Poetry of Gonzalinho da Costa

THE MOUNTAIN Climbing is like lifting a weight, hand over hand, using a pulley. Marathoner in a trance, you ascend rapidly as time...

RAIN Rain is pushing fingers into the soil, murmuring like winnowing rice. Daylight grays perceptibly. Water twisting down roof ...

SILENCE I’ve begun to realize that you can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all its own.— Chaim ...

YOU ARE MY BROTHER I saw you dirty, sleeping in the street, Your dry hide, carbon smudged ancient pottery, Your fingernails, blac...

SEMANA SANTA The time of year when the world Transforms into the inside of a tin can Cooking in the noontime sun Is when Jesus ...

Recently, I added to my file of favorite poems “Manunggul Jar” by Luisa A. Igloria, first published in Mud Season Review, Issue 16 (Januar...

Hot fresh bread… Hot fresh bread, breakfast time: Fragrant, not a flower, Warming, not a fire, Lively, not a flame, Soothing,...