Taming This Tyke's Voice Since 2007

love

Jeques’s Web Nook Turns FIVE

Today marks the fifth year anniversary of my web page, my web nook, the corner where I pour my poetic heart; the canvas of my life where the colorful palette of my soul comes home when he needs to exhale, to tell his stories, to write his verses, to compose his thoughts into songs, to share his travels and make his soliloquies be heard.

In celebration of this milestone, I now fully own the domain: Jeques.Me

Jeques.Me


Waiting For The Sign

Please Click sound button for the soundtrack >>>

 

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.

"pebbles" pencil, pen and ink on paper by Jeques 2011

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.

 

 

 

 


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


Fortitude

~
Let me bring you to a place
In the nook of my mind,
Where silence is a sound,
Quietude is music;
Where the slightest of movement
Ripples to waves like the tide
That rise and recedes.
.
Tag-along with my mind thriving,
Walking this winding paths
Down hills, up slopes, climbing
Grassy, sandy, rocky tracks
And cobblestone alleys.
.
Come with me as my thoughts
Traverse this zigzag roads
Of sudden sharp turns and curves
In my descend down the highways,
And climbs up the mountains;
Following the voice calling my name
Always some hundreds steps ahead ~
Leaving me dainty signals to trail
Not knowing what comes in the end,
But still I abide.

"Leaf" pen, ink and pencil on paper by Jeques B. Jamora, 2010

Stay beside me as I try to understand
The faint signs and traces
That would bring me where I am headed
Keep me awake when the body gives up
And lassitude put me in a trance ~
Hold my hand ~
Help me keep the wheels on the road.
.
Wipe my tears when the storm pours
So I could see clearly my way
Even when the rainfalls cloud the windshield
Of my thoughts, blocked to zero visibility.
.
Share the silence in my reconnaissance
As the sun creeps back ahead
Lighting the terrains of the morrow
Where my home awaits.

"Leaf 2" pen, ink and pencil on paper by Jeques B. Jamora

Disembark with me when I reach a summet.
Sit with me for awhile on the green beds of grass
On a cliff over-seeing the world bordered with white fences
That give me a picture of what has been.
The reasons for winding roads now making sense
As I look back to see the marks I left
On the pages forming definite meaning.
.
Hope with me as I look forward
To the map marked by the stars
That reveal sheer preview of the journeys to come.
.
Here we are in a stop over,
Be my witness as I ready myself to jump ~
My faith as my parachute,
Trusting your hands to catch me in my leap
As I paint my way to the roads
Until I find my way home
With you.
~
Jeques, 2010. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies” poetry collection.
Jeques is reading the book of one of his favorite authors, Robert Fulghum’s “Third Wish,” a 5 volume novel – he’s currently on the first volume.
~

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.


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

 
 
Dust settled,
The beating of the drums
Faded in the distance.
Chaos succumbs
To peace.
I am here
.
Caught in the moment
 
Not a ripple in the pond ~
Waters placid ~
Bowers’  reflection
Caught in its stillness. 
I am here
.
Caught in the moment
 .
Listening to the acoustical
Silence of the white bell
Serenading me with its
Sweet charm
 

"Gift of Home, The White Bell" pen and pencil on paper made some mornings during my recent vacation. Jeques, 2010

Wires Faded
In the backdrop
Walls unnoticed
Barriers forgotten,
Heartaches freed
Echoes of old sad stories
Replaced with fresh pages
Of new chapters.
I am here, and now
.
Caught in the moment
.
Today,
The silent ringing
Of the white bell
Signals a beginning
Of stories newly born
Taking shape
To florish
To be told

The White Bell clinging, rising, blooming embellishing the wire fence home

Hope surmounts the fences
Words demolished the barricades
Joy overtakes sadness
Shortcomings forgotten
Love prevails.
I am here
.
Caught in the moment
.
Healed and blossoming
Watching the reflections
Captive on the page of my heart
Caught in its stillness
.
I am here.

"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.

 


She Raised The Bar[too high]

I came home to celebrate Valentines with her. I have been thinking lately and some thoughts are worrying me being unattached too long, single since birth and loveless in my 30’s. A question frequents my thoughts recently. I once was asked this question by an old lady and I used to I find it really funny.

“What’s wrong with you?” 

But that was 3 years ago, and it’s only lately that the question really sunk in, “Is there really something wrong with me?”

So here I am, home to find out. And the way to get the accurate answer is to go back to the real roots deeply rooted to the love of my mother and here gathered some initial findings.  I maybe single, unattached and worried but one thing is sure, I am not really loveless and never been for I am loved by my family, I am especially loved by my mother. Maybe I just really have high standards set for love, and loving. And it’s my mother who raised the bar too high, I wonder if there would ever be someone who could hurdle it.

