Mid-Air: my poem that inspired my daily photo-blog for the month of February, 2012
Mid-Air
(prologue)
The curtain of the night drops.
The howling of the wind
That echoes in the canyon
Cloaked the silence of closure.
Heaven sends its final greeting
In the form of raindrops
Kissing hope
Goodnight.
~
(act one)
Where do I start, or
Did it ever end?
Words left me, or
Was I?
Should I pick up from where I left, or
Simply move by?
Had I left the palette black, or
Was it white, or
Simply the absence of colors ~
My absence.
A temporary recluse,
A self-exile from
My drawing board,
My writing table.
The easel put away,
As I lament
A closure of the page.
A quiet epilogue
Amidst the fading light
And sound Of the rain
At twilight.
(act two)
The heart begins to pound.
A sign of life
Among the rabbles
Like walking dead
With no direction
Lost
(In the dark streets to nowhere)
And found.
Signs of the bread crumbs
Leading home
Are apparent
As the sun breaks
Through the ridges;
Tapering the edges of the shadow.
The sweet mist of last night’s rain
Kissed the deserted page
Where words will begin to form again
Like spring sprouts
That would bring splashes
Of colors
And rapturous sounds
To a heart coming back to life.
~
(epilogue)
Where things end,
And where they begin is undefined.
Where I stopped
And when I begin is not known to me.
Everyday I awake,
I breath.
That’s what I know.
Waiting For The Sign
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Eyes lie in wait ~
Day and night ~
Skies in surveillance
Waiting for the sign
That might be sent
From the future,
As the gentle streams of life,
And the rough currents
Of circumstances
That ever oppose
Mold the pebbles
In the bed of stones
By the river
Adorned by some weeds
Unimportant
Unknown.
Awaiting for some hands
To pick them up.
Awaiting for some great minds
To give them names.
Unaccounted for ~
Remaining like a worthless bead
In the infinities ~
Awaiting for some gifted hands
To weave him
In the precious thread
Of chance, to adorn
Like a pendant
To rest forever
Closest to your chest.
Pick me from the infinities
And carve my fingers
With marks to define my distiction.
Paint my blank facade
With a face
And buy me a name.
Find me in the dunes.
You’d easily recognize me
Among the pebbles.
Look closely
And find in my eyes
Your own reflection:
Waiting for the sign.
The Morning After
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The snow fall frenzy of yesterday rolled to a halt. The clouds reduced to thin layers partially covering the sun; the morning after promises a clear day. The weather seem to illustrate my present state of mind. Yesterday, I presented myself, my works and everything that I dreamed about since I was three to the right audience that understands the artist Jeques and share my passion. Yesterday was an overload of activities I tried to digest – fast-paced – clogging my system and clouding my thoughts unabsorbed but are now starting to make sense. As I gather myself together today, there are things I wanted to write to right things about what I said yesterday, to bring my thoughts to clarity on the page.
Introduction and Art Presentation
About the “Waif”
Let me invite you to a place where a waif resides, in the land that gives his artworks a sense of place.
I am Jesus B. Jamora. My Artist name is Jeques, I am the “Waif.”
This painting best represents me as an artist. The image is a self-portrait of a kid from memory, back in my country where he continue to hover giving this painting a sense of home. The image may look peculiar to most of you, so let me tell you the story behind the painting.
If you’ve ever been to the Philippines or read about it, you would know that my country is an archipelago of more than 7,100 islands. We are literally embraced by the sea. During summer, many tourists flock to our beautiful islands where you would see these children waiting in the ports for foreigners to drop some coins from the ships and they would dive in the waters to claim their prize. I haven’t done that exactly, but I felt a certain connection to these children as an artist, for just like them, I’ve also been waiting, longing, seeking for somebody to give me a chance, for a prize of home like an orphan waiting for his adoption.
Why do I feel like a waif?
I was an artist before I became a seminarian at 12, a nurse at 20, a pharmaceutical medical representative at 22, a boutique manager at 28, and an immigrant nurse at 34. I was an artist, I am. But circumstances left me lost, and strayed. I’ve been to many different fields working many different jobs but I’ve not really had the chance to do the one thing that my heart have always been longing to do. It is my faith that guided me to this path. It is my tenacity that brought me here knocking, hoping The School of the Art Institute of Chicago would open me the door of the chance I seek, to welcome me home so I could finally claim the prize I searched and offer my sense of purpose as an artist.
