XXIII Fragments

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By AIRTON PASCHOA*

Four sonnets in prose

1.

A poem is not a fairy tale.
The poor man is unaware of the castle,
princess… To be honest,
if I count, of counted beans.
Here he is, then, condemned to reality
(not of king, but of disenchantment)
age; not worth it, a short story
de réis, or carochinha... Yeah, at the
it seems, and may the good Lord,
he really died; lost senses
forever, they euphemize with emotion.
Let's order the crown now! I
I'm sorry, but I'm not very suicidal:
who trades nap for Sleeping Beauty?

 

2.

Hey! I also want to gloss the motto,
display in virtuoso sane poetic art.
Hit the stopwatch now! I don't fear
scan time in verses. Alone and
the half-voice, and the half-light of the rite
and the tower, and to decorate the hall,
and fervent, under penalty of being shot
in the horns—no, in the heart!
But let's leave this motto of life,
matter of punch, not boots.
Goliath with one punch sinks David.
Carnation, Cavouco, Autumn and Nocturne.
Boots material, not punch? Isn't it tragedy?
Is it not matter? Hey, let's let go of the donkey!

 

3.

No, I will not write to posters.
Do not go worth it, so serious! intrigue them
(no, it's not worth it, nor the prosperous,
what will the mean say?) with cockfighting
or neighbors… Ah, what a forehead!
of laurels the chimera wrinkles me!
What muse however raises the tone
or the head down to quireras?
It is more pious to undress the saint
soon; the craft no longer deceives;
muses inspire as much as
a novena and a half of bananas.
Too much, isn't it vain to invoke them by the dozens?
Let's cultivate statures, deaf, and muses!

 

4.

Sonnets? and Elizabethans? For the love of…
No feet? Certainly not to run away, of course,
the fame. Outlandish rhymes? Oh Lord!
a perfect, pure, Nordic nobleman...
I could never want and wanted so much,
were it not for the fear of the physical battle,
give him a pneumothorax... tango!
But the consumptive common people don't seem to come from here.
Nothing, by the way, looks promising
to salute him, Paschoa, in whom talent
some light (to settle promissory note,
say, abounds). Write as you like,
therefore, more and more, and putting everything in the ark and in order,
that we are going to cast him – into the pit first, postmortem.
[Editor's words]

*Airton Paschoa is a writer, author, among other books, of Bain marie (e-galaxia, 2021, 2nd edition, magazine).

 

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