The need for change . . .
the longing for something new.
begin everything with the prayer.
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,
Jeques, 2009. From his “A Traveler’s Soliloquies” poetry collection.
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.
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.
We await in hope
For the vernal equinox.
That even in the gray
Of frozen days,
Of the seemed endless blizzards ~
We bloom in gloom.
You’re the relentless flare
That lit the wintry alleys
Overtook my sanguinity.
I coat you,
Bearing frost bite
And the stings
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,
(Jeques, 2009. From the Traveler’s Soliloquies poetry collection)
Where Hearts Converge
This sad ending would be our beginning ~
Face to face, you and me, aboard the train.
Together, albeit our roads parting:
Mine bounds north, yours south. Then it starts to rain.
Would time and space bring us happy ending?
Would we converge in this station again?
And just like that, we’re on our own again ~
Watching the blankness of our beginning
Through the panes of an uncertain ending
Like errant souls on board the express train
Listening to the sad notes of the rain
Heaven’s soundtrack to our fateful parting.
Time slips our palms like the daylights parting ~
‘Tis dark, and gloom embraces us again.
But our sorrows will be washed by the rain.
This railroads meet to a fresh beginning.
We will get there, let us allow the train.
And then we’ll entomb these woes to ending.
We travel through this passage’s ending ~
The railroads fork and we see hearts parting.
Tons of broken souls carried by the train.
But rails would weave them together again.
To debark in frontiers of beginning,
Like seed sprouting, bathed by the springtime rain.
As pains’ dusts settle soaked by the rain,
The turmoil alights to a graceful ending.
The heart learns to hum tunes of beginning,
And understands that even the parting
Is part of it all, then we smile again ~
As we weave our stories inside the train.
I get off, now enlightened, from the train ~
Mind’s pellucid like skies after the rain.
Heart’s calm awaiting to see you again.
May you look forward to the same ending,
May your thoughts not be hazed by this parting.
‘Til we reach our station of beginning.
Last night’s rain crooned our sorrows to ending.
Trains meet again in our point of parting ~
Where hearts converge to a new beginning.
(Where Hearts Converge a Sestina I wrote for the poetry workshop I attend every wednesday. Jeques, 2009)
Have I told you I started attending a weekly poetry workshop last wednesday? I think not. The workshop will run for 6 weeks this summer. I chanced upon the Ad when I got me some books for my painting studies in Evanston, IL public libruary. I missed one session but I was able to submit a poem for the first poetry form : Cento, a poetry made up of lines borrowed from a combination of established authors, usually resulting in a change in meaning. For me, the beauty of composing a Cento is it makes you read poetry and appreciate more the lines. This poetry would be very helpful to beginners, it could be a starting point because to write poetry, a poet needs and should read first the works of other poets and Cento just help you do that, it makes you appreaciate the work of others, makes you compose from their inspirations and perhaps help you find your voice along the way.
I was cramming when I put this cento poem together. I called tuesday(July 7) afternoon if it was possible for me to catch up since I missed the first week. Joshua, the moderator, said yes and told me about the Cento which was discussed the previous week and that I have to bring a piece the next day if I’m interested to attend. I work night shift, but I brought with me one of my favorite poetry books to work that night, and during dead hours read poems of great authors and line by line composed a Cento. The first line I got from the song, “Eversince the world begun,” the soundtrack of the 1989 movie: Lock up. Here is the piece I put together and I read during the first session(July 8).
I never knew what brought me here
You entered my life in a casual way.
The dream we dream together here,
All paths lead to you where e’er I stray.
There is nothing that last, not one.
Yet still the story and the meaning stay.
Somebody said that it couldn’t be done.
Yet it well might be that never for me.
I need so much the quiet of your love.
A love like this can know no death.
I need your calm all other things above.
Your precious presence is the air I breath.
I want you through every changing season
If not, then let me live this life alone.