If I as a nurse could care for physically ill people back to health, I believe the Artist and would-be Art Therapist Jeques could touch lives to bring the tired spirits back to life.
And like a desolate soul, a lonely waif,
I wait for you to find me.
May your travels not take you long,
Come fast and love me.
It was wonderful to have the chance to mingle with many artists of differents ages, coming from different backgrounds, and races and culture; expressing arts in different forms to be one with them, to breath the same air and be a kindred spirit to other beautiful souls wanting to make the difference through our gifts. Each one of us have our individual stories we brought to tell and are our contribution as artists that created the bigger than life work of art event that was. How wonderful it was to have the opportunity to belong, like a single thread with my own unique contribution to the whole creating the colorful tapestry of the moment. For a day, I was home.
Two of the SAIC students made a sample thesis presentation and posted a question: “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and the other asked, : What is your dream. In silence, in my corner of the 122 S Michigan ballroom, my heart answered in whisper:
“THIS IS WHAT I’VE WANTED TO BE AND I’VE ALWAYS DREAMED ABOUT.”
I wish you well, everyone.
~ Jeques
The Day After Tomorrow
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To Dream is one thing, to do something for the fruition of a dream is another.
The day after tomorrow, I shall wake up and be able to tell myself I did something. And for whatever this dream may come, I shall not grow old and regret for not trying. I could face my creator head high and tell Him I never wasted the gift for I tried.
Tomorrow.
An Attempt will be made.
I am ready.
Turn Between Two Voices
I received a text message from my mother early this morning from the Philippines. The ever warm concern in her voice is evident as I read her message half awake, asking me if I’m OK, if it’s safe where I live because if not, she would rather want me home.
What happened to the voice that ever propels me to move forward, why so sudden it calls my retreat? She must have been watching the news lately about some overseas Filipino workers in Libya trying to flee the country in siege and the worsening insurgency situation where many Filipinos are trapped and some are even held hostage in their work place calling for help. But more than that, I understand where the sudden fear of my mother coming: The recent earthquake in New Zealand left our family in deep sadness with my cousin still missing among the rubbles of the CTV building that collapsed during the February 22 Christchurch, New Zealand Earthquake. We are in agony after days of waiting and still with no official confirmation if she’s been found. I feel for my Aunt. I feel for my mother who must be so scared back home thinking of my safety being away from home and alone, which made her send that message calling my retreat to return home.
I replied reassuring her I’m OK and not to worry, and rather asked her to pray that I would do well on the very important event in my journey as an artist on March 5 that would mark my first attempt in trying my chances in the Art field with my scheduled whole day appointment at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago for a group interview. My mother never made me feel she ever doubted what I’m capable of doing even as I was just starting to draw at 3 when she taught me my first art lessons at home drawing flowers. She made me believe at such a young age that my gift could send me somewhere to some doors that would open great opportunities for me. She is the voice that continue to propel me in my journey.
But today, when I read her text message, I am turned between listening to her voice that once fueled my young imagination to reach this doorstep where I am waiting for some hand to open the door for me, and the voice calling my retreat to come home. My will is being tested to move forward or withdraw from the journey I started to trod long ago when she first handed me a pencil and a paper that made me draw my way to this chance within reach.
My mother’s message shows to prove her unconditional love. Love that is not measured by how much accomplishment I take home, for more than anything, she’s more concern of my safety.
The voice of my mother remains a powerful propeller of my journey – it is the voice that sends me to distances trying every chances. But it’s also the voice that could call my retreat to return home.
I wrote this piece to understand the depth of her message. I wrote this piece to reassure my mother I am safe.
Bait
You are always ripples away,
The tides ever
Between us.
Series of hurdles
As it appears in the surface
That this meek soul
Secretly transcends beneath;
Away from the prying eyes
Of predation.
You are designed
For cruel intentions,
That is how the world sees you.
But for the many years
That I followed your lead,
I learned to give your purpose
A different meaning.
