Far away from Home

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / 2 Comments

There are countries, states, laws, constitutions,

Bible, Koran, catechisms, versicles.

Multiple versions, different procedures,

corrections and penalties.

As if we, humans, because having spread ourselves

around our entire world, were diverse,

dissimilar, incompatible beings.

The truth, so little faced and assumed,

and indoctrinated with so little faith,

is that we came destined to keep alive

the flame of mutual and supportive love,

free from color, race, religion walls and borders.

We have had intelligence and culture to, unluckily,

only improve our mismatches and idiosyncrasies.

The longer we stay on this strange route,

we will be farther from the promised land,

that Canaan where milk and honey flow,

and evil has no place and hides,

defeated, confused and humiliated.

 

Published in Burningword Literary Journal, issue 93, January 2020

http://www.burningword.com

 

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

 

 

 

Night

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

When night comes and sleep does not appear,

I ride through unsuspected worlds,

have memories even from days I did not live,

by sure dreams I did not realize.

The yearning is loose; I have to fill the void,

so that I arrive in full to another day waiting for me,

new challenges, new fights.

The new day will be powerful and pugnacious,

unlike me, one day older and not being able to hide

on the face and soul, the marks of misfortune and sorrow,

unrequited loves, dislikes and mismatches.

I will show that I did not renounce the human inheritance,

and, along with dear fellow ones I lived, loved and suffered,

having watered the road even with sweat and tears.

Always sure that we will reach, at the end of the journey,

the promised land, and, unlike Abraham,

who just had a glimpse, we will take secure possession.

Then, dancing and partying,

we will throw to the skies

sound and honest a laughter.

Published in Young Ravens Literary Review, issue 11, Winter 2019.

http://www.youngravensliteraryreview.org

Published in TreeHouse Arts, July 18, 2020.

http://www.treehousearts.me

Published in the Chamber Magazine, July 9 2021

http://www.thechambermagazine.com

Published in Rudderless Mariner, November 14 2021

http://www.rudderlessmarinerpoetry.com

Published in WestWard Quarterly, printed 2023 winter issue 

http://www.wwquarterly.com 

Published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Jan 24, 2025

http://www.lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com

Published in The Galway Review, Aug 13, 2025

http://www.thegalwayreview.com

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

Photo by Margaret Bourke White

My Hurry

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

They do not know that I am in a hurry.

A hurry to love this world even more,

with all people destiny has given to me,

fellow travelers in the common journey.

A hurry to instill and teach my children

the art of goodwill and mutual respect,

pillars that bring us closer to the Creator.

A hurry to fight the good fight, wielding

my sword, my mind and my will

against hopeless and unfaithful brothers,

acolytes of those fallen angels who envy,

hate and despise happiness, love and

the common good.

A hurry that before the end of my days,

may I help us to be closer to the promised land,

where milk and honey flow and evil ever hides,

defeated, disoriented, humiliated.

 

Published in Poetry Poetics Pleasure, September 2019

http://www.poetrypoeticspleasureezine.wordpress.com

 

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

My Tears and my Cries

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I cry for the estrangement among whites and blacks,

yellows and browns, Christians and Muslims;

for the rich who reach water from golden faucets

and the poor who carry it in the buckets;

for the wine and salmon tables of the mansions

and the yesterday’s bread passing from hand to hand;

for the security of the politicians on the comings years

and the fear of the common people for tomorrow;

for the dreams of the righteous, that have not come true

and the audacity of the insolents, who have no feelings

and are not intimidated.

But I hope to have strength until my last day,

to pierce the veil that seeks to cover evil,

lifting up my sword in the Lord’s army,

always angry against injustice and oppression.

It is my faith that this will be

sacred and ultimate my soul’s redemption.

 

Published in The Phoenix, printed issue Abril 2020

http://www.pfeiffer.phoenix.com

Nothing than Praise

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I have not paid to the world as much as I owe.

I was born naked; I have clothes, house, and car.

I was born unknown; I have friends, admirers,

have even had  people who loved me.

My body has withstood sun, rain, wind and snow,

has been spared the onslaught of viruses and microbes,

unwanted messengers of diseases and afflictions,

but, towering, persists defiant.

Evil spirits, the fallen ones, sown in wait,

have hit my carcass, my sacred helmet,

but, defeated, lie by the wayside.

I can only pay praising and worshiping, firm and strong,

body and spirit, in hope of the re-encounter with our creator,

sacred, ultimate and legitimate human’s redemption.