My mother and I in the hotel for our valentines dinner date

my mother and I arriving in the hotel for our valentines date

 

my mother

my mother

 

pampering moments at the hotel saloon

 

relaxing in the hotel spa

 

my mother preparing for our valentines dinner

 

valentines buffet

 

dinner date with her

dinner date with her

 

dinner time

 

she raised the bar

 

me, 30's and single


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-love-new-york-134

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-love-new-york-012

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.

i-love-new-york-0671

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.

"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”


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.


What About The Morning?

 

When all the grains

Of smile are drained

Through the lips

Of the time glass,

All the joys gone,

Or so it seems,

 

What about the morning?

 

When the refraction of ray

Doesn’t reach you,

Barred by layers

Of  doldrums, and soak you

In the dark marshes that drown

Your spirit slowly

Down the quicksand,

Or so it seems,

 

What about the morning?

 

When all the fragrance

Has left you

Suffocating in the unsought

Scents of things,

You’re ready to succumb

To obloquies that knock you

Black and blue,

Or so it seems,

 

What about the morning?

 

When the sweet tang

Of moments

Tinged your heart

With gawky bitter taste

That numbs you,

And forget their better flavors after,

Or so it seems,

 

What about the morning?

 

When icy days

Suddenly embrace you,

Chilled in the midst of strangers;

Unclad even with coats on, and shivering.

Cold in summer sun,

Or so it seems,

 

What about the morning?

 

When music halted to a final note,

Lyrics suddenly turn to threnodies

As mirth fades to distance,

And absence.

Duet losing words, and songs,

Or so it seems,

 

What about the morning? 

 

View everything

From the bottom of the time glass

Ever accepting each speck of grains

Engulfed by its lips,

Collected in the base

 

Joys

 

Sorrows

 

Memories

 

Moments ever feed you

With fresh grains again, and again

And again, no end. Once more,

The gifts of the morning 

Bring back lost smiles

In the lips of your time glass

To fill your heart,

And think of me.

 

What about the morning?

 


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)

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


Unrequited

 

 

I understand the books in the shelf,

Untouched. Covers gathering dusts

Pages turn yellow, words unread,

Wisdom unhearkened.

Banquet prepared by writers

Wasted to termites

Leaving disinterested heads unfed,

Hearts failed, voices neglected.

 

I understand the bud in the wild

That awakens at dawn, 

But nobody drops a visit til midday,

Not a single butterfly, not a bee,

And wilts unnoticed at the end of day.

 

I understand the tree along the river

Bearing fruits all summer;

Realeases sweet odor filling the air

Inviting reapers, but nobody came.

Fruits dropping in the stream like tears,

Wasting her gifts again this year.

 

I understand the green patch of meadow

Hedged by dense forests, bordered by a cliff

Pruned by gazelles and deers

Year after year,

But nobody ever arrives with a mat to picnic;

Not a single soul carrying an easel reaches to paint.

Picturesque view wasted on the wilds.

 

I understand the sea-shells stranded

In a far-flung coast, unfrequented,

That the surf polish

And washed white by the brines

But no one comes to pick them for souvenir.

Encapsuled songs of the ocean

No one hears.

 

I understand the fate of weeds that grow

In the unwanted crevices

Of the concrete pavements of the city, 

Sprouting to embellish her flaws

Cruelly treated, uprooted, tossed.

Seemingly, life undeserved.

 

I understand the child begging for mercy

Strayed in the maze of life

Without the guidance of a father.

Growing without a map to follow

With promising tomorrow to give,

But dreams wasted on vagabond.

 

I feel for the logs decaying in the forests;

Treasures lost in the ocean;

Shipwrecks forming rusts in the harbor.

 

I feel sorry for a bench 

That awaits in the park

Comes sunshine or rain;

Pews empty on sundays.

Envelopes not opened,

Letters left unread, unanswered.

 

I understand the purity of intentions,

Unrequited.

 

I feel for every little things

With so much to offer,

But are never given the chance.

 

Unanswered beaconing of the church bells.

 

When are you going to pick up

My heart’s calls?

 

 

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


Home Sick In Autumn

 

What is there left to write,

When my sense of home has faded.

Fallen souvenirs pirouette in the air ~

Leaves dancing downwards ~ like specter.

The ink must wait, and rest til winter is over

(My spirit retires to quiescent under the covers)

Things freeze like the trees, even the lake dozes.

 

As wakeful hours become less and less,

Mind loses its bluntness,

The page speechless.

Distance drained my veins bloodless

Even the pulse of my pen ceases.

