Poem: “I Have a Friend”

(Photo property of FBC, Omnia Caelum Studios València)



I have a friend that does some amazing things,

I’ll tell you.

He’s been to many so places I’ve never seen,

So says he…

He knows how to fly jets, gliders, helicopters,

he paints like Leonardo, he sings, he sculptures.

My friend drives in reverse, wins the Dakar Rally,

he’s been in outer space and deep in Death Valley.

My friend’s an engineer, doctor and librarian,

solicitor of sorts, expert antiquarian.

He’s climbed Mt. Everest twice in a black tuxedo, only to later go dancing in yellow speedos.

My friend knows how to speak almost every language, he’s been a gourmet chef, sommelier and banker.

He swims with bottle nose dolphins and he’s much faster, he tans with one ray of sunshine and gets much darker…

He’s darker than all the tribes of Kilimanjaro,

and his psychic third eye can see what will be tomorrow.

One day I know he will be a Parliamentarian, Prime Minister, Sultan, King, wisely sectarian,

he knows how to fight and win he’s authoritarian.

Like I said, my friend is quite a grand master, with him I’m never afraid, bored or thoughtful after,

I take him for what he is,

an extraterrestrial,

a super-human of sorts,

never adversarial.

And so this is my good friend and some of the things,

as well as some of the places where he says he’s been.

His rocket-fuled love of life is simply alarming,

and if you meet him I know you’ll find him quite charming.

C.2021, Francis Bravo Cabrera, 26 JUL 2021, Turkey

I Remember Chick Corea



Eighty eight…

Eighty eight brought to life by ten,

ten that sometimes linger,

and sometimes fly over fifty two white, and thirty six black…

From deep in the brain in strange neurones, rise rhythmic and tonal synapses, that turn written notes, carefully arranged and crafted, into a wave of quick phrases,




That’s how he played,

he, the master,

whose mind, filled with music, created songs twice, one, on a pentagram wisely, two on the stage with the boys…

Chick Corea…

In my world filled with Jazz, you’ll always be near, as near as your piano can teach me, as near as your songs can inspire.

In eternity I know you are writing a song, and then with those blessed strong ten,


(As a lover of Jazz I was, am and always will be a great fan of Chick Corea. Requiescat in Pace)

C.2021, Francis Bravo Cabrera, 25 JUL 2021, Turkey

Poema: A ti holgazán

(Foto propiedad de FBC, Omnia Caelum Studios València)



Son muy oscuros tus versos, no me los cuentes jamás, pues en ti, holgazán, no he encontrado talento ni paz.

Que miserables tus sueños, guárdalos lejos de mi, no quiero que contamines mi entorno con cosas tan vil.

Por culpa tuya y de otros, muy similares a ti, peligra ahora nuestro mundo, mientras que tu te emborrachas y luego a dormir.

Sigues a guarros y a chungos, politiqueros del mal, que te seducen con frases que tu mente inútil no sabe juzgar.

Tienes el poder que todos, tenemos para sanar, a nuestra tierra del lodo que dejan estos mamarrachos del mal.

Pero tu en vez de votarles a los que buscan el bien, le votas a los idiotas que te han sonreído y te susurran -ven-.

Si por mi fuera, lo juro, no te dejara ni hablar, tampoco a los como tú, sin educación, sin juicio y sin propiedad.

No somos todos iguales, en la viña del Señor, no es lo mismo el que lucha y se educa y que curra, a un gamberro soez que todo lo hace mal.

Así que ahoga esos versos, que le dedicas a quien, no tiene alma y merece bien ser olvidado por siempre, ¿no ves?

No ves, menudo ignorante, no ves que eres la razón, del sufrimiento de tantos, canalla sin alma, negro corazón.

Así que coge tus sueños, márchate lejos de aquí, ya sobran los cachondeos, no nos hacéis falta largaos ya de aquí.

C.2021, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 24 de julio de 2021, Turquía


(A new wave of protests: Cubans seeking freedom from tyranny)



These streets no longer dance with wild emotions, they’re asphalt and corruption, I see rusted antenas, rusted smiles and rotted teeth and bad building construction…

The tears climb up the cracked, old walls, like sad dry bougainvilleas, as hope dives into makeshift rooms to break bred with bacteria…

The future here took sails on rafts and left a cemetery, deep in the bottom of the sea, far from a helpful remedy.

A despot tyrant rules their hearts and souls, controls their destiny and weakened bones, and all a dissident can do is to beg for his clemency…

There is no bright, big, shining sun, to greet them every morning, there is instead a black cold ray of misery and mourning…

This was a land that flourished, once a thriving, happy place, that many thought was paradise, a smile upon their face.

But power is an evil that overrides compassion, a darkened soul took firm control and prohibited reaction.

So all I see is broken dreams that form a virtual prison, where those forgotten and ignored seek somehow a new vision.

