Taming This Tyke's Voice Since 2007


First Love, Lost (Sonnet)


A tiny seed is dozing in my heart.
‘Tis strange and fragile to my youthful mind.
But like a cub, ’tis untamed in the start,
And always on the look out for its kind.
Defenses look useful to coat it thick.
I’m scared to face the things my mind not ken.
Disguises mask the pain and love with trick,
Like when you left and I was heart broken.
Though bruised, the seed of hope rises to grow.
Despite the tears you caused it flourish here.
He treads the world alone and shining through.
Your face, your lips and kisses he’ll revere.

This frail seed is a would-be seasoned tree.
My sweet first love, the seedling you set free!



As I Travel On

morning flower

Like the seeds and the flowers, I, too, long for the sun to lit my face and so I follow the direction of the light. I don’t turn my back to its warm glow, I tried it once but I only saw shadows. I crawl, and walk, and run, and slowly tread my path towards the light ~ it is the only way I could get a better view of life, of my destiny slowly revealing itself from the distance as I travel on. It’s like waking up, rising, walking and following a spark of light in the morning haze believing the promise to see my full vision coming to life as I travel on.

As I draw the curtains open ~

Welcoming the light to my room ~ in the morning,

I’m warmly greeted by ethereal scenery,

From the window, of the garden.

Velv’ty petals, captivating;

Ferns’ fronds waving, pruned bonsai trees, green leaves sparkling.

The morning dew trickles on the leaves, like pearls dripping.

My secret treasures, my blessings.


Along, a light soundtrack playing,

Of winds whistling, and birds in the background chirping.

Closed eyes, I inhale the eucalyptus essence,

Wafting in the air of morning.


A breeze steals me a tender kiss,

In my mind, I draw someone’s face and lips, and wish.

Evanescence, with open eyes, it vanishes.

‘Tis gone like a dream, leave no trace.


Fruits mellow as I wake today.

Seeds sprout, birds perched and nestle in the mango tree.

Fishes swim in the pond, contained, yet feeling free.

Tendrils cling, vines rising, like me.

(Rising: Welcoming The Light By: Jeques B. Jamora – October, 2005)

As I continue to move forward, the light defines itself and give my life new meaning. Destinies reached become part of the colorful trails I left, like lamp-posts to mark my glorious travels when I look back and re-live the lights of the memories. I continue to rise from the grounds of home that anchors my heart and where I am deeply rooted. So no matter how far the distances I reach as I continue to chase my destiny, I know where I belong, I know my heart’s home.


Bay-bay, Roxas City, Philippines 

In a tropical isle in the southeast,


Is a dormant waif seed with lots of dreams.

He is home, but his soul seems not at rest,

For across the seas his destiny beams.




Visions often visit him in his sleep ~

Winds taking him to his frontier west.

In a tedious journey, ardous and steep,

He feels the adventures pound in his chest.



He drinks the sweet mists oozing to the earth

That nourish the seed’s dreams, feeding his soul.

He feels the world’s warmth while inside his hearth,

And thrives through the earth’s generous heart dole.


His homeland gives his dreams a sense of place.

Your encouragements kindle his life’s blaze.



(Nourished By Jeques B. Jamora – March, 2006. A poem I wrote before I left the Philippines)

This week, the Writers Island prompts us to write on ‘Rising‘ and ‘Destiny.’ These are my thoughts, these are the songs that my soul sings, and I know many in http://writersisland.wordpress.com would love to listen. Please visit the island where many souls are singing.




Second Chance, From The Seed’s Perspective

Second Chance. Who could understand it better but I, the seed. Because ’tis when I am almost destroyed that I am about to grow. Here is how second chance is seen from where I lay, here’s how second chance means from the seed’s perspective.

I’m trapped down here in the dark walls of the earth.

Above me are thickened layers of hardened dirt.

I was once up there, I’m a child of the light.

The sun smiles, winds’ kisses, rains used to bath me.

But now I’m stuck, darkness enfolds me.

I’m thriving, dreaming. I am alone completely.

‘Tis my ineffable hope that’s left of me.

