By WILTON CARDOSO*
five poems
Appeal
Someone
give me hope
free me from the thing
light up my laughter
light up my soul
run through my body
a frenzy of energy
an overflow of joy
who hasn't laughed for a long time
someone
a leader a prophet a wise man
a witch an angel a bird
a totem an omen (the flower
of the poet born on the asphalt)
something or someone whatever
show me the narrow path
reveal to me the unlikely future
that it does not fall into the abyss in the end
and when you come to me
gift grace blessing
transcend me cross me
and infect everyone
and that this stupid weather
this storm of hardships
plagues sad seals trumpets
go to hell with him
Climate
end of party
end of the world a flood
of smoke
flying rivers fall
(and drowns us in air)
closed sky
torrid sawmills
soybeans and cattle
fire and ashes
the gray bush
the gray city
the gray life
the gray hour
and this arid ground
sick
under the pale sun
inclement
Dancing days
“Come, give me your hand\ We were no longer afraid” (Chico Buarque).
When there was utopia
the world was dark
but the sun rose in the future.
The world was very
uneven and rough and speak
reckless
but there was hope one day
if the opposites wake up (and rhyme).
The music was cheerful
with a hint of sadness
or it would be sad
with flashes of joy?
I was a boy and little
of the world I knew
I know the TV lulled me to sleep
every night with Hansel and Gretel
when there was (still) utopia.
Look for
I look up and see an angry shepherd
spits the Gospel to the communist sinner
atheist, witch doctor, gay, feminist…
I look down and the Earth crumbles
in garbage heaps and clouds of soot
devoured by the commodity factory.
I look to the right and fascist fangs are bared
and the litanies of entrepreneurship are sung
and the sacred mantras of the free market.
I look to the left and I see nothing, I imagine nothing
my scattered head finally put its feet on the ground
and surrounded himself with reality
(my head lost
the detour of dreams, lost
your sanity).
Microparadises in hell
Wars wars wars
I'm tired of hearing about wars
I just want to contemplate the gills
Of the slow fish in the calm pond
And the claws
Cats' sharp
Saved
In the softness of the paws
* Wilton Cardoso is a poet and essayist. Literary blog editor, the dream engineer.
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