Friday, May 15, 2015

New York in November

Dedicated to Louise Cabral Jackson

A beautiful lady enters the lobby Of the Waldorf Astoria.
And it is you. You stop to look at the grand chandelier
And the black and white prints of a golden era.
Sparkling pearls and beaming smiles
Frame the walls, stolen moments captured in time
Such as flawless Gershwin tunes Serenading old lady Manhattan.
You carry yourself gracefully,
Hand in hand with me, your adoring wife

As champagne on ice awaits us, Early days in our charmed life.
Mahogany lifts and fur coats
The forty-first floor overlooks Tall skyscrapers and neon lights
As the full moon rises above the Hudson.
We lovers smile and our reflections dance
In long corridors with mirrors
Past bellboys and tipping waiters;
Caught in our perfect dreamland.

We are enticed by New York
Guess handbags, Borders and Tiffany’s
And the company of its gentle giants,
And the shores of Ellis Island. You pause again to take it all in
The constant hum of yellow cabs
The season’s bells and Broadway shows,
Pretzel vendors and Times Square.
It’s Macy’s Parade and Thanksgiving Dinner,
We walk past the animated crowds,
From the sinuous streets of Chinatown
To the grandeur of Park and Madison Avenues.
We stand on Terrace Bridge Amongst the fallen leaves in Central Park.
As runners and carriages and tired horses go past
And the city breathes, air filled with promises.

The city has known many fates
Of highs and lows, much given and much taken
Of lovers and warriors, of hopes and broken dreams.
And yet she still stands proud, unshakable.
You befit the city my love
As you are kind as you are beautiful
Pale blue eyes which smile with so much love
Nurturing and wanting, forever in mine captivated.

Janete Cabral-Jackson

Saturday, January 10, 2015



The chair rocks back and forth,
Wooden floors creak keeping pace
As the fresh breeze picks up,
And the first leaves sweep the porch.
The colours of summer are fading
Into brilliant red and yellow tones,
As dark skies of rain threaten in the distance.

The fields have been harvested
And plot-by-plot the farmer plots the land.
Fresh soil unearthed carrying the wishes
Of new hope and abundance.
This is the year, the farmer whispers
As a tear rolls down the hardened cheek,
I will be able to provide for us all.

The house stands alone,
The windows rattle in the wind,
And an old woman waves back.
The smell of fresh coffee fills the air
As she sets the table and reaches for her journal
These are the words you will read one day,
Before time erases them.

She has lived through it all.
The love, the losses, the uncertainty of our times
Still I would do it all over again,
Her frail hand spells, no regrets.
She smiles as she puts the ink to rest.
Autumn is here, time to lit up the coal fire
And step into this secret world of dreams.

Janete Cabral-Jackson Copyright 2003-2015

Monday, July 14, 2014

The sea by Janete Cabral

I have been writing poetry for a long time, but I have always been shy of reading it to friends and strangers alike. And I certainly do not like the sound of my own voice. However there is always a first, so I thought I would place it here. I used some footage and photos I took whilst sailing the South Pacific Ocean. Hope you like it.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Paris in March

Dedicated to Louise Margaret Jackson

The bells toll in the high sun
As gentle waters of the Seine
Bathe the old cathedral of Notre Dame.
The large Rose window invites us in,
Amongst candlelight and incense;
And whispers of old, wandering souls.

The cold stonewalls are lined by statues
Of Saints, Green Men and ivy.
Promises and prayers, as pilgrims to and fro,
In traditions of new and old,
In this eternal play of light and shadow.

Then a sudden turn
And the purple light blinds us.
There is so much love in the detail,
It just takes our breath away.
And in that moment, I want to hold your hand.

We walk the spiral stairs
To the dizzy heights in the crisp air,
Overlooking the ancient city,
Guarded by giant gargoyles and lost chimeras.
There is a serene calmness, which guides us
As there is not much need for words,
Such is the comfort in knowing
It will stand against the test of times,
Always elegant and strong, above the skyline.

And so in the lazy afternoon
We find ourselves in its shade
In the dusty courtyard, amongst lovers
And passers by, dreaming of a different life
And what it would be like; and you my love,
The keeper of Notre Dame.

These are languid times
And we do not want to leave.
So we follow the bridge to a nearby café,
Sitting by the window as the white wine is poured,
And the palate meets the light taste of soft bread and fromage.

Night is falling with such ease,
There are brandy glasses and red velvet chairs,
Verdi’s Opera and Champagne coupes
And the opening night of Luisa Miller.

Such is the lyrical chant of voices past
As I sit, in rapture, by your side.
Stealing a look, unseen, as I watch you
Beautiful and poised in the Paris night.

Street lamps and headlights
Colour the city in this March night.
It still feels cold, and yet I am lost in your gaze
As it meets me halfway, smiling.
The piercing eyes, I am learning to navigate.

Like everything in this city
You seem to know the way.
Leading through the maps and long corridors
Of the Metro and my adoring heart.
I am vulnerable and whole,
And yet caught in your embrace.
And though I have sailed past many ports
In yours I will stay, my anchor, my city of lights.

Janete Cabral Copyright 2003-2011

Sunday, March 16, 2014



Of a need that searches
How to fill the void.
Of the old that nurtures
Both wish and solace.
Of the new that writes
Both real and promise.
Of a presence that teaches
How to miss the real losses

Janete Copyright 2007



That feeds a heart
At loss of a stronger beat

That humbles a life
Grander than its planted seed

That unveils the passion
Behind all blinding truth

Janete Cabral Copyright 2007

Saturday, March 09, 2013

Wedding Day

 Dedicated to Louise Cabral Jackson

On this nineteenth day in November
Early tide washes ashore, as seagulls
Fly past the large bay windows
Of the grand old Midland Hotel.