Would there’ll be someone up there to rescue me?

My thoughts of the light, my blissfull days brace me.

I’d transcend these adversities.

There’s a wonderful world for me to see.

I will escape the sadness that enslaves me.

I’ll live and not die, the morning awaits me.

I’ll gather my strength, my brave heart will free me.

I’m a seed destined to be a seasoned tree.

My courage is ingrained, ’tis deep within me.

(From my “Seed” series poem ~ Ingrained: Child Of The Light)


Seed #1, pen and ink on paper. By:Jeques B. Jamora, Nov. ’98


seed #2, pen and ink on paper. By: Jeques B. Jamora, Nov. ’98


seed #3, pen and ink on paper. By: Jeques B. Jamora, Nov. ’98


seed #4, pen and ink on paper. By: Jeques B. Jamora, Nov. ’98

I wish to grow into a lovely tree,

Where people could sit under my cool shade

And rest their weary minds, hearts and bodies.


I wish to grow into a healthy tree,

So I could bear fruits and feed people

I would nourish the hungry humanity.


I wish to grow into a sturdy tree;

People would build houses from my branches.

A shelter, a home, I would be glad to be.


I wish to grow into a seasoned tree,

So bridges and light posts will rise from me.

I would be your road, I would light your way.


But for now, I’m a seed. Don’t look down at me.

I maybe small, but the morn will change me.

I’m full of dreams, and life ahead of me.


I wish to grow into a mother tree.

Thousands of seeds would come alive from me.

Seeds metamorphosed to homes of love.


I will be your shelter, eternally.

(From my “Seed” series poem – “The Seed’s Wishes”)

For every spring time is another chance and the sunlight that shower us with kisses in the morning are constant reminders that there is a second chance ~ we just need to open our cores and let the sunshine in, and accept the bounty of the gifts of life.


The Seed’s Wishes


I wish I’d grow up a lovely tree,

You would sit under my cool shade

To rest your weary body.


I wish I’d grow up a healthy tree,

Bear fruits and nourish you

I’d give myself entirely.


 I wish I’d grow up a sturdy tree,

People would build houses from my branches.

Your refuge, I would be glad to be.


 I wish I’d grow up a seasoned tree,

Bridges and light posts will rise from me.

I’d be along the road to light your way.


I wish I’d grow up a fine tree,

Pages would be made from my fibers ~

Books, letters, notes, songs , poetry.


 I am a seed for the moment,

Wishes, and dreaming of a full life

The morning will change me.


I wish I’d grow up a parent tree.

Thousands of seeds would spring from me.

Seeds metamorphose to homes of love.



I will be your shelter, eternally.



Pulsating Transient Inhabitant


“Childhood” pencil on paper, 07/04/98. By: Jeques B. Jamora

I arrived not knowing what I am here for, where I came from and where I’m going.

At 4 o’clock in the morning on the last day of July, three decades and 5 years ago, another pulsating transient inhabitant came crying on his arrival seeing your light, hearing your sounds, feeling your touch, smelling your scents, and initially tasting the bitter-sweet flavors of life. Am I just another creature born from your womb and would walk the sands of time leaving footprints that would soon vanish with the tides and would be replaced by countless more who would walk your grounds not leaving any marks of our existence? Am I just like another mushroom that suddenly popped one morning from nowhere then gone tomorrow forgotten as you continue to orbit the sun? I came here clueless, just another pulsating transient inhabitant questioning, one more mouth to feed, just another dweller who would explore your every corner and exploit  your resources. 

You did not stop moving when I came. Sunrise as usual. Did you at least hear my cries from one of  the smallest isles in the orient seas where I was born? How many of us where born that day? Do you know where we are now? Do you record the distances we treck? Did you feel our first throbbing pulses in your surface? Are we in some way connected to your core?

Sunrise. Sunset. Days. Nights. I slowly began to come into awareness. I have a mother, a father, siblings ~ a family. My mother is your human manifestiation ~ nurturing. My father is the sky, distant but an authority. My life revolved in that small world I know with my siblings at home as I start to see and differentiate colors; to hear, speak and understand words that formed my thoughts. I rose from my crib crawling, learned to walk and run as I form my earliest memories of failures and falling, of triumphs and flying.