Our Tour on Earth

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I do not want to wait one minute more to say

to this world some words stuck in my throat:

I love all of you!

Whites, yellows, browns, blacks,

elderly, young, children,

even the evil ones, because they must have

some strange and shady missions,

often (or always) hidden just to themselves.

It is true that daily we catch ourselves watching

a lively musical from Broadway, and then,

horrible some Greek tragedy.

As mentor and director of our tour on earth,

God uses the talents of His creatures,

like a painter mixing colors in a masterpiece.

We must accept the tones we have been given,

for it is the redemption of a destiny and a duty

allocated to us, it would be good to believe,

even before the beginning of our own time.

Days of Yore

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I am a friend of the past.

I have good relations with it.

I do not frighten myself when I hear the gong ringing

and it says, hello, I am here, I am reminded of you today.

There is no time or day set for its appearance.

Today it reminded me the ways in the paternal farm,

where, solitary but not sad or haunted,

I walked in my childhood and youth.

We said of the blue-back grassquits,

which landed on the wire fences, sang,

and gave three leaps, up and down.

We said of when I was walking alone on the tracks,

wanting to sneeze, had to wait to cross someone,

and so sneeze, for it was needed to hear from him:

God help you!

We reminded the stone mill, operated by the water wheel,

that grinded the kernels producing corn meals,

used for the baked cakes in the wood-burning ovens,

ones brick-made at the open air in the yard.

Also remembered the school of D. Maria Dias,

who lectured in the cellar, where we studied

until the third year, for the fourth had to be

at the town school.

There were some comrades, who came annually

from extinct mines where gold was exhausted,

to work on our crops: coffee, corn, rice and beans.

We prayed the rosary every night, and, on Sundays,

our family went to mass in the town church, smoothing,

for years and years, the bank with our name inscribed,

friends we were of God and of the parish priest.

Times of old, when we were happy,

but did not know.

So happy that we lived in Paradise,

which was the name of that hinterland.

Really, some of us came to believe

the bible had borrowed it for the land

of one of its best known stories.

Published in Mocking Heart Review, fall 2019 issue, Nov. 01, 2019

http://www.mockingheartreview.com

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

Encounter on the Road Curves

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

It was not on the straight, wide and sunny road,

that I saw you.

It was on the road’s bend, so switched a curve that

almost returned to the point from which I had come.

It was in a dark and gloomy day,

where wind did not dare to appear

and people sought to hide within themselves.

Now I know that fate had given that afternoon

as precious gift to me, when set us face to face.

Then, your beauty shone, flashed like a torch,

or a beacon in dark nights driving the sailors.

You enchanted me, like a serpent with her prey,

but not devoured, only arrested and gave me love.

In the days following our meeting,

they say the sun had shone again.

It does not concern me,

for I have won you.

 

Published in Red Wolf Journal, October 06, 2019.

http://www.redwolfjournal.wordpress.com

Love Reminiscences

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I have neither the time nor the talent to sing praises

to all that have enchanted me in my life on earth.

Someday, I will miss these happy and satiated eyes,

my ears, even my heart.

We, who now share this land and these airs,

will be no more than sparing remembrance

for those who will remain.

In the short time given to me, I want to suck in fury

all the honey I can get by on my lips, living the life

just like that poet of sweet memory, burning my candle

on both sides, my light frightening and pushing away

all scarecrows on duty.

Maybe in another life, unknown to me,

they give me other days,

who knows, even Eternity.

But they never will give me, however,

those scarlet red sunsets preceding soft nights,

where I have met lovely and unforgettable women,

sisters our race has refined in such a beauty

never seen anywhere or anytime else.

Published in Free Lit Magazine, volume 5, Issue 3, The Beauty Issue, May, 29th 2019.

http://www.freelitmagazine.com

Published in Tree House Arts, July 24, 2019

http://www.treehousearts.me

Origins

/ Edilson Afonso Ferreira / Leave a comment

I walk in the streets, alleys and squares,

I see and hear all kind of people.

I still feel even a bit of their souls.

Whites, blacks and yellows,

adults, children and the elderly,

they are my fellow ones, comrades

on the biggest walk, in route

to the admirable new world,

the land once promised, so long ago.

Instead, perhaps should I go

back to that sixth day of one holy week,

to ask our Creator if this is the way

He had thought for His people.

Also, if is not yet arrived the time for forgiveness,

disarming some cherubim’s flaming swords,

still on guard at the Paradise Gate.