Taming This Tyke's Voice Since 2007

color

Deciphered

.
I once carefully picked
Pieces of letters from my tool box
And put them together
To form words,
Unintelligible.
.
I colored them dabs of meaning
Recollecting from lines
Of misty memories
Playing sad soundtracks
In pastel blues.
.
I put aside
Letters left unused.
They don’t strum
A single cord of sentiments
For now, there meaningless colors
Belonged to the empty space
Of the narratives,
Unintelligible,
That I left pending.

bougainvillea, unfinished drawing from home. Pencil, pen and ink on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2010

.
In my return,
I carefully uncover
Scribblings left unfinished
That I kept in my tool box,
To search for meaning
In the marks that brought back
Misty memories of sadness,
Unfathomed.
.
I traced back the lines
And re-called the thoughts
Behind the colors,
unraveled each pigment
Of the blue-tinged page,
Understood.
.
I carefully re-arranged the words,
Blend the dabs of colors
To find concealed happy hues awaiting to burst
Obscured by my limited understanding,
Emancipated.
.

Bougainvillea, completed drawing in Chicago. Pencil, pen and ink on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2010

.
You are a gift of my careful pursuits,
Transfiguring on the page 
That I patiently waited.
You are the produce from my labor~
.
Like a child to a mother
Hearing the child’s first cry,
Laid on her breast
Feeling the fragile life
Breathing, throbbing pulses
Of veins carrying pieces of her.
.
.
Like you,
Each word,
Each dab of colors,
A reflection of my soul ~
.
A tribute to my mother ~
 .
Deciphered.

"Mamang" and us, her Children(L-R): Nene Irene, Nong Jhuls, Nang Thez, Mamang and me(Jeques)

—–

Happy Mother’s Day to Mamang, my Sisters and all the mothers in the world!

For all the lines that I have written,

And every word that I have spoken,

A piece of me is taken.

For every time I send my greetings,

It is my heart that I am sending.

—–

Jeques, 2010. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies” poetry collection.

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Mind Games and Coloring Books

 

Soar with me to heights unbounded,

Dreams go on and on

Defying concrete fences

Built by customs’

Narrow bounderies.

 

We can fly high and re-arrange stars

Put them to places we want them

Or take them home if we should,

Linger for awhile if we would

We are the law

In the mind games

I would play with you.

 

We’ll assign the stars colors

Give the comets names

Like we did in coloring books as kids

And for a moment we were  the gods

Controlling the the courses of the universe

As we please.

 

I’d like to wake you up

Where the lashes of the forests

Grew unruly,

Where litters are beautiful,

Orderly not good,

And neatness is not known

Under my decorated skies.

"our mirths" oil on canvas 36x36 by Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

I’d swim with you in the ocean

Where nobody drowns

And the raindrops swim with us,

Crown our heads 

Bejeweled with brilliant wreaths

As we emerge in the surface

Sharing mirths.

 

Let me invite you in a repast

From the bounty of my harvest

Where beverages flow no end.

We don’t have to worry

For the banquet replenishes,

And we don’t have to gain weight

For the body regulates itself.

 

Stroll with me in a leisurely walk

Where time freezes to four o’clock

When the sun is friendly,

The wind acquiesce as the crowd consenting,

And the perfumed path we chose

Under the canopy of greens and blooms

Ends in the sea where the sunset

Prepared us a breath-taking show

In the altar of the gods.

 

Let us hold hands

In the silence of the songs

That our hearts sing in unison,

Promising vows of forever

Witnessed by the dances of the dolphins

Recorded  by the ears of the ocean

Encapsulated by the infinite seashells

Strewn in the bed of sands

Of the seashore where our feet

Are planted in the grounds

Of a home we found in each other.

 

If I could have things my way

I would play mind games

And spend coloring books with you,

But if not,

Would you still love me?

 

Jeques, 2010


Better Days

 

We’ve seen better days,

But are now diffused

In colors, in lights

With the passing of time

 As it nears twilight.

I watch waves of parting

As the sun sets,

Recalling, clinging

Til the delicate fibers

Of better days shared

I held on so long

Slip away.

 

Better days hover

In places we’ve been

And things we’ve done.

 

I sigh driving around roads,

Enmeshed in the gossamer

Of memories we left behind

When time knows no bounds

And deadlines.

 

Joyous raptures

I spend in retrospection

Like letters sent from the past

I read too late.

We had such moment

Of better days,

But wasted

To the ever changing landscapes

We throw ourselves off

Unguarded,

Cascading like waterfalls

Lost in endless gorges

Never to return,

Flooding ravines

With tears.