I am grateful
To the hands that keep my safety
Disguised in undulation ~
Of the sudden swell of waves between us.
Oftentimes your absence disheartens me,
Scared of losing you to the crest of tides,
But reassured to see you still there
When the morning after
Calms the bubbling surfs,
That in many occasions pushed us apart.
I praise the hands that hold
The mysterious fishing pole
And for chosing you the bait,
And thank time, too,
For helping me understand.
You are the reason
Why I swim the extra laps;
Take another stroke,
No matter how helpless
My frail attempts ~
Against the raging currents ~
Just to be near you.
Reason that I doubt,
The world’s shallow definition
Of predator and prey
Would ever come to comprehend.
Your lead brought me to the deeps,
You are the pivot that draws me to the blue;
A hope that keeps my buoyancy,
And not sink in the ocean,
In the heart of possibilities.
When are you going to consume me?
~
(Follow the lead of your dream, trust the hands that hold the fishing pole and His design where the bait is going to take you. ~ Jeques)
The dragonfly is always been my metaphor in following the lead of my dreams. I used to chase them in the green fileds when I was a kid, like my dreams that I continue to chase as grown up.
—–
Jeques. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies” poetry collection
Into The Woods
~
I advance onwards
Deeper, deeper into the woods.
A search for, an escape from.
To chase, or to run away.
To seek
Deeper, deeper into the woods
To try to understand. Perhaps.
I leave the familiar landscapes
Of my every day roads ~
The street signs,
The white marks, and yellow.
The lamp posts in the corner of the street,
The structures that lined my way
Like the waving of your hands
That used to beacon me home
In my every day travels,
Now fading in the background
After I let go of your grip
That changed gestures driving me away.
Tears clouded my vision
But I need to move forth
Deeper, deeper into the woods.
No turning back.
I left the compass, and the map behind,
Safe in a chest where I keep the memories.
I brought only, an empty pouch
To stock things I would collect
From places unknown,
And strings to bind together
The twigs, and pieces of woods
I come to gather,
As I journey to the territories untamed
Deeper, deeper into the woods.
I am here to forget,
And also to find a place to re-call the past clearly.
To connect the fragmented pieces
Of the quilt of the story
And to toss away what’s not needed.
To find time to sew the vignettes together.
To find out how the complete picture appears
With new eyes, how the story goes
From a different perspective. Perhaps.
Here I am, a woodsman in a modern world,
A hermit in the jungle of people,
Wandering around the untamed highways;
Lost in the towering reeds of concrete and steel
Finding refuge in the man-made caves
That cost me my savings
To pay an over-night stay ~
Even the kindly service tagged with a price. Sigh.
The discomforts I paid to purchase comfort
In my entry to the lush forest of new discoveries
Where some keys are scattered
That would open me new doors of understanding
Deeper, deeper into the woods.
In the grounds of the forest are small packages
Of seeds that encapsule wisdom.
They are gifts of the towering trees
From their fruits that mellowed with time.
They have seen both
The wider view of the lowlands,
And the best view of the heavens.
I am here to collect the seeds
To fill the pouch I carried for that purpose.
From these seeds I wanted to grow another forest
Where another wanderer from onother time
Would collect and sow them again, on and on
I trod deeper,
Deeper into the woods
Picking remnants of beauty of the past
Blending with the modern aesthetics,
Like an architecture
Built along the shore.
The reflection of its glass structure
Captured by the placid lake
At noon time
Create such a lovely contrast ~
Like a bird perched on a metal pole,
The blooms against the skyline,
A fountain in the middle of a busy street,
Like me, a waif in this streets away from home
Trying to blend in the landscape
Gathering woods in the not so common place
For a woodgatherer,
But I have used up my strings
In the bundles of woods of ideas
I gathered, enough to fuel my creations
From here
For you
It is time to return home.
~
—
Jeques, Milwaukee. July 30 to August 1, 2010. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies” poetry collection.
The Woodgather
My state of mind for some time now is like that of a woodgatherer which I mentioned earlier in my previous post. I thought of my recent travels as going to the woods gathering inspiration to fuel my works as I go forth from here.
