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.
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,
Til the delicate fibers
Of better days shared
I held on so long
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
I spend in retrospection
Like letters sent from the past
I read too late.
We had such moment
Of better days,
To the ever changing landscapes
We throw ourselves off
Cascading like waterfalls
Lost in endless gorges
Never to return,
Surrendering to the ebbs
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
Jeques, 2009. From his poetry collection, “A Traveler’s Soliloquies”
And it’s as if some hands
Switch the whites
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,
Smudge on blue
On cheeks of youth,
On the calm face of heaven.
And then came
Some turmoil to claim
Lost to time.
Like some hands
Just suddenly let go
Of their grips,
Leaves falling from the trees.
Canopies losing their verdant color
Green is naught,
Belonging to distant
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,
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.
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.
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
When half the world is asleep,
The prying eyes of the nocturnal owl
Stay alert for mice dozing undergrownds.
A turtle slowly prowls in a swamp
Disturbing the resting fishes
On the shallow waters.
Somewhere, you are confined
Asleep in your room dreaming.
While I stay awake questioning.
Am I part of your dreams tonight?
Would I take part in your life
When you awake in the morning?
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.
But nevertheless always wishing
That one day I’d stop questioning
And to The deeps I’d just let the fishes
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?
Between the humdrums
Of my routines
I come to you
To give me colors.
Between the monotones
Of my existence
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
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
I run to you
For you are the true meaning of my being.
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.
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 ~
After the blinding
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.
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”