Trickling

Streaming

Flowing

Surrendering to the ebbs

Of destiny

That would empty 

Us to the reservoir of fate

That would bring our union

 To the same end

At the right time

Where dawn of endless lights

And lasting colors

Of better days

Await.

 

—–

Jeques, 2009. From his poetry collection, “A Traveler’s Soliloquies”


White And Blue

 

And it’s as if some hands

Just suddenly

Switch the whites

The blues,

The lights off,

And everything else,

All the other colors 

Blend with black,

Dissolve to darkness;

Blue and white vanish

To shadows of memory.

 

Like white and blue

Of summer fun

Kite flying in my mind,

And then a raging storm came

To claim it

Paper kite dissolves

Never to return.

 

Like paper boats

Sent off to blue ocean,

Wilting to uncertainties.

 

Cotton soft clouds,

Pristine white

Smudge on blue 

Like powder

On cheeks of youth,

On the calm face of heaven.

And then came

Some turmoil to claim

Pristine mirths

Lost to time.

 

Like some hands

Just suddenly let go

Of their grips,

Leaves falling from the trees.

"autumn" pen and colored pencil on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2009
“autumn” pen and colored pencil on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

 

Canopies losing their verdant color

Green is naught,

Belonging to distant

Summer dreams

As green concedes

To the will of the season.

 

Like some hands

Switch all the street lamps off

Just like that,

And the once lighted alleys

Dimmed to fears of uncertainties.

 

White and blue

And all the vibrant colors

Dissolve to melancholy.

 

Would it be nice

To walk the dark alleys unafraid,

Holding hands with someone ~

To catch the falling leaves,

To feel warm around each other’s presence

In the midst of rain;

To watch the kite dissolve to skies of memories,

To sail the seas on paper boats,

Re-live mirths,

Summon lost colors

Celebrate white and blue

 

And to feel safe

Even in black.

The poem is written in memory of my white sony vaio computer, the only thing that stayed and gave me company for the last 3 years, just suddenly went black, and all files gone to untangible memories. My lost made me retrospective of things I lost that I could never re-claim, but my heart is large enough to contain all the memories.

It was total darkness for the past few days, and the leaves are falling outside my window as autumn claims vibrant life from the trees, to give my lost such a gloomy backdrop.

I found company in my new computer, it’s still our getting to know each other stage for now. And oh by the way, my new pc notebook, his color is black.


A Prelude To A Million Dreams

My creative muse prompts me to begin writing on a fresh page as I start a new process of knowing. This is the time of my life when I do things because I feel like doing them. Like, I write because I would like to read my thoughts tangible in words taking form written on pages, so I would get a better grasp of them.

to-the-deeps-0151

Like the damselflies of my childhood, I don’t chase my thoughts anymore now that I’m grown up. My mind, like my palms to the damdelflies, I will open so dreams and thoughts could freely alight to show me their beauty. I will befriend this elusive guests instead of running after them like I did during my reckless youth. Perhaps this way, I could encourage their frequent visits.

"to the deeps" #1, oil on canvas by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

To The Deeps

At midnight

When half the world is asleep,

The prying eyes of the nocturnal owl

Stay alert for mice dozing undergrownds.

."to the deeps" #2, oil on canvas by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

A turtle slowly prowls in a swamp

Disturbing the resting fishes

On the shallow waters.

."to the deeps" #3, oil on canvas, 20x20 by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

Somewhere, you are confined

Asleep in your room dreaming.

While I stay awake questioning.

.#to the deeps" #4, oil on canvas, 20x20, by : Jeques B. Jamora, 2009

Am I part of your dreams tonight?

Would I take part in your life

When you awake in the morning?

.to-the-deeps-010

The night ends

With the owl catching no mice.

The fishes has gone to The deeps,

But the turtle hasn’t reach where ’tis going.

Just like me with my doubts never fading.

."to-the-deeps" #2 and 3

But nevertheless always wishing

That one day I’d stop questioning

And to The deeps I’d just let the fishes

Swim.

"to-the-deeps" #3 and 4

Unhurried thoughts and dreams come pellucid like the reflection of the summer skies on a placid river. I aim to write my thoughts that way: to achieve such clarity. These thoughts, my dreams reflected on pages as I allow the readers to grasp them like viewing the river and the skies on a clear summer day.

But sometimes, words are just ain’t enough. There are thoughts and dreams conceived that come in defined shapes, definite forms and rich colors. So I capture them in sketches. Such thoughts and dreams come alive on pads as my pen and pencil give them skin and the ink give them blood and the images from my mind come throbbing alive in sketches.

