Rudy Francisco

My sis shared this and I just had to, it was so good.

June Too Soon

Source

It was a brisk
January morning
Where the sun was
Warming the air still cool
From the night before,
But still it did not
Warm the chill in me.

I sat across from
The doctor in his office.
The fourth doctor,
As I was not satisfied
With the opinions of
The three doctors before him.

The expression on his face
Was grave,
The appropriate term for
What he was about to tell me.
With a voice devoid of any emotion
But sympathy, he told me
That my cancer was in
The advance stages,
And I have up to June
To live.

I suppose I was in shock
Or some zombie like state
Of acceptance which allowed me
To act normal and make my way home.

At home,
I cried and cried and cried
Until all my tears were spent,
And all that was left was
The silent, dry, body wracking sobs.
They too were spent
And were replaced by a deep slumber.

The next morning,
I awoke embraced in a sense
Of calm, that was equal
To the stillness of the surface
Of a quiet lake.
In that calm, I was resolute,
In that calm, I chose to live.
I chose to live.

In the weeks that followed,
I forgave my enemies,
And asked for their forgiveness.
I told my friends and family
How much I loved and appreciated them,
That even when I pass on,
My love for them will remain.

In the months that followed,
I lived!
I climbed mountains,
I dove in oceans,
I fell from the sky
Like a fallen angel.

In the months that followed,
I ran with the bulls,
I danced the samba
In the Brazilian Carnival,
I saw the Northern Lights
And a polar bear.

In the months that followed,
I ate good food,
Drank good wine
In the company of good people.

In the months that followed,
I laughed.
I laughed till I cried.
I laughed till no more sound came.
And my face held a constant
Smile.

Soon June came,
Then July,
Then August,
Then the other months,
But I didn't care because
I was living.

By August, two years later,
I had lived my life
Completely.
I did all I wanted to do,
I saw all I wanted to see,
And it was only
When I was done living
That I allowed myself to die.

On the last day of August,
Two years later,
I died.

June was too soon,
But August, two years later
Was far enough for me.

Moments

The rain fell
At a 45º angle
And I watched it
As I lay under my covers.
My bed was right
By the window.

There was no where else
I wanted to be,
This place, right here
Is where I'm supposed to be.

Feeling the coolness
As I touched the window pane,
And relishing the warmth
That embraced my body.

The rifts of some melody
By Duke Ellington
Plays lazily through
My room and I savoured it
Like a glass of Pinot Grigio.

Just at that moment,
A ray of sun cuts through
The clouds creating
A mini rainbow, I exhale
Completely.

How sweet it is,
Moments like this
Are meant to be experienced
In their entirety,
Uninterrupted.

Moments like this
Are like a glass of fine wine,
A chunk of perfectly aged cheese,
A dish made with love,
And a hug,
You hope never ends.

The thing about moments like this
Is they have to end.

If they lasted forever,
You will never appreciate them.
The moment passes,
Becoming a sweet memory
To be savoured over and over,
And to serve as a reminder
That moments like this
Exists.

So this moment ends
With Mi Amour rousing
From his slumber and
With that end,
A new moment begins.

New Challenge

I'll be honest, I've been missing my weekly challenge, so I returned to my source, Alice's blog on My Modern Met and went searching. It was not my first time, but nothing was hitting me as a series I would have wanted to do until Monday I saw this and I had to do it. Here is the info from the blog post

Call it daring, dark, dramatic and even haunting. Just don't call it unoriginal. This is the work of Rocco Ancora.

Popular Photography just released its list of their Top 10 Wedding Photographers of 2011 and it included the talented Melbourne, Australia-based photographer. Pop Photo calls the ten the "best in the business," chosen for their art of creativity, adventure and individualism. "For decades, wedding photography was stilted and conventional," says Aimee Baldridge, editor of Pop Photo. "But recently, an adventurous spirit rising in both couples and photographers has shifted the rules. Individuality is now key, whether that means bringing in landscape photography techniques, photojournalism or hipster style. No matter how edgy they may be, though, wedding photogs still need to get a shot of Nana dancing with her 7-year-old grandson."

Out of the ten, what drew us to Rocco Ancora's work was that his photos looked like paintings. This is, of course, on purpose. “I draw a lot from Renaissance art and Pre-Raphaelite paintings, and from Rembrandt and Vermeer,” he explains. “I’m fascinated by the way they used light.”

Ancora's distinct style has been called classical and romantic. In addition to paintings, his photography is also inspired by old films from the '40s and '50s (like in the film noir genre).

Here are a few pics:

 

Why do I want to write poetry to these images? To me they are beautiful, I love the rich colours, I love how the photographer made the imagery look like it was painted. I love the drama and how it creates a story and I have a soft spot in my heart for film noir. I truly look forward to this challenge and I hope you enjoy the poems I come up with.

Spoken Word - PorKae

Give Me A Break

source

"Give me a break!!"
That was the last thing
He said before going
Into a diatribe of
How incompetent I was,
How useless a person I was,
How I was a waste of space,
A waste of flesh and bone.

Me!?!
I was a waste?!?!
Was I waste of when
I took his kids to the movies,
Made sure his wife got flowers
On her birthday,
Valentines, Mother's Day
And their anniversary?

If it wasn't for me,
That same wife would have
Found out about Gina,
Amanda, Doris, Svetlana
And that one drag queen
He thought I didn't know about.

