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 That summer and years after that I became withdrawn, misunderstood.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.
Lessons From Autumn
~
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
The Autumn Leavings
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.
Early Fall (Tula – a Pilipino poem)
~
Nalalanta ang mga halaman
Plants are wilting.
Nalalagas ang mga dahon
Leaves
At bulaklak.
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
The trees
Ay nadarapa
Take a bow
At babalik kung saan sila nagsimula ~
Returning where they came ~
Sa lupa.
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
Ng Buhay.
Of life.
.
Sa kanyang pangungulila,
On his longing,
Sya ay tahimik na maghihintay.
He will await in silence.
Tulad ko rin,
Like me,
Patuloy na umaasa
Continually hoping
Na muli kang babalik
For your return
Upang sa akin ay muling ialay
To give me back
Ang pag-ibig mo
Your love
Na nagbigay
That gave
Sa akin ng buhay.
Me life.
.
Sa unang pagpatak
On the first drop
Ng ulan
Of rain
Sa pagsapit ng tagsibol,
At springtime,
Muling babangon
The trees
Ang mga puno.
Will rise again.
.
Pipintig nang muli
My heart
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
My love
Tulad din ng mga bulaklak
Like the flowers
Ay mamumukadkad.
Will bloom
At Iibig nang muli
And my heart
Ang aking puso.
Will love again.
~
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 would like to tell you about my first bonsai tree, 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 again.
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’ droppings. 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. To him, I was a broken guardian; and him a soothing green that healed my broken soul.
~
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 spirit?
I wonder now if I could rise from here.
Is there a pill that can mend this pain,
Would 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 in 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 nursed my heart’s scars through college. Ethan grew into a maniature tree with dense leaves and 2 main branches by now. We practically grew 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 real world after college. But I had to do what I needed 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 remembered 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 branches the previous year not knowing what to do with his uncontrolled growth. He was like an old friend with over grown mustache and beard unrecognizable when I saw him during my home-coming. 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 to soothe 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 every day moments with him sitted in that quiet side of our garden with the pond under.
When I moved to Chicago in 2006, he’s one thing in my life back home that’s hard to let go. He is part of our conversations over the phone whenever I call home. I made sure my nephews and nieces are taking care of him. I left him to their care for I know it is time for him to touch their young life like he did to me.
During my home-coming, I always have a blast reunioniting with family. But in my 
solitude, I have a silent reunion with Ethan. I spend quiet moments in the garden with him towering over me when I’m sitted ~ God, how he has grown sturdy like a seasoned tree. I took shelter in his canopy of green leaves, I felt the cool breeze of his breath in the wind ~ he has grown to become the guardian of my once broken soul.
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.
Ethan and I ~ time healed our wounds and left us marks adding beauty to our forms ~ we stand firm and sturdy.
The Mother’s Lullaby
I love you my precious child, my bliss. You carry the sweetest juice of my veins. My costliest joys come from you. You deserve the fullness of my affection. The brightest and the loveliest of all the fruits I bear in my womb and grew on my branches season after season.
Even when you were just about to bloom out of the bud I conceived from a leaf I shed in october, I knew by maternal instinct, that your fate would be different. You attracted a bizarre mob of insects: bees, bugs, ants, butterflies. They all feasted on your sweet nectar. The wind stole you kisses morning and night, and along carried your fragrance too distant. Perhaps, your spirit had reached faraway lands and shores even as a tyke. You were destined to travel, you will go places.
I cling to you the longest. You mellow in my nourishement. I wanted to embrace you forever, but I know, I could not. The hardest of all my tasks is knowing that I have to let you go when I’m done with my duty with you. I fear that that day, I dread the thought. I stayed awake day and night to guard you. I loath the winds for they might snatch you out of my grip. I curse the insects for they are taking too much of you. I resent their carelessand harsh advances. Because I know, being your mother, that you would live a life far more than all that.
But you are already sturdy as the tree that you would become early on. I am relieve from all my anxieties as you surpass, surviving your initial tribulations. I am proud watching you metamorphose into a tiny precious fruit. I cherished our moments together.
We danced and flirted with the winds. At night, we counted and wished upon every stars. We revered the beauty of wild flowers and sniff their exotic perfumes that permeate the gardens and the fields. I welcome the birds that serenade you on my branches. I nourish you with crystal clear water of springs that my roots sip from the nearby streams. I catch and gathered the dew in my leaves to bathe you in the morning. We are cleansed by the cool ppristine showers of the rain. The sun keeps us warmth and dry. I ask the sun to smile at you, but at noon, I leaned over a canopy of my leaves to shield you from the scorching heat of midday rays.
We marvel at the gifts of every sunrise. The sunset blesses us with tranquility and peace. On quiet moonlit nights, I rock you on my cradle to sleep. I watch you close in you slumber, as I sung you lullabies. My soul feels glad at your existence, my heart leaps. I caress your face tenderly with my leaves. One touch, and I felt bliss.
You’re more than everything I asked for,
More than anything I need.
You are my son, my beloved.
Her lullaby fades as she kiss her angel goodnight. She closes her eyes wanting to freeze the moment, but then she, too, falls into a deep blissful sleep.
You breathe me life, so I may live,
You’re the reason that I exist.
You are my mother,
My life, to you I am indebted.
—–
To my mother and all the mothers of writers island and the world.
Happy Mothers Day!
For Writers Island prompt: “Fantasy”
Be The Best That You Could Be
But a shrub only,
Be the best shrub that flourish
Your sight people will cherish.
But a herb only,
Be the best herb that heals
So people may live.
But a weed only,
Be the best grass that’s green.
To console the people in pain.
And If fate would not make you any,
Then be just the soil maybe.
A fertile soil where seeds
Of herbs and weeds
And shrubs and trees would grow.
.
Somehow, you would live in them;
You will bring them life ~
Becoming the best that you could be.
~
If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michaelangelo painted or Beethoven posed music or shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here live a great street sweeper who did his job so well. ~ Martin Luther King
~
And when I die strew my dust-remains in the earth so trees may grow.
—
This week, the http://writersisland.wordpress.com prompts us to write about Persistence. I think this is how it should be.
Through The Sires’ Eyes
The universe’s
Multi-faceted reflections
Scintillate
Through the sires’
Keen eyes and fecund minds
That the next generation
Would take heed.
~~~:+***+:~~~
“Age appears to be the best in four things –
Old wood best for furnitures
Old wine to drink
Old friends to trust
Old authors to read.”
– Francis Bacon
—
old age, withered, wasted. . . . they could also mean accomplished. ~ Jeques
—
The photographs were taken last January in Roxas City, Philippines. I saw this tree while driving and it enticed me to take pictures, so I pulled over and these are the result.(more photographs to come of this lovely tree)
jeques
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