But then again, oftentimes, I am haunted by vivid dreams and thoughts that not my pen and the pencil nor the ink are enough to breath them life, to bring them the colors like the coquettish fishes flirting my mind with their exotic dance moves in the river where my mind often hovers. They demand to be born and inhabit the canvas, and only my brush strokes could give them soul, only the pallette could bring to life their hued reflections flickering in my imagination ~

Conspicuous in light and shadows.

This is the time of my life when I am fully in touched with my creative muse and the river of my mind is on its calmest state, where any minute movements are reflected that could stir ripples of dreams, and rapture of colors like the blossoms in springtime. The pages and the pads and the canvas are like the verdant fields where my dreams bloom. They are like the river in my mind where the fishes swim to the deeps in their coquettish dance moves that preludes to a million dreams.

The damselfly is within reach – I am taking time to appreciate his beauty as he hovers and I, motionless wishing the damselfly would soon alight in my palms.

Who says that dreams are black and white?

oil on canvas 20X20 by : Jeques B. Jamora


My Poem

Between the humdrums

Of my routines

I come to you

To give me colors.

Between the monotones

Of my existence

You come

To sing me songs.

Between hazed terrains 

Of my journey

You send me signals

To guide me home.

Between the highs and lows

Of life’s tides

There’s you

To keep me anchored.

Between the infinity

Of things around me

I cling to you

And I feel safe.

Between fears and doubts

In everything I do

My poem

I run to you

For you are the true meaning of my being.


Sunrise On My Pages

I turned off the light for awhile in my nook. My pages went to sleep as I allowed my soul a quiet rest watching the colors lurk in the shadows of my black and white dreams. I needed it. I need the time, I need the moment to clear myself from doubts, to free my heart of fears, to listen to what my soul wanted to say without the forbidding empty page and the blinking curser: Without me writing them.

My soul told me many stories. Inside me are heap of raw thoughts thrown in the junk shop of my heart waiting to be polished to become precious gems that they really are. So now, I allow the sunrise on my pages. It had slept long enough. I need to reconcile with my soul to clearly see its colors and paint the many facets of its hue. I need to listen closely to hear its music and write its songs. I have to give it time like I gave myself time for my worldly needs.

Because if I don’t, what would this life be?

~

Goodbye my eventide, the dawn’s now here.

Your clinging shadows are all behind me,

‘Tis time I face the light I use to fear

To welcome the promises of a new day!

~

I will now fold your comforting blanket,

Which has kept me warm and safe overnight.

‘Tis time I place it back in the casket,

My life’s streams will flow and I should not fight.

~

The morning knocks behind the window pane,

I am enthused to rise from my slumber.

To allow the breezes to ease the pain,

From the yesterdays I still remember.

~

I will open myself like the window.

My body yearns, my eyes long for the light.

I will miss the silence of your shadow,

But I can no longer stay in the night.

~

Farewell darkness my silent confidant.

You know my secrets and heard all my sighs.

Outdoors, my new grounds are turning verdant.

Hello sunrise, would you now end my cries?

~

The poem is an older piece I wrote: “My Silent Confidant” The photograph is a view of the sunrise in Bay-bay, Roxas City, Philippines.

Tomorrow, I will tell you about the fire works and the sleepless city. 


Color Of My Heart

Kleig Lights

.

When the show is over

And the crowds are gone.

After the applause has faded

And alone you stand,

Remember that I would be backstage ~

Waiting.

After the blinding

Kleig lights

Are gone.

—–

 

 

Prayers, Unsaid

.

I pray that you’d never learn to forget,

Even if spaces take away your heart.

I hope tomorrow you would not regret,

When distant places would take us apart.

.

Listen to our melodies, they’re inside your core,

Remember the sweet fragrance of passion.

They will bring back the mirths we shared before,

Like hued photographs in our souls’ vision.

.

I pray that you would always remember,

Even if time erases memories.

I hope tomorrow you’d still keep me dear,

‘Til the time we both conclude our stories.

.

Feel the fine sands in the soles of your feet.

Their tender touch would remind you of me.

Like seawaves to the shores we would soon meet.

To kiss through the salty breeze of the sea.

.

I pray God’s hands would keep us together,

Even if moments pass us by swiftly.

I hope tomorrow would bring forever,

And God’s pure love would bind us endlessly.

—–

Tenacious Heart

.

Tenacity of heart, that’s how I’ve loved you.

Until you are gone, ’til you’re gone. . .

.

Things are sometimes better understood when left

Unwritten, or left undone and remain unspoken.

.

They are immortal not in pages, not in words,

Not in works of my hands . . .

.

They are engraved forever ~

In my heart.

~

“A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and sings it back to you when you have long forgotten how it goes.”

For Writers Island: “Faithful”

http://writersisland.wordpress.com