I practically ran this office
While he's out playing golf,
Or having 3 hour lunches
That turn into drinks
And then "business dinners".
If there wasn't a picture of him
In the office, the staff would
Have forgotten what he looked like.

All of that was forgotten
Because I forgot that
On Wednesday, he liked
Frappuccinos instead of
Cappuccinos, his drink of choice.

Give him a break?!?
No problem!

In the middle of
His diatribe,
I placed the paperwork
He had to review and sign
On his desk,
Did an about turn
And left his mausoleum of an office.

At my desk,
I removed every piece
Of my personal effects,
And backed up all my personal files,
Then made my way to the elevators.

It was there
The boss found me.
"And were do you think you are going?"
He asked, a volcano ready to explode.

The elevator doors opened
And I stepped in,
Staring him in the eyes,
With a polite smile, I said,
"Why, sir, you said,
And I quote,
'Give me a break.'
Well, sir, enjoy your break."
The elevator doors closed.

Be careful what you ask for,
You just might get it.

Passion by Joekenneth Museau

'Passion' (Spoken Word) from abstractElements on Vimeo.
'Passion’ the spoken word piece by Joekenneth Museau. Also check out The Passion Project.

Honestly speaking, I don't have anything to say, I'm speechless.

My Madness

wehearit

May I introduce you
To my madness?

It sits over here
By the phantom piano
That plays and plays
Some lost composition
Of Bach, or is it Mozart?
I forget.

Right here,
Sitting like an obedient child
Who waits patiently
For a turned back,
A distracted guardian,
To run crazily through
The rooms of my mind,
Tipping and tossing
Precious memories,
Fragile relations
Till Nothing is left but
Ruins.

I should scold it,
Lock it away
Deep in the reptile brain
With a pill and a tablet
As locks.

And yet,
This same madness
Had brought me closer
To the creative,
It has been the gatekeeper
To the land of words aplenty,
Concept joined together
To create something bordering
On beautiful and genius.

No, this madness is not
Some wayward virus
That steals my health
And sobriety like some
Dastardly cat burglar,
This madness is as much
A part of me as my leg,
My arm, my head, my heart.
This madness makes me
The person who stands before you.

So, come now, sir and madam,
Allow me to introduce you to
My madness.

Oh, Release Me

Oh, release me,
Father of shadow and light
Into the quiet dream
That beckons me.

Release me,
So that I may fly
Towards the sun.

Do not hold me back,
Do not tell me stories
Of those who have
Taken flight, long before
I was a shadow in the mind.

I care not that they
Had fallen,
Had burnt,
Had died,
Had never returned.

That was their story,
And this is mine.

In my story,
I flew up and up
Till I touched the sun.
It did not burn me,
Nor did it kill me,
Letting me fall from the sky.

It embraced me,
It welcomed me to its home
And taught me all it knew,
It taught me how to shine.

In my story,
I fly to the sun
And learn to shine.

Oh, release me,
Father of shadow and light,
Release me
So that I may fly to the sun,
So that I may shine.

You Inspire Me

You inspire me.

You inspire me to dance,
Swaying my hips
From side to side,
Absorbing the rhythms
Of my heart,
Of the drums,
Of the oceans,
Of the beating of the wings
Of flies,
Of life.

You inspire me to laugh,
Not the dainty giggle,
Or the titter of gentlewomen,
But the large honking laugh,
Followed by snorts and
Silent heaves where sound
Has been exhausted
And all is left is the sweet silence
And the expression of mirth.

You inspire me to love,
Not the love between
A man and a woman,
A parent and a child,
A friend and a friend,
But the love that is universal,
That embraces you like
A lost friend, and whispers
Words of acceptance,
Of worth, of value, of importance.
A love that is unique because
It comes from within.

You inspire me to think,
To accept that my thoughts
Are weighty like anvils
And that is truly the strong
Who are willing to think and
Carry the weights of their thoughts
When others would toss
Them aside and choose to
Not think at all. Still I choose
To think.

"Who is this you?" they would ask.
This you who I give all this praise.
Is it God?
Is he a prophet?
Is it a saint?
Is it some entity that has yet
To have a name?

Truth be told,
The you I speak of is man,
Not one man or one woman,
But all men and women,
As a species we have come so far,
Done so much,
Been so far,
Be it out to space,
To the depths of the earth,
To the depths of our imagination,
Mankind has inspired me
To be more human.

I Find

Sometimes,
In the space of time,
In a room
Cooled by the artificial,
I yearn to write.

To put pen to paper,
To stroke the keys
Of a keyboard
And let words
Stretch from my mind
Into the ether.

Oh,
Heavy heart that believes
Itself incapable of linking
Words together and release
Ideas as poignant and relevant
As speeches of kings and presidents.

Still it is capable,
Capable of transmitting passion
To my mind, or is it
My mind transmitting passion
To my body.

A passion that allows me
To write tomes upon tomes
Of thought, original thought,
My thought.....

A passion that drives me
To scale large mountains
And fall from the heavens.

A fallen angel, I am not,
A good devil, I may be,
Better to be bad and choose
To be good, than be good
And crave to be bad.

With great effort,
I pull from my soul,
These words and
In their existence
I find beauty....
I find release .....
I find me!

Cotton Candy Flavoured Tears

I've decided to spice up Fridays. For those under the age of 18, look away. Although, I suspect some of you under 18's know more than I do. All the same, look away.