Last weekend is one of my trips to the woods when I travelled to Milwaukee for the weekend to celebrate my birthday filling my cup with everything that the place has to offer.
Here’s the highlight of my trip . . .
Milwaukee City, over-looking my hotel window (Day 1)
Days Inn Hotel and Suites – the place I stayed is popularly known as Milwaukee’s Hotel of the arts.
Miller Park – Baseball field and sports arena where some of USA olympiads are trained.
Funky Friday boat ride around Milwaukee river and Michigan lake to view Milwaukee’s skyline by the boat. Nice music, great food and refreshing Rhum and cocktails!
The breath-taking view of the Milwaukee Art Museum from the lake – the architect who designed the museum is the same man behind the Sydney, Australia landmark. Notice the similarity.
July 31, my birthday. Bouquet of flowers, why not?!
Breakfast by the lake in Milwaukee Art Museum compound.
The stunning architectural interior design of Milwaukee Art Museum. Notice the details.
View from the outside.
There’s no ugly angle to this building. Every side is picture perfect.
I found an art work that’s parallel to my present state of mind – The Woodgatherer.
A stroll around the museum.
Becoming part of the Arts.
Tour-break in the popular river-walk restaurant. Time to sit back and feed the stomach.
Late afternoon stroll.
Back to the hotel.
The Year I got Two Summers
Summer, again.
Last february and march, I bathed in the sweetest summer sunshine in my country during my home-coming. It was the beginning of summer in the Philippines and my way of cutting short – to escape – the Chicago winter. When I came back last April, it was springtime and the flowers were in bloom.
This year’s seasons came in such a peculiar cycle for me. I had a short cut of winter, had an early summer that came before springtime and now, it’s summer, again! The precious gift of travelling: it could alter time and the seasons. It did for me.
I am spending most of my summer time outdoors. I’m like a beaver gathering woods building dams to enrich myself with the tools I need for my next writings and paintings or like the old adage said, saving for the rainydays. I thought I need a change of landscape in my works. I need to widen my perspective in both my writing and art and the best way to do that is to spend more time outdoors exploring, gathering woods to build new forms in my creations.
I am afflicted once more of the itch to travel. I don’t really need to go far. A simple walk in the lakeshore, or go further in some corners of the park I have not seen, or discovering some green patch in the city where the fresh air is free, or picking wild flowers along the railroad, or driving through the narrow alleys of the city, or going to exotic markets of other immigrants like me, or driving interstate, or exploring and viewing the city from a different angle like I did yesterday going for the breath-taking River and Lake architectural tour of Chicago.
We can’t just sit and write poetry or create arts all the time, sometimes we need to go out and live it, too.
Breath-taking river and lake architectural tour of Chicago.
(formerly)Sears Tower, now Willis Tower.
Closer view of the Willis Tower
The bridges we see in movies that give way to ships.
Water gateway to the great Lake Michigan
Short break at the boat’s cafeteria
The Trump tower and hotel
Jeques, July 26, 2010. Wendella River and Lake Architectural Tour of Chicago.
Fortitude
"Leaf" pen, ink and pencil on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2010
"Leaf 2" pen, ink and pencil on paper by Jeques B. Jamora
My Genesis
~
I delight watching things from their outset,
I am soothe to see the genesis of things.
They remind me of the child, the curious eyes
Ever sparkling within.
I see beauty in simpleness of anything even at their lowly outset,
For they possess the genuine truth of precious purity.
They remind me of my beginnings
Like the water glorybinds(kangkong) growing wild in the marshes,
They bring back memories of the backyards
Of some houses I lived as a child.
Water glorybind, river spinach,swamp cabbage, whatever name you call it, for me its "Tangkong" Pencil, pen and ink on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2010
In some quiet afternoons during my untamed moments,
I would sit motionless in a corner facing the swamp in our backyard
Listening to the soothing sounds, the slightest of movements
In the still water at one o’clock
When the world in my young mind
Takes a nap with my mother on her siesta.
I would sneak out of the house through the backdoor
To celebrate the joy of my earliest found solitude
In the company of nature ~
Befriending the dragonflies hovering over my head,
The birds nestling in the reeds,
The snails petiently taking thier journeys from one rock to the next,
While my mind quietly travels to the unknown future
Interrupted by occasional sightings of the gourami
That stir the still water creating tiny ripples on the surface.