 

I’m losing grip of the eidolon of home, 

It’s warmth I no longer recall.

Like the trees losing their leaves to autumn,

The hands of memories that used to lift me,

For a time, fail to save my spirit to fall.

 

I let the cruel wanton winds to take me;

I trust the higher will would be kind.

I write my thoughts in the palms of the season,

I trust them to come back in time.

 

When my sense of home fills me up again;

When revenant of home,

Like eidolon,

Returns.

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


Labyrinth

 

Fate dropped me

Bewildered in this forest,

Untamed,

Hazed with drapes of vines ~

Trying to find the answers

From this tangled passages 

Resolving the maze

To find my pathway

To you.

 

I stand before a forked path,

My head loaded

With question-filled sack

Keeping my balance,

Avoiding pitfalls:

 

To my right are hedges

Of thorn-filled,

Truth-concealing,

Tendril-climbing vines.

A single wrong move

Through their bowers 

Would cost me stings

From their spines of truth.

 

To my left, an inviting path

Strewn with petals,

Promising comfort

From gossamer of lies

Misleading me away

To dead ends,

To lost ways.

 

To my center is an easy way

To nowhere,

A direction that would lead me back

Here. To choose. Sooner or later.

 

If only your hand would reach out

From the bower of thorns,

If only heavens would send signal.

If only I could hear your heartbeats

Pounding from the other side.

If only, but . . .

 

Armoured only with longing,

I don’t know if it could shield me

To last the stings of truths

I would discover (I need to reveal),

To straighten the tangled pathway

That would bring you

And me, together.

 

Smothered with veil of tears,

I take the path to truth,

Taking chances

In the hazed bowers,

Following bloody hints

You left in the thorns,

Like trails of breadcrumbs,

As I soothe your pains in return

With balms of found answer

To our sacks of questions

I slowly unload from my head

Leaving them to mark the blind alleys

That would lead you

To me.

 

From separate spheres

In a labyrinth,

We clear a single 

Entangled passage

(Closer than we thought),

Daring to defy the easy way.

 

If that’s what it cost

To find our way,

I surrender to my fate.

 

To find my egress

To you.

 

—-

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


I Will Circumvent

 

The heart knows another way.

If I should, I will.

 

I will circumvent  the distance,

I will bear the pain of longing.

Let it fuel me to endure

Long, excruciating voyages

Of this rescue operation.

 

Be my precious reward that awaits

In a rapturous morrow

I will build for us

With the muscles of my heart –

Only my heart – for that’s the ransom 

I promise to bring,

To buy your freedom.

 

I will circumnavigate

Desolate terrains.

 

Let your picture in my mind

Be the stars at night

So I would not falter

Even when darkness strips

The coat of my courage.

 

Let the memory of your smile

Melt me when solitude is freezing.

 

Let the songs of your touch

Bring back my equanimity

When I become anhydrous from your absence.

 

Let the echoing sound of your laughter

Be my beaconing light

To safeguard me from the mirage

And its deceitful promises.

 

Let me drink from the cup of your abundance,

Satiate my thirst with the precious

Liquid beads

We weaved together

In the festoon that ties us

In an invisible knot.

 

Before I leave,

Memorize this face,

But anticipate wrinkles when you see it again

For time will paint my empty fecade

With wisdom I will collect from my journey.

 

Hold my hands for the last time

And trace the creases of my palms.

My travel will harden them,

But know that its direction is defined

And points to a definite end.

 

Keep still,

Fear not the metal bars that separate us.

Trust the oil of our will, combined

To desolve this cage.

 

Stay where I leave you,

Hold the promise of my return.

And if distance is the only road

To the altar ~

 I will take the chance, If I should.

 

I will circumvent the earth,

Chase the elusive chance of our union,

To arrive where you are.

 

Be sentient of the genial whisks

When my breathing blows your nape,

And when my hand rests on your shoulder

They will hint my arrival.

 

Hands clasped,

Barriers desolved,

Together we will claim our piece of the skies

To our enraptured flight

 

We are free.

 

—-

In reference to my poem “Caged,” I thought the conflict was unresolved in that poem. “I will Circumvent” is the sequel to the poem.

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


Breaking Grounds

 

Here I am pursuing

In endless circles

On and on

Wandering, wondering

Where’s this circular course

Taking me,

Where’s this ring going?

 

Like the fan blades

In the dining,

Grating, squeaking in the ceiling

Racing overhead.

 

Like the propellel

At the boat’s rear

My mother once showed me

Stuck in my memory

Of things turning

Around an axis

Aimless.

 

I did my laundry

The other day,

And lost myself

With the motion

Of my clothes spinning,

So did my head

Juggling with thoughts

As the Wheels,

And mills,

The clock running

Round in circles

But really,

Where is it going

When it ends where it begins?

