Human Generations

Poetry, People, and Seduction

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I have been told that a judge must have the right,

if not the obligation,

of only to manifest in the process file.

I intend to bring to us, the poets, a similar role,

that people come to us just by reading our poems,

not for any other sense or reason,  

absorbing its lyrics, even its empty spaces,

its exclamation points and questions.  

May they forgive us when, many times, the vernacular fails,

and we translate our feelings into poorly exposed traits,

leaving light footprints to be deciphered and followed.

We lift very high our soul, and only in our craft, daily poetizing,  

we dare on going from the easy and light to the solemn,  

to the deep and imposing truth that holds and subdues all of us:

the beauty, power and seduction of our common human race.

Even though someone might call us narcissists.

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

ILL-FATED VISION

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I see they are at the end of the journey,

closing the office.

They are my friends, acquaintances, some I recognize

as former business colleagues.

But the features are changed, dressed with disinterest,

disenchantment, tiredness, even some little sadness,

and despair, certain an agony.

They locked the doors, the keys on an outside table,

none wanting to take them.

Visibly embarrassed and afraid, they seem ashamed,

as having lost their entire will,

not worrying on opening the doors next day.

Slowly I came to understand the painful and bitter truth,

that they are giving up on our world, without the courage

to start again the journey of the living, the hopeful,

those who do not flee the fight, the daily combat.

Where the manhood, the power and desire of past generations?

Where women, for suddenly I notice that I only see men.

Did they no longer want them, love them?

Where the beloved continuators of our specie,

mothers of our race? Are they dead, annihilated?

Crying of disgust, in deep grief, I cannot do anything.                    

I am just a ghost, a soul straying from the past, unpowered  

to shake and slap those inside this sad and macabre vision.

I am witnessing, live and in (pale) color, the nightmare

that haunted me while alive: depopulated earth, forgotten

and unremembered of all of us, our dreams

buried on infinite, soulless and dark space.           

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

Mishaps in Time

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

The faucets of time are always open

and it runs like wild colts,

in the open fields without limits or fences,

in summer days and fresh green grass.

Time is not tamed, have not been recruited

or trained the toilers for this craft;

it takes all of us and everything around,  

and, as if it had been taught the path to follow,

does not delay or hesitate.

Has been doing its task since world’s lead-off,

and never ponders what has been ordered.

Day and night, in joy and sadness,

willingly or forced,  

old, young, rich and poor, wise and foolish,

we are carried away like dry leaves in the fall.

Let’s be proud and adapt to this journey,

not allowing to the scars, personal

or collective, the power to postpone

or eliminate the search of our Eldorado,                                       

once promised from olden generations.

Endemics, pandemics, pain and loss,

may we subject all of this,

for they never have had, or even will,  

greater significance than so happy and glorious a fate, 

long enshrined, inside our most cherished belief and hopes.

Published in WestWard Quarterly, summer printed 2022 issue

http://www.wwquarterly.com     

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

Guilty a Heart

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

So many beauties spread by the way,

I cannot pass without enjoying one by one.

Indeed, there are some ones so beautiful that,  

besides to enjoy, should be also worshiped,

tribute and respect to the Common Creator.   

Unhappily, I have amorous and stubborn a heart,    

perhaps a delinquent one,

used to falling in love almost every day.  

Could it be hard and insensible,

just as almost all of them,

so I would pass fast and safe,

impassible and passionless.

But it usually picks up a song,

from unknown a spell,  

fairy music of the wind, or, who knows,   

resurrected Ulysses’ mermaids singing,

that, poor me, I cannot resist.

So, I go, amazed and fascinated,

sometimes on despair and strained,

along with loving brothers and sisters,  

daily struggling to move hard    

and harsh the wheels of time.

(First published in Red Wolf Journal, Aug 8, 2021)

www.redwolfjournal.wordpress.com

Published in West Ward Quarterly, spring printed issue 2022

http://www.wwquarterly.com

Chronology of the Pleasures

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

About one month or two ago, at dusk,  

on the walk we take almost every day,

when passing by a well-known bridge in my city,

I noticed, not without some sadness,

that there was a family living under it,

at a corner they had cleaned on the riverbank.

I was filed with sadness, for sure they were homeless,

or, at least, temporarily, having as roof

the lower part of that framework.

Yesterday, while walking with my wife, we perceived

that there was something different, a few more people,

in addition to the family we were used to seeing.

A couple of bonfires lit better the area,

they seemed to feel very comfortable,

laughing and happy, we even heard

something like a clink of glasses.