But the highlight of the afternoon is the rare sighting of the mudfish(dalag)
Making that splash and swashing sound and wild movements
In the dense growth of the water glorybinds as it swims back to the bushes of reeds,
Where the water of the marshes is knee deep and the herons(tagak) nest.
That magical moment of brief beautiful chaos tickles purest joy of childhood madness.
Cherished memories from my genesis ~
My earliest form of entertainment: my humble version of television,
Or a theatre; watching a movie or a concert ~ my idea of a grand show
Happening in our backyard in an atypic stage, in a silverscreen of water glorybinds
Where the dragonflies, the frogs, the birds, the gourami, the snails, the herons, the mudfish
Are the stars, and I, their sole audience.
The show ends with the voice of my mother calling my name at four o’clock.
That’s when the curtains drop,
The world wakes up,
As I walk back home to the door of my genesis.
"The Dragonfly and I"
—
Jeques, 2010. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies poetry collection.
Underneath Your Sheltering Canopy
~
Under your sheltering canopy
In the safety of your embrace
Beneath your reassuring grip
Certainty returns.
Like the shadow of the clouds
Passing by on a midday.
Such fleeting moments
Of alternating shadow and light:
Long absence,
Brief presence,
And the silent anticipations in between
Fuel hope, keep the heart pounding
To reach another waiting shade
Along the way
To rest
Underneath your sheltering canopy.
"Portrait of Ethan" Pencil, ink and pen on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2010 ("Ethan" is my Bonsai tree I planted when I was 13, he is now 24 years old).
His Name Is Ethan
Yes, I gave him a name and his name is Ethan.
I was called once to priesthood when I was in highschool, but I was expelled from the seminary after a year. Many are called, they said, but only a few are chosen; I was not. It was my first taste of rejection, and it was how my story with Ethan started.
I mentioned the seminary because I planted Ethan the summer after I was kicked out. I was 13 years old with wings broken. Nobody really cared to listen to my side of the story especially my father. My mother, as always, was there to console me ~ in silence. I was left alone in the corner to leak my own wound to heal. At that lowest point of my life, for a reason that I’m just beginning to understand now, God sent me Ethan to care. I always had some loner tendencies as a kid. That summer and years after that I became withdrawn, misunderstood. Gone was the child full of life, I fell down so low I never thought I could ever rise again.
For more about “Ethan,” please click image below >>>
Hi name is Ethan, 24.
Things Empty
~
Not known, unborn,
Formless ~
Devoid of color ~
Nameless
Shape, undifferentiated;
Meaning, undefined.
Muted thoughts,
Page worthless
Awaiting, searching
Orphaned words
In pariah.
Things empty
Empty
Empty
Emptiness limns
This heart
This hollow chamber
Awaiting to be filled.
"reeds" ink on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2010
Til something in the hollow
Begun to pound
In genial thumps
Of dreams, in black and white
Conceived
In traces of ambiguous outlines
Forming silhouettes
Of things to come
To fill
Things empty
Empty
Empty
Emptiness enfolds
Each tiny drop of hope
Building up to brim, in time.
The progress of time I befriend ~
Each speck in the passage
I give a name
As details unfolds
Now known, alive
In ripe colors
"reeds" pencil, pen and ink on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2010
Shapes defined, forms in certainty.
Words finding voice
Coming home
To the hearth of the longing page
Ending my moments of pariah
Waif no more
And learned.
All the elements in the passage,
Everything about myself
I accepted
Loving things empty
Empty
Empty
Emptiness begets fresh slate
And what’s next.
Now that excites me.
~
—
Footnotes:
I’m half through 2010. The first half of the year was a whirlpool of events for me with things happening fast-paced. In hindsight:
January, 2010 – preparations for my second home-coming which I started to plan in 2008 during my unplanned vacation for my father’s funeral. Ticket booking, pasalubong, sketching itineraries, and above that was submitting my resume to Hospitals I intend to get employment in my return from my grand two months vacation. And then the doubts from getting few calls considering my too long absence before I would be available for work. But I was certain of my priority – I’m going for my vacation, period.
