JaZzArt en València

I heard the chanting voices of Babel,
and memories surfaced of the days
when I painted green the shadows of Manhattan.
I had once painted skyscrapers in your garden,
and wondered if this island was our shelter.
Will we sink our raft of dreams?
Can we still swim?

Destiny’s siren’s song lied to us and lead us far from home.
Time’s reclaimed the past and we forgot our loves.
Where they real. the memories?
Or old tattoos?
Was it just a pleasure cruise we took on hope’s tall ship?
The one Manhattan’s rocky shores destroyed?
Did the East River’s winds rip through her sails?

Whatever happened to the days when we would sail upon dry leaves
that floated carelessly in the autumn wind?
Whatever happened?
Now as I step upon the sky filled with the fading shadows of home,
I am amazed at how they cast such skyscrapers
over those green pines, cedars, and oaks.

And I no longer hear the tearful voices that in Babel sang, perhaps, a song of praise.
I now wait for the sun of Indian summers in the pouring rain,
‘cause blood and skin burns with the light of dawn and I fear the pain…

There are no islands in Manhattan’s seas to shelter one from storms.
No siren ever graced these rivers that caress that ancient rock
where nightly lie forgotten drunks.
The old tattoos of sailing days have faded
in the midnight sun of brighter days,
And sad words fly in autumn’s winds ‘cause all the leaves have blown away.
.
So let us reminisce and raise a glass of chardonnay,
under the brilliance of that woman on the bay,
and pretend that this is home, here, ‘neath the earth,
where hide the shadows of the steel and glass trees of the city.
We smile, for we’ve another bottle to uncork
amidst the memories, lights and the green shadows of New York…

C.2024, Francisco Bravo Cabrera – 04 May 2024 – Valencia, Spain

¿Quien jugó contra nosotros?

I heard the chanting voices of Babel,
and memories surfaced of the days
when I painted green the shadows of Manhattan.
I had once painted skyscrapers in your garden,
and wondered if this island was our shelter.
Will we sink our raft of dreams?
Can we still swim?

Destiny’s siren’s song lied to us and lead us far from home.
Time’s reclaimed the past and we forgot our loves.
Where they real. the memories?
Or old tattoos?
Was it just a pleasure cruise we took on hope’s tall ship?
The one Manhattan’s rocky shores destroyed?
Did the East River’s winds rip through her sails?

Whatever happened to the days when we would sail upon dry leaves
that floated carelessly in the autumn wind?
Whatever happened?
Now as I step upon the sky filled with the fading shadows of home,
I am amazed at how they cast such skyscrapers
over those green pines, cedars, and oaks.

And I no longer hear the tearful voices that in Babel sang, perhaps, a song of praise.
I now wait for the sun of Indian summers in the pouring rain,
‘cause blood and skin burns with the light of dawn and I fear the pain…

There are no islands in Manhattan’s seas to shelter one from storms.
No siren ever graced these rivers that caress that ancient rock
where nightly lie forgotten drunks.
The old tattoos of sailing days have faded
in the midnight sun of brighter days,
And sad words fly in autumn’s winds ‘cause all the leaves have blown away.
.
So let us reminisce and raise a glass of chardonnay,
under the brilliance of that woman on the bay,
and pretend that this is home, here, ‘neath the earth,
where hide the shadows of the steel and glass trees of the city.
We smile, for we’ve another bottle to uncork
amidst the memories, lights and the green shadows of New York…

C.2024, Francisco Bravo Cabrera – 04 May 2024 – Valencia, Spain

“Para que el cielo se refleje en el mar tiene que haber luz, útil y clara, aún en la noche. La luz que se nos ha dado es para que siempre la aprovechemos.”

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“For the sky to be reflected in the sea there must be light, bright and useful, even in the night. The light which has been given to us is meant to be used for our benefit.”

Bodo Vespaciano

ON ROLLER SKATES

He was born on roller skates

I don’t remember the exact date

but it must have been one summer long ago,

he grew up as fast as light,

learned to think and learned to fight,

on a summer breeze so very long ago.

He left crumbles on the road,

never carried any load,

but he always had a place that he called home,

struggles? Sometimes, sometimes no,

wasn’t much he didn’t know,

but he never could resist the urge to roam.