“Unfinished Painting” Oil on canvas, 40×48, By: Jeques B. Jamora 

I started to see and appreciate your beauty. I revere the first bud I saw blooming into flowers. Your trees so tall for the small kid that I was, delighted by their leaves that change colors with the seasons. Your majestic mountain ridges where I first saw the sun rising at dawn, only to set in the other side of the ridges at dusk.  The canopy of trees in your forests filled with all the diverse forms of life I can imagine. Your grass-carpeted plains and valleys, the springs that run through them nourishing every living things, replenished by your rivers that run to the seas. Your enormous oceans that engulf my size everytime I see it. I feel so small, just a tiny speck, like the single grain of sand when I stand in your shores.

I look at the horizon where you and the sky meet and I begin to wonder what’s beyond your vast seas. That curiousity dropped a seed of dream in my heart, my spirit alight to your other side that my eyes are unable to see and my mind could only imagine. You’re supportive of my dreams. You conspire with all the apparent coincidences that let me cross the seas and live my dreams. You are a pampering mother and in all the events and turning points of my life, I commune with you in silence. Am I a favored child? Have I been a good son?

I realize now you never left me in my years of existence. You never fail to remind me of your presence. I still get surprises from you now and then. I had my first snow at 34.

Every day another bud of flower blooms for me. New seed sprouts, fruit mellows, fish swims to your heart, bird learning to fly, baby crawls from the crib, a boy’s first bath in your rain shower, in your river, in the ocean. I am loved. What have I done to deserve all these? You love all your subjects equally but only some few recognizes how enormous your love is.

And when the pulse of this transient inhabitant would stop to beat, you would welcome my return to your navel. You would embrace this mortal body warm in your breasts as my soul begins to descend to an unknown sleep. 

Click link http://writersisland.wordpress.com/ to navigate to the Writers Island and contribute to this week’s prompt: “EARTH”

“1sts” (6. Bonsai)


I was called once to priesthood when I was in highschool, but I was expelled from the seminary after a year. Many were called, they said, but only a few were chosen; I was not. It is my first taste of rejection, I will not write about that now, but soon I will.

I would like to tell you about my first bonsai tree instead, and it has a name, I called him, “Ethan.” 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 from there.

I found Ethan still a seedling just starting to grow wild under the coconut tree in our backyard. He is a rare specie from the Balete(Rubber tree) family often found only in the forests. He must be a seed from those trees brought here by birds’ droppins. My natural liking for plants instantly draw me to his 5 verdant leaves. I replanted him and his first home was an empty tin can of milk. Quietly, I spent my summer wondering where to go reaching the end of my road while I watch Ethan grow new leaves.


What now with my broken wings?

I wonder now if I could fly again.

Will the winds of time save me from falling?

Tell me, where will I go from here?


What now with my wounded spirits?

I wonder now if I can rise from here.

Is there a pill that can mend the pain,

Will I ever have the courage to fight again?


My highschool years was a mess. I lost interest in everything. Like a seedling uprooted, I drifted with the uncertain currents of my young life. I slept my way through highschool, I was at section F of our batch,  a picture of defeat at 15. Looking back now, I feel I only did one thing right those years ~ I planted Ethan. 

God always have his way to pull our strings and bring us back to shores when we lost our ways in the ocean. He did and he put me in a nursing school. The least I thought I would become for a profession, but the course served me double purpose: I got a degree while I nurse my scars through college. Ethan grew into a maniature tree with dense leaves and 2 main branches by now. We practically grow up together. I trimmed his roots and leaves year after year, trained his trunk to lean to the direction it would look best, molding him into a lovely tree in a pot that he had become. While I became a nurse.

It was sad to leave him home when it was time for me to go to find my place in the adult world after college. But I have to do what I need to do. And for the first time he was out of my life. I have risen and had moved on from my previous defeat. I never saw him for 5 long years, when I went home we already moved to a new house in the city and then I remember Ethan.