February, 2010 – I didn’t renew my contract with my petitioner/former employer, and submitted my resignation in spite the uncertainty of my job hunting which I temporarily put on hold. February 7 was my last day at work. February 9 was my flight to the Philippines to catch up for valentines day which was part of my itinerary for a surprise Valentines date with my mother.
I only have one thought in mind: “Jump and the net will appear.” I’ve always been a risk taker, at 37 I still am. I just love the adrenaline rush that comes with it.
February to March, 2010 – Vacation, Reunions, Tourist to my own country, sweet moments with my nephews and nieces, memorable time with mamang, bonding with my siblings. Name it, I did everything! I totally shut myself from worries. I lived the moment. I did.
March 16, 2010 – I received an email from the Talent Acquisition manager of the hospital I am currently working, inviting me to submit my resume for possible employment. I did and put a note: The applicant is currently on vacation to his country until April 2, 2010. He will be available for interview after April 5, 2010.
April 2, 2010 – Flight back to Chicago – satiated from my vacation. It is something I did in life that I felt a certain fulfillment and there was nothing left undone from my plan. No single stone unturned, no unfinished business. I emtied myself, for it is only by letting go of our grips for something that we could open our palms and accept things new. I’m just so ready for things to come, like a fresh slate ready for new marks to form in my slab.
April 5, 2010 – I receieved a call from the same person who sent me the email and had an instant interview over the phone. After passing some series of questions, I was recommended to meet with the Chief Clinical Officer for a personal interview the next day. I missed this process of hiring, I’m enthused to go through the process. The interview went well and my application was forwarded to the next phase: Panel interview with a team to gauge if I would fit in to organization. I was found to fit the requirements for the job by the team of 5 during the interview and went further through the hiring process – it was a long process, but I found it fulfilling in the end and financially rewarding, too.
The company I’m working now belongs to the Fortune’s top 500, and was awarded by the renowned Fortune Magazine in 2009 as the most admired company.
May 10, 2010 – Start of my Orientation/Training. You thought my employment was secured? I also thought, and then an unannounced examination like a mini-NCLEX that could either make or break my present status with the company. Call it stress to the highest level. I passed the test and hurdled the last barrier between me and the company, now I feel like I totally belong.
It’s adjustment since. I never felt vulnerable for a very long time like this. It’s like growing new skin, like taking new form from nothingness, like embracing each tiny drop of learning from every moment – it is good to be here at this time – what surprised me most is knowing myself to be still receptive to things new like a raw material that could still be molded to my best form.
The first half of the year taught me a major lesson: to learn to love things empty. For at the end of the day it’s really upto us what we would become as we evolve from the new start point no matter which part of life we already are. This is mine.
I wish you well.
~ Jeques, 2010. From his Traveler’s Soliloquies poetry collection.
Deciphered
bougainvillea, unfinished drawing from home. Pencil, pen and ink on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2010
Bougainvillea, completed drawing in Chicago. Pencil, pen and ink on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2010
"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.
Springtime
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Invaluable
Thoughts race past cobblestones.
Shadow trails behind
Unnoticed
In the green of day,
Rapture-tinged with blooms.
invaluable bloom
Gloom conceded.
The once empty lamp post
Now lighted.
Images popped
And dissolved in the air ~
Faces passed me by swiftly ~
Acquaintances sealed loosely
With fluffy smile,
Unsure hellos
And unsaid goodbyes.
There were no street lamps
To mark those encounters
(Forgotten)
Like the dandelions’
Worthless beauty
Here now in brilliant yellow
Tomorrow but fluffy seeds
Blown by the winds
To uncertainty grounds
That may welcome
Or uproot them as weeds.
fluffy smile
Walking past cobblestones of life,
I found you in the corner
Of the road I travel
And took a single fluffy seed
Of smile from your fleeting presence
And planted it in the garden
Of my heart
Where there’s no wind
To blow your memories away,
For you are priceless.
lamp post
You are the lamp
That brought light
To the once empty post
That casted shadows
In the corner of the road
I walked every day.
For others,
You are but a dandelion.
For me,
You are an invaluable
Bloom.
“Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them.”
