I advance onwards
Deeper, deeper into the woods.
A search for, an escape from.
To chase, or to run away.
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
It is time to return home.
Jeques, Milwaukee. July 30 to August 1, 2010. From his “Traveler’s Soliloquies” poetry collection.
I am forever tracing in my mind
The creases in your palms,
When you pressed it close to mine ~
Your last strong grip,
Our last hand shake ~
Then we bade goodbye.
We met again,
We said hello.
I anticiapated a hand shake
That never happened.
In an unexpected moment
Your reach out your hand
For a hand shake.
In that brief moment
Beneath your usual firm grip
I trace the creases
In your palms I missed,
But they’re not there ~
We were wearing gloves.
I write because I feel that something inside me needs to be said, a voice wanting to be heard, a seed needing to see the light of day. . .
I discovered that when I express myself in writing, I need an ideal shape and form for my thoughts to be fully understood. I allow my heart and my intuition to guide me to pick the right pattern to entwine with the music of my soul that gives rhythm to my poetry. I value clarity and honesty, they are the be-all and end-all of my works.
I write my poems because I feel them, I believe them, they are my truth ~ they are me. I don’t give my pieces limitations as to their form and shape. Some pieces want to be all over the pages like a simple poetic journal entry. . .
“what now? I don’t know. I ride the tides, sail with the wanton winds lossing my anchor. Wherever it will take me, there I am. I just hope one day the tides and the winds will take this vessel back to you to anchor me. . . “
Some wanted to be written in free verse. . .
Offer abundant inspirations.
Some occur only in my imagination
Silent illusions ~
Writings done initially in the mind:
Dreams in my sleep.
But like seeds seeing the light of day,
They sprout from their coats
And display colorful blooms
When I awake.
They become sketches in words ~
Stories, poems, music of my soul
Written on pages.
Stories not told die.
Dreams remain in the shadows
If we don’t live them.
Random thoughts nag me.
My hands itch to write
My body has to live my thoughts.
I allow them.
And that’s when Poetry Becomes me.
Other thoughts are expressed better in Haiku. . .
Enthroned on placid blue sea
Crowned by fluffy clouds.
Senryu. . .
Hunters live to take
Gardeners exist to give
But both shepherd life.
Tanka. . .
The best of prayers
Are chants from the heart in songs.
I don’t have a gift
A voice to pray in a song.
So I’m praying though my poems.
Others may need to be written in vignette. . .
As the sun sets to the west
I lay, shut-eyed, on its chest.
The eastern breeze pass a gentle whisk on my face.
I listen closely to the songs of the sea
As the waves come home
Like a lover breaking down
To the chest of the waiting shore.
I lay there and wait.
While some require refinements like in sonnet. . .
A Walk Around The Oval
Once more I walk the oval track today,
And ponder yet again, “What is my role?”
Am I just making circles every day
In life’s arena, like an errant soul?
I walk around the never ending trail:
A fallen leaf caught in a swirling stream;
Or like an army, ever locked in drill.
I am engrossed and walk in my own dream.
Some strangers share my lane but not my muse.
You’re far, and yet, our thoughts are much the same;
I’m not alone then in the road I choose;
Beyond the oval someone shares my lane.
In you my lonesome soul finds home to stay,
For in my heart you’re near, you’re here with me.
And still others are better left as prose.
I listen to my heart when chosing a structure because if I follow my mind, free verse just disguises the laziness in my thoughts and execution, and the formal verse just sugar-coats my bloodless triviality. The heart recognizes the difference, and so I write only with my heart.
Most of my earlier works are written in the morning when my job still allow me to wake up at dawn for my morning pages. Now that I work night shift, afternoon becomes my morning ~ so it is safe to say that I write when I rise, whatever the time of day. It is important that I capture my thoughts as soon as it start to reveal itself because when I miss them, they are lost forever. It’s like an entangled thread that I need to find its loose end and writing helps me untangle my thoughts to clarity.
“Tis great to think with a free mind;
’tis wonderful to love with an unretrained heart.”
These words speak my life’s mantra, and I found my enlightenment by writing.
I hope my written works, the songs of my soul will find home in your hearts. Because when you read them, you’re listening to this tyke’s voice, and I allow you to take a peek to my waif soul.
I wish you well.
I see birds flying west as I look at the gray morning skies.
In my hand, I hold a glass of cold water.
In my heart, I contain the pain of letting you go.
I drink the cold water and along swallow the lump in my throat knowing that I’m losing my true love forever.
The cold water numbs my heart.
I look at the skies one more time to see the birds, or perhaps it is you I want back. But the birds are gone. I see only empty skies, like the void you left in my heart when we bade goodbye.
This is how I’m going to hold this day in my thoughts.
I lost you in the skies.
~ Jeques, 121305
At midday, alone in my room, I look at the greens outside. It is draped red by the curtain and framed by the window panes. The leaves dance to the tempo dictated by the winds; along with the melodies sung by the birds perched on the bough of the narry tree.
The lazy motion outdoors cast down my mood and carry my thoughts away. Half awake, I drift to our past. Those middays when you own me. I want those days back. I linger on the yesterdays wishing that you still belong to me.
A bee stray in my room awakening me from my reverie.
Your existence contenue to haunt me. The sting you left still hurts – I can’t help it – I love you endlessly.
From a beach cottage
I hear the boat’s engine roars.
The sound’s getting louder
As it comes closer to the shore.
The sound, like the emerging day light,
Signals the nearing morning.
The tide rise and recede overnight.
The fisherman docks in the harbor,
Where his wife awaits for the night catch.
Their eyes meet, their minds embrace.
A sketch of the drama of life.
Someone awaits. Somebody arrives.
As the sun sets to the west,
I lay shut-eyed, on your chest.
The salty winds blowing from the east
Gently caress my tanned skin.
I listen closely to the sounds of the sea waves
Coming home to the chest of the waiting shore.
Like lovers, they miss and long for their embraces.
As I lay here and wait.