I watch you sleep, a still beauty
In silk lingerie, peaceful in the quiet hours
As the morning light bathes us whole;
There will be a wedding today.

There is a touch of frost in the balcony
But we dare to venture out in nervous laughter
Looking across Morecambe Bay
To the first of the snows on the hills.

The hours pass and the hairdresser
Sculpts your hair, as we sip Champagne
And speak of black and red dresses,
Ring bearers and long stemmed white roses.

I sit at the edge of the bed
As you kneel beside me gently
Applying the lipstick and foundation
Like a lover and a painter, studying my face.

I pause and close my eyes, overwhelmed,
Taking in each delicate intimate brush
In this play of touch and colours
You my love are the beautiful bride.

A couple of knocks on the door
And friends start to gather with gifts
And sparkling wine flows tempering the nerves
As three o’clock is fast approaching.

The winter sun is high in the sky now
A quick spray of perfume and we are ready.
Walking down the spiral stairs, hand in hand,
Under the expectant gaze of family and friends.

I am caught in a daydream
As the wedding singers play Halo
And we follow the cue to walk in
In this white room filled with so much love and light.

Please wear this ring as a token of my love
And affection, now and always.
I promise to love and care for you
For the rest of our lives together.

 Janete Cabral-Jackson Copyright 

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

As the sentence printed on the cover reads, Paulo Coelho's "The Alchemist" is a fable about following your dream. It is the story of an Andalusian shepherd who decides to follow his dreams after a chance encounter with a Gypsy and a King and the subsequent trail of omens which lead him to his Treasure. They take him from his Spanish home to the markets of Tangiers and across the desert to the Great Pyramids of Egypt.

In his travels he meets those who inspire him to move on and those who have forgotten to listen to their heart. It is a cautionary tale of the dangers of following prey to fear. However this is not a story of bitterness and sorrows but an inspiring and uplifting fable of a man daring to understand his heart. It is in the simplicity and the mystical lyricism of the story that Paulo Coelho's work translates into a modern classic. The theme is universal and knows no boundaries across language, culture or faith. As such it is no wonder that it is has captured so many people's hearts and imagination across the globe.

"So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you."

Monday, March 14, 2011


After one of my shifts, late at night, I decided to try to understand why sometimes I feel very comfortable in some group or work environments, but not others. Why I prefer to express myself in writing, why I put a great deal of thought before actions, why other people's emotions have such an effect on me and why I abhor rules and regulations.

I have done this test before and always score INFP. It has been helpful in understanding, both the good and the bad traits. And although we are individuals and this is just another label, I have found it to be comforting knowing I am not the only odd one out.

This is what they say about the 1% world population that are INFPs:

INFPs are creative, sensitive souls who take their lives very seriously. They seek harmony and authenticity in their relationships with others. They value creativity, spirituality, and honoring the individual self above all else. They are very tuned into inequity and unfairness against people, and get great satisfaction from conquering such injustices. An INFP is a perfectionist who will rarely allow themselves to feel successful, although they will be keenly aware of failures. INFPs also get satisfaction from being in touch with their creativity. For the INFP, personal success depends upon the condition of their closest relationships, the development of their creative abilities, and the continual support of humanity by serving people in need, fighting against injustice, or in some other way working to make the world a better place to be.

Highly creative, artistic and spiritual, they can produce wonderful works of art, music and literature. INFPs are natural artists. They will find great satisfaction if they encourage and develop their artistic abilities. That doesn't mean that an INFP has to be a famous writer or painter in order to be content. Simply the act of "creating" will be a fulfilling source of renewal and refreshment to the INFP. An INFP should allow himself or herself some artistic outlet, because it will add enrichment and positive energy to their life.

Do you know which one you are ?

Click to view my Personality Profile page

Friday, January 21, 2011

"My Reading Life" by Pat Conroy

A little gem has come out recently into our bookstores, Pat Conroy’s “My Reading Life”. For those who are not so familiar with the author you may have read or seen “The Prince of Tides” or “The Lords of Discipline”. The truth is that Pat Conroy’s masterful skill for storytelling has been delighting some of us for many years. So it comes has no surprise that the writer is an avid reader himself and has chosen to share his love of books and the English language with the wider public. As I opened the first few pages of “My Reading Life” it felt very much like sitting down with an old friend and indulging into some secrets of his soul.

Themes such as his Catholic childhood, his relationship with his parents and being brought up on the ever-changing military bases, pervade throughout the entire book. We have much to thank Peg Conroy for instilling her son’s love affair with books. Indeed much of his past is mirrored in Pat Conroy’s writing and there are clear reflections of this in his choices of books as well as in the friendships he forms throughout his reading and writing life.

How easy did I find to follow the steps of Conroy into the “Old New York Bookshop” and revel in what it might have been like to have lived during those literary soirees, or how I wished I could have been part of the influential Gene Norris’ s English class in 1961. It seems only too few of us are lucky enough to have had an educator which can both inspire you and challenge you.

He describes the greats such as Dickens and Tolstoy and other master novelists but his passion shines through when he writes about his emotional connections to the likes of Thomas Wolfe and James Dickey. Writers who have utterly consumed his soul with their art to the point it has changed both the teenage Conroy and the more mature one.

Another chapter, which I found particularly enlightening and honest, was “On being a military brat”. He describes his father’s history of domestic violence, the mask with which the family had to grin and bear and the ultimate pride on being raised “ a military brat” and serving the army.

Upon reading this book I could not help myself taking notes, particularly on writers I had dismissed in the past or simply not heard of. His passion for reading translates in each sentence. And what else could an author ask for, but to have others hold them in such great respect as to trust them to guide their way.

I salute you, Mr. Pat Conroy.

Janete Cabral