~ A. A. Milne
—
Jeques, 2010. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies poetry collection
Caught in the Moment
"Gift of Home, The White Bell" pen and pencil on paper made some mornings during my recent vacation. Jeques, 2010
The White Bell clinging, rising, blooming embellishing the wire fence home
"Gift of Home: The White Bell," pen and pencil on paper of the white bell in bloom I wanted to take back to chicago, but I can't, so I drew it cpative on paper to take the gift with me anywhere in the world. Jeques, 2010
—–
Jeques, 2010. From his Traveler’s Soliloquies poetry collection.
“Amistad”(Friendship)
"Amistad" Pen and ink on paper by Jeques(drawing and poem started while waiting for his flight to the Philippines, 02082010 and was completed and polished in his return to Chicago)
I searched your eyes
Amid the souls
That flock the streets
I travel.
Where were you?
Among the lips
That sipped the juice
Of simple joy
I offer
How would I single out
Your smile?
I ride the tides
To ambiguous blue
With hopes
To find you
Where were you?
The isles dissolved,
And lost my hope
To see you
Where would I find
Your waiting arms?
I climb the mountains
But the fogs had seized you;
I reached the summit
And you’re not there
Where were you?
When the rains
Washed away everything
Down the mountains
Would you catch my tears
In the streams?
I left the stars
And slept in the cradle
Of the waning moon
Where were you?
In dark nights
When dreams didn’t visit
My sleep
Would I catch a glimpse
Of you at daybreak?
I search your eyes
Amid the souls
That flock the streets
I travel.
I guess I’d be forever this way
Til the day I catch true friendship
In the eyes
Until the day
When fate lay on my empty hands
The gift of ‘Amistad’
Where were you?
—
Jeques, 2010. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies” poetry collection.
Highlights
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of my recent home-coming
and fun-filled vacation
to my home land:
The Philippines
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Watch Me Fly
pencil and ink on paper by Jeques
A flyer
Perched, quiet
And resigned,
Watching you coquet
With the winds
And winged-deities
Flaunting.
I’ve Lost you in the skies
Countless times
For reasons unknown
And I don’t question.
Content of the little attention
Of few moments,
And gone.
Leaving me
For long days
Of cold hours,
And troubling dreams
In colorless nights, awake
Waiting.
A flyer
Perched, quiet
And resigned
Looking at the clouds
And beyond
For signs
Of your return,
Anticipating
awkward starts
Timid stares
Chats in spontaneity
Endings that come swiftly
Shy divergence
Brief goodbyes
Parting touches that hesitate.
A flyer
Perched, quiet
And resigned
Content in the company
Of sheltering Canopy
That consoles.
Hanging on
To fibers of memories
Finding comfort
In tiny blooms;
Their lingering fragrance soothes
The aches of longing.
Vines that bridge
The absence
‘Til you’re back
To perch beside me;
Love abiding.
pencil and ink on paper, by Jeques
A flyer
Winged to soar
And suited
Daring heights ~
It is time.
In your return,
If you don’t find me
Perched as usual,
Look up to heavens
Where I belong ~
The flyer’s gone home.
Watch me fly.
—
Jeques, 2010. From his “Traveler’s soliloquies” poetry and artworks collection.
Postscripts:
I will be coming home to my country this month until April 2, 2010 for a vacation. I need this time to be in-touch with the navel of my journey to get hold of the loose end of entangling thoughts I struggle to find meaning. Perhaps in coming home I would find relevance in every tangled threads of thoughts, so I could move forth climbing mountains, daring heights with found clarity. I can’t wait February 10 to be home .
I wish you well.
~ Jeques
New York: What You Mean To Me
The places we visit are like peepholes we take a peek, revealing parts of a bigger picture of the journeys we take. This is what New York showed me. I visited the place for the first time last year, but it felt like I was there forever.
Land of childhood dreams
Hedged in by enormous seas
Damselfly alights
Have you ever had thought so strong it follows you all through life? I have. It is incessant and tarry as the waves to the shore that come, and go, and come back in erratic intensity of currents taking me back, up, down and forth.
