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Mário Flecha – The Author/O Autor
Brazilian-Canadian, from Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais, Brazil. Living in Alberta, Canada, since 2001. The blog is yours. If you enjoy it, please, help promoting it among your friends.
The greatest joy of writing, besides writing, is to be read.
Brasileiro-canadense, Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais, Brasil, vivendo em Alberta, Canadá, desde 2001. O blog é seu. Se você gostar, por favor, ajude a promovê-lo entre seus amigos. O maior prazer de escrever, além de escrever, é ser lido.
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Authorship & Copyright & Autoria
Poietic Generatio Ekstasis, blog name domain, and all its contents by Mario Flecha are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
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Recent Posts Recentes
- Dilar Dirik: Patriarchy, Fascism and Capitalism
- Spring Over Ashes * Primavera Sobre Cinzas – Hardcover Version – Versão Capa Dura or/ou ebook
- Spring Over Ashes * Primavera Sobre Cinzas – Paperback Version – Versão Brochura or/ou ebook
- Words of the Wind – The Video of the event
- Poetry Beyond Borders: Words of the Wind – first poetry reading event of Writers Beyond Borders
- Crônicas & Opiniões (entre 1995 e 2000) – muitas publicadas no jornal O Estado de Minas
- Do vendaval
- Yesterday, Today
- The reactionary reacts, but doesn’t act
Texts’ Menu de Textos
- Translation English, Portuguese/Tradução inglês, português
- Made in Canada/Feito no Canadá
- Feito no Brasil/Made in Brazil (mostly in Brazilian Portuguese)
Category Archives: English/Inglês
First of all, I don’t see the Greeks of the past as something extra-terrestrial. And I believe we are under the control of a Plutocracy. It just became worse and more clear. I see us very connected to the Greek … Continue reading
I cry for the children, for their shooters, for the parents, for the ones shocked with the News not so new, for the ones mad in anger and willing to kill, for the indifferent, for the happies no matter what, … Continue reading
Sitting on a bench at Wal-Mart/practicing my most recent acquisition from life/an empty mind void of any profound thoughts/In the middle of a long aisle/comes from the other side, unnoticed/a lady working there/and older lady passing by/pushing a wheeled plastic … Continue reading
The stripped trees keep their branches raised to the sky, their images cut in the twilight, reveal the shape of their wholeness against the indigo blue background they lean upon, like upside down brooms, they stay still until Spring comes to … Continue reading
From the silent grave I can still hear the seeds of life awakening the late Spring; It overwhelms the heart listening the rhythmic dripping of icicles and guessing the sun cutting through the pines to meet the fresh moss – … Continue reading
Life! You are so beautiful, I can look at you forever, I could be with you forever… and even more when I look at the face of death with a free heart that no one can catch, this same one … Continue reading
Listen, with eyes wide shut; snow flakes dripping the sound in a dark street, morning the day.
Moon! Moon! Lost amid clouds, naked found in my eyes.
Talking to walls, walking among symbols, heavy symbols that don’t like any talking back, except their joy in punishing. Staring at somber faces that have nothing to exchange; they don’t like exchanging. Running amid despise and prejudice, walking in the … Continue reading
BE free JUST be
I sit here looking at the face of the night unveiled at dawn when the day starts gray before the sun.
THE WEAKness LEAKS of the DARK VOICES weaved on a WEB.
WHEN there is too MUCH to be SAiD THEN say NO THING But BE D e a d ………….quiet………….
There is this requiem of silence this chanting at the edge of nothingness this mundane sound of chaos express hissing its machines a never-ending cry of zombies marching and marching… before the nodding heads of those who care less… This dreadful night gushing from the … Continue reading
Hanging my self as a drying fish under the sun of a cold environment – like a hering who has known the pleasure of swimming the vast ocean; who now lies mute at the taste of the wind, with big … Continue reading
I drink the sands brought by the wind, hitting my face as little bees and needles, I pour water from the well of my eyes, I taste the air around me, the hands of the whirlwind dance with my body … Continue reading
We are United, but not by the States; by our humanity.
The memory of other days dances before the eyes as the branches of evergreens play the wind with the fingers of untamed nature.
De Profundis by Oscar Wilde . . . Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It … Continue reading
From a globally simple perspective, looking at humankind as a whole, it is abjectly immoral what happens to the vast majority of the species – in huge and growing numbers if compared to the pre-modern world. Modern ways of spoliation are much … Continue reading
Life can be more deadly than death itself.
Silently, beauty walks in my sleep like a cat stepping on leaves.
In the island, stepping the sands of revolution, Time calmly came, and looking at my face, said: Hi stranger, I have known you for too long… I know you better than thyself. What are you looking for here? What did you … Continue reading
Like ashes awakening from a final sleep a friendly wind blowing softly lights the fire underneath
Breath, from the bright air, morning one; Step, on the sky, little cloud; Let’s awake the day, as constellations in the night, and be the fresh dew, little naked suns, dancing in the eyes of each other, pure lovers.
Cracked the shell, there lies exposed the soft core, open to the hungry and oblivious world.
This one, in the mirror of this page, does ever stop and look within with the eye that see, for a moment? Does ever feel the inward looking going to the hidden landscapes living behind the camera, per se? Does, this one, taste … Continue reading
Yes, baby, it doesn’t matter how fast one can run, there is no escape from one’s shadow; neither can one avoid to learn whatever life seeds down the pores, the skin, the brain. Wrong, bad, good things, and love, with some … Continue reading
Jalal Barzanji, a Kurdish author and Edmonton’s first Writer-in-Exile, will release his memoirs, The Man in the Blue Pyjamas, in 2011. The memoir explores his time imprisoned under Saddam Hussein’s regime. Photograph by: Ed Kaiser, edmontonjournal.com EDMONTON Jalal Barzanji, … Continue reading