My wife was surprised and did not understand,

but, suddenly, I did, and told her:

there is no doubt, they are having guests today

and are having fun.

Then, we became aware that, really, it had been a while

since we enjoyed much of this same pleasure.  

Published in Sky Island Journal, issue 21, summer 2022

http://www.skyislandjournal.com

Published in Fevers of the Mind, July 14, 2024

http://www.feversofthemind.com

Published in The Galway Review, July 30 2025

http://www.thegalwayreview.com

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

Reflections on the last Day

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I am sure that, one day, a doctor,

who I do not know who will be,   

will bend over me to attest to my death.

It will be one of the many tasks

he will then take care of.

He will be examining a body, but will never be able  

to attest to the thousand and one days I happily lived

with the lovers I conquered, the devoted and faithful friends

who gave me their smiles and countless hugs, all of this born

from pure, naive and strong human camaraderie;

will never know neither the sobs of anguish nor the desperate voice

of certain days, nor the tears I had shed along some paths I walked;

will never even dream the brightness of the days

I was able to celebrate, although it took a while,

nor the victory over many of the enemies I had to face.

Also, he will not think of a God and Creator waiting for me,

analyzing and weighing the sentence to be delivered,   

and what the new world I will be sent to.

Published in Better than Starbucks, November 2021 issue.

http://www.betterthanstarbucks.org.

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

Fatality

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

We have lived a frank, fraternal and realistic love.

Realistic in the sense that we understand it so much,

that if one day, for this or that, it ends,

although human and fallible as we are,

in our time, few may have had so good fortune

and happiness, just as we had.  

And if it happens to last forever,

as we have sworn with affection,

surely, the Olympian Gods will envy us,

those of whom it has been said they are eternal,

see and feel everything and everyone.

They will not hesitate to give us terrible punishment.

We know none of them has been loved as much as we did.

Seen in passing through

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

She passed, sovereign and powerful,

as only a beautiful woman knows how.

Unaware (perhaps) of the uproar caused

in the hearts and feelings around.

Supreme gift donated to humanity by the Creator, 

reason for promises, deeds and exploits by men

of fine lineage and caste, chained to be loyal worshipers

of what has been left for us in beauty and enchantment.

And, believe me, she who is happening to pass now,

neither knows nor dreams to be guilty of this;

  • to my despair and passion    –

she has snow-white skin,

crowned by the darkest hair.

Our Legend continues

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I am not worried about my future days.  

You will probably point me out as reckless, defiant, 

by challenging what we cannot predict or guess.

The fact is that I learned a lot from the sadness

and disappointment I have had, really so many,

but not enough to overwhelm me.

I hope I still have many pleasures in my future,

like or better as I have had,

even if some of them are the ones that,

later, turn out to be deceptive and fleeting.

I have already learned the modus-operandi of the one

who has been the mentor of my destinies and my ways.

So, I have seasoned my life with the same passions,

thus believing he will not have much to change

and surprise me.

Let my future come soon, I do not fear and will embrace it

with the same faith of past days.

I will fight its frustrations and disagreements, which, by sure,

will appear again.

I will lie down with  new pleasures – flames and sweet loves

will spring up.

From time to time,, I will throw to the skies sound and honest a laughter,

and, a little incredulous, the Gods will know that, despite everything,

even if it is for just one,

the human legend is still going on down here.

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

From the Origin of Things

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I keep always inside a secret oak chest,

invisible, safe and inviolable,

all my prayers and hopes, loves and troubles,

triumphs and defeats, hugs, dismay and discomfort.

They are a mosaic of the days I have lived, witnesses

of laughter and affection, tears and sobs, which show

that I did not run away from life, having lived it honoring

the sacredness with which it was once conceived.

They will be the passport for my re-entry into the fellowship

to the one who sent us to this common arena of smuggles,

afflictions and despairs and, from time to time,

happiness, fearlessness, even a certain human pride.

Sometimes this chest becomes heavy and unbearable,

and I need to empty it, because other days and passions

are waiting to be cloistered.

Hidden from human eyes, I open it and its content is burned;

emanations are mingled with the clouds of heaven, and,  

like an old Pandora’s box, give rise to bonanzas, lulls,  

besides, occasionally, storms and thunders.

Luckily, to date, tornadoes and hurricanes have not appeared.

Published in Poetry Poetics Pleasure, vol 05, issue 1, Jan 04, 2021.

http://www.poetrypoeticspleasure.wordpress.com

Published in the printed issue spring 2021 of West Ward Quarterly

http://www.wwquarterly.com

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