Years back, I wrote this haiku piece included in my Filipino Immigration collection and New York, I have to confess, was the place in mind when I wrote it. I had a strong feeling even then, though I didn’t know exactly when, that one day I’m going alight on to its grounds like the damselfly and walk its streets where my dream arrived ahead of me. For somebody who lived in the other side of the world, it was a dream that for years I half-believed, but after January 17, 2009, with all my heart, I now do.
I first saw America in a postcard, in a picture of a snowy Time Square, New York and visited the place countless times in my thoughts. I’m not sure who owned that card, or who sent it to whom and from where, but I think of it now an invitation sent by my fate from the future to come to a place. An enticement I ignored, or perhaps I turned down at some point doubting possibilities, but the invitation ever haunting.
Years after, I arrived in Chicago and saw snow for the first time. I walked the streets in many snowy days, and my thought of the christmas card would return, unreeling in waves and waves of flashback like an old film but the picture always incomplete, not until last year, when fate put me exactly in that old picture of the postcard I once viewed as a child. My dream and I converged in Time Square where all the elements conspired, and felt the snow the way the child thought it should feel melting on my face when I arrive to answer that long time invitation.
I really thought my many years of incessant thoughts of New York ended when I finally answered its invitation. But I fear, No! I left many stones unturned with my brief weekend visit last year that continue to frequent my reveries, courting me with new angles of possibility. This is what New York mean to me now. For many years, it’s something impossible and far away, and when I reached to touch its grounds, it remained mystical and distant. I felt ignored during my visit. I even wonder it noticed my presence. Perhaps it’s my fault for ignoring the invitation too long that fate have forgotten about the christmas card and didn’t recognize me when I finally stepped into the picture to answer its long time invitation.
I love New York
But it didn’t love me back
A love that endured
Years of dreaming
And wake up
To walk its streets
For fleeting moment
And temporary bliss
That dissolves
With its rushing time.
I chased you
In the fast lanes
Of my recurring dreams.
I run after your affection
In the weekend
I spent with you,
Unnoticed.
I love New York
But it didn’t love me back.
I contented myself
With passing glances
A vagabond
A tourist
A spectator
A stranger
A passerby
An audience
Until the curtains dropped
And the show ended
When day light shied away
From your night lights.
But that’s when I start to dream,
Again, where you become real.
Only in dreams
That I belong to you
And when I trully walk your streets
And leave marks
Of my footsteps
In your heart.
Tomorrow,
When you wake up,
I hope you recognize
My footprints
Among the many vagabond
That walked the paths
That meet in the intersection
Where dreams alight
And don’t dissolve
With the fumes
Of your heavy traffic.
Only then that my dream
Would really come alive.
New York is one of the places I visited that intrigued me to fathom its relevance to my journey. It is like a hole in a lock where a key would fit one day awaiting to be turned to reveal me many things behind the shut door. I doubt the possibilities no more when fate put me in that picture and walked the streets of the postcard of long ago that gave me the preview of what was to come and in fleeting moments became a surreal reality that weekend. I know I need to come back to complete the story and when I do, I would not leave a single stone unturned.
Our dreams may reside in many different places. Places that would speak to us in many different languages, giving us messages, revealing to us secret codes that would help decipher the mysteries of our journeys. I wish my pictures would work like the old postcard did to me and reach the eyes and hearts of dreamers to invite, to entice and reassure that dreams still come alive if we believe. And I hope you would answer that invitation soon.
Don’t make your dreams wait too long.
Jeques at Stairway to heaven. Time Square, New York, January 2009
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.
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”
Eventide
I feel its presence
Unsually more often lately.
Hint of air implies
Impending cold
With undertone of blue,
Entices.
Brilliance wanes;
Vigor slowed, esprit concedes
As vibrant colors fade to shadows
On its advent.
Soon the eyes of day
Would close to a lengthy blink,
As spirits would seek refuge
And safety in the burrows.
A small space
Under the covers
Would suddenly be home
To weary souls
As warriors come home
From battles completed.
Birds would seek their roost;
Shepherds would gather their herds,
Hens their flocks
As lovers cuddle each other
In their arms,
Embracing eventide.
Would you kiss me goodnight?
—-
Jeques, 2009. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies” collection.
jeques
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