(This Wanting a Cento poem. Here are the poems and the authors I got the lines of this poem from: line #2 TO A FRIEND by Grace Stricker Dawson, #3 IN THE ROSE GARDEN byJohn Bennett, #4 ALL PATHS LEAD TO YOU by Blanch Shoemaker Wagrooff, #5 HER ANSWER by John Bennett, #6 THE RIGHT KIND OF PEOPLE by Edwin Markham, #7 SOMEBODY SAID THAT IT COULDN’T BE DONE by Edgar Guest, #8 OUR OWN by Margaret Sangster, #9 AT NIGHT FALL by Charles Hanson Towne, #10 AD FINEM by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, #11 AT NIGHT FALL by Charles Hanson Towne, #13 I WANT YOU by Arthur L. Gillom. Lines #12 and 14 are my original)
Last wednesday(July 8), we discussed the poetry form: Sestina. I have been always interested to try writing a poem in this form but the structure is too demanding thereby forbidding, so I always end up throwing first drafts. The reason why I’ve always longed to get myself into a workshop is to get the chance to be crafty again with poetry, and this just works that way for me. Since I’m now slowing down with painting nearing the completion of my collection, I find time to write again and the poem included here is my first produce when I finally got myself sitted again to study poetry structures and working the craft. The sentina we compose this week will be read and discussed on our next workshop this coming wednesday(July 15).
Let me share with you sestina’s definition from the Academy of American Poets
The sestina is a complex form that achieves its often spectacular effects through intricate repetition. The thirty-nine-line form is attributed to Arnaut Daniel, the provencal troubador of the 12th century. The name “troubadour” like comes from trobar, which means to invent or compose verse. The troubadours sang their verses accompanied by music and were quite competitive, each trying to top the next in wit, as well as complexity and difficulty of style.
The sestina follows a strict pattern of the repetition of the initial 6 end-words of the first stanza throught the remaining five six-line stanzas, culminating in a three-line envoi. The lines may be of any length, though in its initial incarnation, the sestina followed a syllabic restriction.
Note: I followed a 10-syllabic count in each line respectively in my poem.
The form is as follows, where each numeral indicates the stanza position and the letters represent end-words:
7 (envoi) ECA or ACE ( I used ECA, please note that I also used all the 6 end-words in the last three lines)
The envoi, sometimes known as the tornada, must also include the remaining three-end words, BDF, in the course of the three lines so that all six recurring words appear in the final three lines. In place of a rhyme scheme, the sestina relies on end-word repetition to effect a sort of rhyme.
The poetry idea using the train and the train station as backdrop have been chasing me and been resurfacing my mind for more than a year now. I first got the idea when one time we took the subway here in chicago(hence, the reference to the north and south bound directions of the train), The place just poured me such an overwhelming poetry inspiration, but I did not act on it instantly for many reasons, and one of them is I’m still finding the right structure to give the poetry idea a body that it would need. Last year, I wrote the poem Summer, Gone. The poem contains some of the ideas that are infused in Where Hearts Converge. Here’s the poem Summer gone:
You came to bring me summer sunshine,
You left to leave me autumn gloom.
Like a speeding train,
What happened to the vibrant days,
Where have my sunshine gone?
Why do the clouds just suddenly
My smile, don’t fade away
Why do you have to give up
Your sunny yellow ~
Have I not brought
Your life some bright lights,
Why do we have to go apart
Would the evening light
In this changing season,
Would it ease
The growing yearning
With its subdued
I rest my heart
In this lonely season.
But I would keep our paths
Of grass growths.
May the railroad
That took you away
Would lead you
And when you’re tired
Chasing the changing seasons,
You could always return
To an endless
Here in my resolute
I think it is also important to mention here that the heart of this poem and the sentiment I expressed here was originally conceived in the poem One Heart which I composed in 2003.
Two different people
Living separate lives
Wanting different dreams
Going to opposite directions.
But then they met.
And they become one
One heart in two different people
One in their thoughts
Going towards the same direction ~
Living the same dreams.
Where Hearts Converge is one of the poems I’ve written that really went through a very long process. The idea, the sentiments and the heart of the poem came and present itself to me in fragments, but I believe I was able to gather the elements in a piece which I put together here and give it the perfect body in the sestina structure.
I already have a painting idea in mind for this poem which I conceived some few months back. The title is “Convergence,” a painting series of 4 pieces and I will be using the Kois and the elements of the railroads in the painting which I will post here when I finish the series. Until then, but for now, I included an illustration of the poem in pencil, pen and ink sketches on drawing paper.
(Photographs are from my winter, 2008 collection)
I’ve been trying to chase the tail of my thoughts of winter. It’s very elusive and by the time they start to take form in my head, the heart has given up, benumb from wintry frost. I need to take hold of my thoughts’ loose end, so I could untangle the thread jumbled, nagging me to get written.
I walk the frozen grounds of the earth, trying to find the pulse of this entangled thoughts under my chilled feet. I welcome the icy kisses dropped on my cheeks, on my shoulder, on my chest of this year’s first snowfall and opened my arms to accept its cold embrace hoping its biting affection give me some clues to the stories of this unforgiving season.
