of my poem “Chronology of the Pleasures”, in the Literary Review “Sky Island Journal”, its summer 2022 issue. Many thanks to the dear editors Jeff and Jason. Read (and enjoy, I hope) at:
https://www.skyislandjournal.com/issues#/issue-21-summer-2022/
Lost Remembrance
We crossed over deserts, meadows, mountains,
travelled by rivers and seas, Arctics and Antarctics,
planted vines, bridges and ports, raised sheep and sons.
We built churches, cathedrals, palaces and poor hovels.
We lit fire into dark nights and hope into sore souls,
have also made mad things we prefer never to remember.
We threw roads and rails, telegraphs, cities, skyscrapers,
even an audacious tower, at Babel, when, our history tells,
You promptly restrained us.
Your sons became grandsons, great-grandsons, at last, us,
adoptive sons who every day attempt to remember
what was like one face that it has been said
we had been patterned from.
First published in Whispers, December 04, 2015.
Published in Dead Snakes, February 29, 2016.
Published in West Ward Quarterly, Winter 2017.
Parented by War
-There are bad things that turn into good-
My father was the youngest of thirteen siblings.
The family had long been up to twelve children.
At the end of the First World War,
his parents’ satisfaction was immense, none
of them had been summoned to the front.
And they rejoiced and celebrated so much,
that, on the rapture of the moment,
and in advanced age, came to be conceived
their thirteenth son,
the one who came to be my progenitor.
The years passed and my father, now adult,
was dating my future mother, led calm
and peaceful one life.
They loved each other, but couldn’t think
of getting married so soon.
They had to settle for life first.
Then the Second War broke out,
and he saw his companions going to fight.
But married people were exempt,
he went to the bank and got a loan,
and my mother’s father helped him
with such an extreme goodwill.
They were quickly married,
and, in a while, I arrived in this world,
firstling of a much-loved union.
We are children of war,
father, by the end of one;
me, by the beginning of another.
Published in All Yor Poems, April 2024
Unshakable Certainty
I have been looking for other places to pray to the Creator.
I have prayed in churches, cathedrals, small chapels,
synagogues, mosques, palaces and castles,
also poor hovels, humble inns.
On the streets and roads,
walking or travelling,
I rise my voice and my thoughts,
knowing how much I bother Him.
Truly and unfortunately, most of what I asked
has not been carried out.
I believe that instead He has answered
to what I unconsciously really need,
just He perceives, nobody else, mainly me.
I must recognize this has been the best
for the run of my life.
To be coherent with so reconnaissance,
I intend to never more pray again,
anywhere, anytime.
I am putting myself entirely into His hands,
fearless and unreservedly accepting
He guides, leads, and acts for me forever.
This poem and all others at this blog, authored by Edilson Afonso Ferreira ©
edilsonmeloferreira 