 

I hear an alarm

Of high pitched signal,

My laundy is done.

The machine pukes

Fragrant vomitus:

My clothes smelling the scents

Of spring and renewal

Like my mind

Finding new meanings:

 

The fan in the dining

Brings me air

Of homey comfort

Makes beef stew rice topping

Tastes like what my mother

Used to feed me

From my distant memory of home.

 

The propellel at its rear

“Mamang” directed my young mind

In my first boat ride

Brought me faraway,

Closer to my destination.

 

As the Wheels,

And mills

The clock running

Round in circles

And me pursuing

This ring course,

Breaking grounds

Widening scope

For reasons

 

That some day,

 

My nephews and nieces

Would grow up

To understand.

 

* “Mamang” a name we call our mothers in some regions in the Philippines.

(Jeques, 2009. From his A Traveler’s Soliloquies poetry collection)

 

 


Fragile Gateway

 

Steadily,

I would sit here oftentimes

Awaiting,

Anticipating,

Thoughts hovering

Fluttering

Like a pedestrian

Still,

In the corner of a street

Awaiting

For green light

For flares

So I could let my thoughts flow

From your silent signal

And walk the streets of the world

From this window,

The screen

My fragile gateway

To you.

 

(Jeques, 2009. From his A Traveler’s Soliloquies poetry collection)


Caged

 

Briefly

Our hands clasped

Against the grated wire screen

Separating

Keeping

Our worlds closely

Apart.

 

It’s a painful union.

 

We see the flowers,

But we can’t pick them.

A banquet is laid 

On the table,

But we can’t celebrate

The feast

Together.

We both have wings

Watching the unfriendly

Sky

But only one

Of us 

Is free to fly.

 

You pulled me

Closer ~

“Does love hurts

Like when the barbs

Pierce the palms? “

Being close to you

Feels painfully

That good.

 

I draw you

Towards me,

But you hesitate

Acquiesced to the customs

Of your world

That defines

A different you

From what I know.

 

I don’t have a heart

To force you out

To my world,

Even if it would mean

Your freedom ~

 

If the barbs

Pierce your wings.

 

I know how that hurts.

 

I let go

Of our clasped hands

And free you

In your cage ~

Aversely ~

I claim the Sky

To a lonely flight.

 

I am free.

 

(Jeques, 2009. From his A Traveler’s Soliloquies poetry collection)

 


Candle Keeper

 

I unearthed you that winter,

And discovered in solstice

That I am your keeper.

 

You’re the incessant blaze

That burns inside me,

You’re my built-in hearth.

Like the fireplace,

My chamber is made of bricks

I guard your flame,

I am the candle keeper.

 

You need me to keep your light

I need you to warm me.

 

Together,

We await in hope

For the vernal equinox.

But remember,

That even in the gray

Of frozen days,

 We endure

The turmoil

Of the seemed endless blizzards ~

We bloom in gloom.

 

You’re the relentless flare

That lit the wintry alleys

When doldrums

Overtook my sanguinity.

 

I coat you,

Steadfast,

Bearing frost bite

And the stings

Of Defeat.

 

I am in your keeping from inside,

I safeguard you

From the harsh world outside.

Your glowing amber

And my unwavering strides

Steer us forth.

 

I see us,

Together,

 

In springtime.

 

(Jeques, 2009. From the Traveler’s Soliloquies poetry collection)

 

 


Molting

 

What’s this eerie silence,

Wings just suddenly

Froze to a halt.

 

Without warning

Terrain desolves

To vagueness ~

Certainty, gone?

 

Where does the beacon light hides,

Like some hands

Took it away

From vision,

Promises broken ~

All hopes, done?

 

What Happen

To this Feathers

Made for flying,

Shedding,

Descending,

Head down

Suddenly fearing the skies.

 

Could a winged-soul

Ever acquiesce

To just watching spaces?

 

Touch down

Is never a fate.

 

He belongs

Where possibilities

Are boundless.

 

Take me in your arms

This season,

My moment of molting

When I am most

Vulnerable.

 

Open your palms

To my shed feathers.

Let your embrace

Be my temporary shelter

In moment of molting,

When the wind

Is a provisional foe.

 

Hold me with such gentleness,

Like the hen

Gathers her flock

At twilight,

Yet sets them off

When morning comes.

 

Open your palms

When this wings

Are once more ready

For flying.

 

But Don’t waver,

For ingrained

In every winged-soul

Is a homing pigeon ~

 

And from this day forward, 

Only in your heart

Would I find my roost.

 

(Jeques, August 2009. Traveler’s Soliloquies Poetry Collection)