It was a sad reunion for us. He lost his beautiful form the last time I saw him. My mother cut one of his main branch the previous year not knowing what to do with his uncontrolled growth. He was like an old friend with over grown mustache and beard unrecognizsble when I first saw him. He has a scar in the heart of his trunk from the branch that was cut off. I bleed inside seeing this friend who was once there for me soothing my pain with his green silence.

I started trimming, grooming, molding him again making the best out of the one branch that was left. His cecatrix added beauty to his new form. 3 years after he surprised me with abundant fruits in his branches to show me that he is a full grown tree now. He inspired me to grow more bonsai trees and he became a big brother to all of them. I was home for 8 years spending everyday moments with him sitted in that quiet side of our garden with the pond under.

It’s been a year now since I bade Philippines goodbye and gave Ethan my last glance when I moved here to Chicago last year. If only I could bring him here. I left him to the care of my 2 nieces for I know it is his purpose to touch life like he did to me.

It is when the seed is almost destroyed that it is about to grow. I understand that better now with Ethan. I went through the lowest point in my life and manage to rise like a seed. Yes, our cicatrix add beauty to our forms.





The Heart’s Cicatrix


Deep in the core of a thick-coated seed

Is a dormant, delicate budding tree.

Be gentle when you touch it, and take heed,

‘Tis frail to the rough hands and unwary.


Seeds like vernal hearts need a caring hand.

So be careful my friend, don’t break any.

The scar you would leave you should understand,

Would be engraved in the heart and would stay.


As I observe the trees’ cicatrices,

I, too, am reflecting upon my scars.

My chest from outside has no blemishes.

But inside I’m bruised, countless like the stars.


‘Tis when I look upon the trees closer,

And only when I peek deep inside me

That my heart’s cicatrix I discover,

Is the secret of my soul’s true beauty.


part of seed series poetry, 011006 ~ Jeques

Ingrained: Child Of The Light #1

Seed # 1


I’m trapped down here in the dark walls of the earth.

Above me are thickened layers of hardened dirt.

I was once up there, I’m a child of the light.

The sun smiles, winds’ kisses, rains used to bath me.


But now I’m stuck, darkness envelops me.

I’m thriving, dreaming. I am alone completely.

‘Tis my ineffable hope that is left of me.


Will there be someone up there to rescue me?


My thoughts of the light, my blissfull days brace me.

I will transcend these adversities.

There is a wonderful world for me to see.


I will escape the sadness that enslaves me.


I’ll live and not die, the morning awaits me.

I’ll gather my strength, my brave heart will free me.

I’m a seed destined to be a seasoned tree.


My courage is ingrained, ’tis deep within me.


My Daily Letter To “You” #4

I was loved by my mother as a child; she still does. She shield me the best she could. Nobody touch her youngest. And when I look back, maybe that’s how I learn my natural care for people, and my capacity to love. She mold me.

My father is cold. Perhaps he loves me, yes, but he loves himself more. I never felt any warmth from my father. He is distant. The closest I get with him is when we are around people. He likes showing to an audience how good he is as a father, how he loves me. But I never felt that because it desolves when the crowd is gone. I grew up wanting to prove him something. But he always made me feel that I’m not good enough. For many years I thought I was stupid. He made my failures even harder.

My mother gave me the applause that my father refused to give. She applauded me with every little things I do. When I fail, she is the person I don’t want to see. But she is there anyway. I grew up promising myself not to do anything that would make my mother less proud of me.

Warm and cold, they both mold me.

My creator puts me in a mold to shape me according to his plans. He engineered me, leaving his imprints through the things, places, moments and the people he sent inside that mold as I move forth. At this point of my life, I have learned to allow Him.

Life I’ve realized is a seed

Neglect life and it shall perish

Celebrate life and it shall grow and florish.

Family and friends are extension of God’s love to nurture the seed.

Joys and sorrows are moments to mold us.

The fruit is a sturdy, seasoned tree ~



Whose hands do you allow to mold you?

I wish you well ~ Jeques