(“Man in the Snow,” a photograph from my winter, 2008 collection)
The man continue to walk the icy grounds, his feet digging deeper leaving frozen trails of footprints to a direction unknown.
The mind drifts away with the winds to the past and the uncertain future.
The heart is undaunted.
In the midst of this season’s frosty silence, the winds croon the pines with sad notes whispering threnodies to the doozing earth tucked in a blanket of snow, as my soul keeps still listening and writing the songs of winter.
Crafted From Pain
By: Jeques B. Jamora, 2007
Why did you blow the candle off
That used to light my heart?
Now the daylight is tainted
Each day is gloomy since you depart.
Why did you cut the thin thread off
That used to knot mine to your heart?
Now the love tale has ended
And we are growing apart.
Why did you turned the music off
And stopped to serenade my heart?
Now our love song has faded
Who would replace to sing your part?
Why did you ripped the pages off
That hold the treasures of my heart?
Now I am left empty handed
Creating naught but worthless art.
But don’t feel sorry I’m not jaded,
You have loved me for my resilient heart.
I would soon be taking off
And soar again to a brand new start.
I guard the ‘lil flame inside me
Springtime would melt my frozen heart.
A love tale would sprout some day
And you’ll not play a single part.
I hum a novelly and simple melody
The tunes coming inside my scarred heart.
The lyrics are forming slowly,
A love song I’m enthused to start.
I pick strewn bits of harmony
Saving each treasure in my heart.
I thrive to live for one more day,
This pain I’m crafting to priceless art.
Lessons From Autumn
BY: Jeques B. Jamora, fall, 2008
The earth calls the leaves to come home
My crying couldn’t stop the changing season.
Like my tears falling on my chest,
The autumn leaves return to the earth’s breast.
The winds of fall sing lonely tunes
The shy smile of dawn turns the day to gloom.
The heavens weep soaking the trees with rain,
As I watch you leave and endure the pain.
Destiny’s taking back my joys of spring,
My crying couldn’t stop you from leaving.
Like the leaves falling to the earth’s bossom,
I’ll await in silence ’til you come home.
The trees and the leaves taught me acceptance;
The earth taught me to wait for second chance.
Note: for background music, please click and play this >>> If I could be where you are
click audio to play soundtrack
I feel for the tree this season
The autumn leavings make me sad.
The tree must be cursing the winds
He doesn’t want his leaves to fall.
Like I sometimes loathe
The changing season
For I don’t want to lose a friend.
I feel sorry for the leaves this season
Their descent makes me sad.
The leaves must be praying
Their would be no rain,
For they’re afraid to fall.
Like I pray the departings
Would be less painful ~
Though I need to set a friend free.
For no matter how the tree keeps its strong grip;
How the leaves keeps on clinging,
And me keeps on holding on ~
I know we need to let go
And accept the changing season.
The tree, the leaves and I
We are sad of the Autumn leavings.
For we don’t want to lose a friend.
Nalalanta ang mga halaman
Plants are wilting.
Nalalagas ang mga dahon
and flowers descending
Natitigang ang lupa
The grounds are drying
Sabay ng pagtulog ng mga batis, ilog at lawa
As the springs, and rivers, and lakes fall asleep
Sa pagsapit ng taglamig.
With the coming of winter.
Sa kanilang pagkaidlip,
On their sleep,
Ang mga puno
Take a bow
At babalik kung saan sila nagsimula ~
Returning where they came ~
To the grounds.
At doon ay hihimplay
And ’tis there that they would sleep
Mag-aabang sa muling pag-agos
To await again for the ebb
Sa kanyang pangungulila,
On his longing,
Sya ay tahimik na maghihintay.
He will await in silence.
Tulad ko rin,
Patuloy na umaasa
Na muli kang babalik
For your return
Upang sa akin ay muling ialay
To give me back
Ang pag-ibig mo
Sa akin ng buhay.
Sa unang pagpatak
On the first drop
Sa pagsapit ng tagsibol,
Ang mga puno.
Will rise again.
Pipintig nang muli
Ang aking puso.
Would start to beat again.
Sa iyong pag-babalik,
In your return,
Ako ay mabubuhay ng muli ~
You will breath me life anew ~
Uusbong ang mga dahon,
The leaves would sprout,
Mula sa mga lanta na sanga ng puno,
From the wilted twigs of the trees
Ang aking pagmamahal
Tulad din ng mga bulaklak
Like the flowers
At Iibig nang muli
And my heart
Ang aking puso.
Will love again.