Summer’s heat and winter’s rain,

fighting hard to beat the pain,

life ain’t easy when you swim against the flow,

shelter’s rare and hard to find,

when you’re odd and misaligned,

and you’re looking for the northern winds to blow.

Death came easy,

death came fast,

rest for weary bones at last.

As his ashes floated past my eyes of green,

a thought crossed through my head,

wondered which books he had read

to become the character he’s been.

‘Cause I’ve seen him everywhere,

lonely wonderer sans care,

a million stories of his life and crimes.

But him I did know very well,

yet his name I’ll never tell,

‘cause his memory’s forever in my mind…

C.2024, Francisco Bravo Cabrera/01 JUL 2024/Valencia, Spain

“Even to your old age…I am he…who will sustain you…and I will rescue you”
(Isaiah 46:4)

Although my back’s not as straight any more,
and I don’t walk quite as quick,
I am still what I was,
though my hair’s not as thick…

In fact it’s all gray
with soft traces of white,
and I’ve left my beard grow,
I must look quite a sight…

Although every morning I sit
and I read my newspaper,
by the end of the day what I
read I can barely remember…

Every day, more and more, I see ghosts
In the streets,
Are they friends from my youth,
These strange phantoms I meet…

Yet I spend hours now thinking
of those that have left,
remembering places
feeling most bereft…

And now I don’t wander too far
from the house,
my eyesight betrays me,
my knees may give out…

I am lonely, quite tired,
and longing for rest,
fearful of eternity,
alone in my quest…

And in silence and truth
I pray to your ears,
I hope you will hear me,
I hope you are near…

Even when I am old and gray…I (will) declare your power…to all who are to come.
(Psalm 71:18)
(C.2024, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 09 JUL 2024, Ilica, Turkiye)

FEATURES en VALENCIARTIST ya ha comenzado. Esperamos que os unáis a nosotros y también que disfrutéis de los poetas, escritores, artistas y más que en la serie veréis. Los protagonistas serán entrevistados y además publicaremos sus biografías y muestras de sus trabajos artísticos.

Aquí va nuestra cordial invitación para que todos participéis.

Si eres poeta, escritor, artista o te dedicas a alguna de las bellas artes, puedes ser protagonista de FEATURES. Para unirte, solo tienes que responder a esta publicación con tu dirección de correo electrónico para que podamos ponernos en contacto contigo con la información necesaria.

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FEATURES on VALENCIARTIST has begun. Hope you join us. And we certainly hope you enjoy the poets, writers, artists and more which will be featured. All protagonists will be interviewed, a bio and samples of their work for your delight will be included.

We cordially invite you to join! If you are a poet, writer, artist or are engaged in any of the fine arts, you can be a protagonist of FEATURES. To join all you have to do is reply to this post with your email address so that we can contact you with the information necessary.

CHEERS

Political assassinations have probably began when politicians began exposing themselves and their ideas before the public. I cannot think of how many emperors, kings, satraps, and other political leaders have been assassinated throughout history. From Julius Caesar to JFK and now to the attempt on Donald Trump, assassins, or would-be assassins, have decided that their way was the way of getting rid of a leader and have taken their best shot.

I don’t agree with them, but it does not matter, it is part of history and one cannot change the course of history. Recently we saw the attempted assassination of the Slovak Prime Minister and not too long ago (2021) we saw the murder of Haiti’s president, to name just a couple. And now Trump becomes the target. Ironic…

Trump, who thinks everyone in the US should own whatever type of gun (firearm) they want, no restrictions, who is heavily endorsed, and financed by the NRA, who has incited so much violence and created such divisions throughout the US, now becomes the target of a lunatic, twenty year old, with an AR-15 assault rifle. A man with no regards for human life for he fired at least eight rounds into the crowd, lamentably killing one man.

There is no condoning the barbarous act of cowardice committed by this young, would-be assassin. However, one has to think that his would-be target, who has espoused hatred, has offended his rivals and many, many others, has dehumanised immigrants and demonised political opponents, might also stir up the same sentiments in someone completely on the other side of his politic and of sanity.

People look for motives, but motives for crimes are not important in criminal law. This shooter committed a grievous crime and whatever motive he had is really not that important. What motive can rationalise such a brutal act?

CHEERS