This is the Cuba that you’ll see, if by chance you choose to visit, don’t let the smiles and dancing feet confuse your intuition.

Those that you come across that dance and sing before you, will cry alone when you go home, without a slice of comfort.

The bright, strong, yellow, warming rays of Father Sun are an illusion…

In Cuba the sun’s rays are cold and black, and seemingly atrocious.

And so the streets that once did dance,

and laugh,

and sing,

now thanks to the evil communists, can only sigh and weep.

(This is the Cuba I saw when I visited back in 2016, it is much worse now. Cuba was the “pearl of the Antilles”, a thriving, vibrant land whose economy and lifestyle was akin to countries like Italy and far surpassed ours, (Spain), up until 1959. Then a dictator, disguised as a saviour, took over and turned Cuba over to the Soviet communists. This “Judas”, Fidel Castro, then proceeded to steal everything from the Cubans and enslaved them in his tropical brand of Marxism-Leninism and the result was poverty and misery, repression and a complete loss of freedom. Now Cuba is ruled by the Cuban Communist Party. It is a totalitarian dictatorship that allows no dissenting voices to be heard. So if you are intending to go to Cuba, know that whatever you will get, whether mojitos on the beach at Varadero or daiquiris in the Keys, it is because everyday Cubans have been bled for their slave labour so the government can make tourists happy. You are not visiting a country but a prison whose wardens have provided areas of comfort for foreigners but where Cubans cannot go. I have been trying to speak out about the atrocities of the Cuban government every chance I get since I came back from my one and only visit. I do hope to return when Cuba is communism-free!)

Poem: “When I Was Young”

(Photo property of FBC, Omnia Caelum Studios València)


When I was young in the mountains, I’d climb so high I could see, to the south an endless train, to the north, Cantabric Sea…

I dreamt of crossing that ocean that to the west shone so bright,

and one day I did set sail to my outrageous delight.

With little more than a dollar, within my pockets I brought,

because I packed my strength and my knowledge, and energy that marked my youth.

And I saw land there before me, Manhattan waiting for me,

and one huge statue that held her torch, so bright for all eyes to see.

In years and fully adapted to those American ways, I joined her army and fought to keep out the communists filled with hate.

And now I sit and I wonder, how pure were those simple times,

And in my mountains again I look out into such different sights.

Manhattan’s far yet remembered, Miami I loved I’d say ,

but Spanish soil is wherein my body, arranges its DNA.

So I look out from my mountains, to the east, south and the west,

I sailed the seas and now I’m relaxing, where I feel I’ll do my best…

C.2021, Francesc Bravo Cabrera. 22 JUL 2021, Turkey

Poema: “Gracias a Dios por València “

(foto propiedad de FBC, Omnia Caelum Studios València)

Gracias a Dios por València, tierra que bien me ha acogido,

he aprendido su lengua sonora, costumbres y ahora, le debo y le escribo.

Le escribo versos que digan que su sol mediterráneo, lo llevo dentro del alma, del corazón y del cráneo…

Pero mi sangre del norte echa de menos la lluvia, y el fresco verde del viento que viene de mis montañas.

Mi abuelo nació en Asturias y fue marino de España,

navego mares lejanos y logró forjar su hazaña,

de hacer crecer su familia, asturiana, fiel y humilde,

que ahora a València agradece por su perfecta acogida.

Pero soy un ciudadano, del mundo que me rodea,

esa es la patria que amo y sin menester bandera, ando senderos del mundo, como el viento, donde quiera, libre fluyo como el agua, traigo amor a quien me espera.

Gracias València del alma, eres bella, alegre, buena,

en tus aguas cristalinas, de tu azul Mediterráneo, baño mis penas y luego, con un vermut en los labios,

me inspiro y busco mi canto.

C.2021, Francesc Bravo Cabrera, 22 de julio de 2021, Turquía


(Photo property of FBC, Omnia Caelum Studios València)



My infancy I spent on sandy beaches when, it seemed to me that summer would be endless.

I’d chase after a crab, much too fast to grab, then once more in the water I’d be splashing.

My house was on a hill with views I can see still, that looked out to the sea while cool soft breezes, refreshed our tangerines, allowed for sweeter dreams, to bless our nights of paradise existence.

My youth? Happily spent, where sunny rays were sent, to bronce our skin and lighten our long days, of lounging in the sand, yet knowing that we can, dive in the cool, clean waters, our Mediterranean…

Our Mediterranean, mother culture,

giver of life,

of warmth,

of history,

I sail now on your waters and I think of all the others that you’ve welcomed in your home and given plenty.

So my summer song will be, an anthem to the Sea, that gave me inspiration and intention, to thank God for this land, where sandy feet now stand, and raise a toast to you Mediterranean…

C.2021, Francesc Bravo Cabrera, 22 JUL 2021, Turkey