Bides Poems | Examples

Listen to the Wind

“Listen to the Wind” 

The wind arrives, with secrets stitched in its breath, 
It hums through the hollows of abandoned trees. 
A hush of silk, it weaves the dusk with longing, 
Its fingers comb the grass, gentle and unseen. 

And each guest watches, trembling, through the curtains. 
Rolling like sorrow across forgotten shores. 
And against the windows of weary houses. 
A lullaby layered with echoes of loss. 

The wind remembers the steps that have passed, 
And strews them as petals over the earth. 
It carries the salt of tears uncried, 
Spilling them gently into the quiet air. 

Listen—the wind is not empty but aching, 
A voice unmoored, searching for a place to rest. 
In the rafters it bides, as restless as a soul, 
Drifts away and takes some pieces of us. 

The wind does not ask for witness or reply, 
Yet, it teaches us how silence still can sing. 
When night tucks itself into the folds of shadowed valleys, 
The wind keeps vigil for all things who have no voice.

Sweet Hour Of Prayer

Sweet Hour Of Prayer,
                            Sweet Hour Of Prayer!

That Call's Me From A World Of Care!

And Bides Me At My Father's Throne;

Makes All My Want's And Wishes, .... Known!

Gentle Little Lamb

   Shaking her wet ears, uncertain 
   How her purpose may be best served
   Stagger concealed in immersion
   Shown the pasture that she deserved

   
   Frolicking safely within a flock
   Diminutive trot to the beat kept timid
   Faithfully bides time, tick clock 
   Offer of grace to God signals her limit


   Wool washed, cleansed by clan
   Coddled offspring wrapped with cotton 
   Shepherd held title, simple plan
   Dinners prepared, archaic ideals rotten 


   Bristling beneath her softness
   Fibres frayed at what her life signifies 
   Dismayed to only boost profits
   Loyal lamb follow is forsaken sacrifice 

  
   Fuming, she rips off her fleece
   Livid lion malicious marauder dormant
   Roars revenge, discards peace
   Trek to reckless, divorce her informant 


   Taught to shelter, even in harm
   Trust husband’s will, cutlet finale fate
   Savage feline, leaving the farm
   Sleek escapee lapping blood off plate




      
     Sacrificial Sixteenth November

Lady Jill

Jill’s a driver; and she is still working
while her better-half bides more time at rest.
Jill’s in good shape, no job is she shirking;
a lady in first place, she gives her best.

Oppenheimer

~ Such irony Creation would devise
a mind that holds the secrets Hell conceals.
‘Tis blasphemous that man would improvise
a conduit that prophecy reveals.
  ‘Tis but a curse to be the chosen one
and know its secrets dwell within your mind
and if unveiled, the world would come undone,
for Revelation bides within design.

  ‘‘Tis feared requite that shackles fire unbound
as light and darkness seek to set it free.
But in those minds where thoughts of Hell resound,
we pray that reason never turns the key.
 The mind of man was destined to unveil
    a sentience where evil notions dwell.

Afterfeel

An uncertain afterfeel
Rolls inside and bides
Like a tape recorder reel
On the floor unwinds
Meet your Lady Aftershock
Be her truest slave
Take her down to the docks
For the random wave
Slams the door, the draught bursts in
Papers scatter to the sides
Applications from the screen  
Texts with seals and signs
There’s no memory to feed 
Files are kept alive
Fictions growing fast like weeds
Shuttering your life
The damp wind keeps blowing on
Through the dusty streets
Shades of poplars hanging low
Over the empty seats 
Lady Aftershock walks in
Busy on the phone 
Wheel of fortune starts to spin
Blues of Mr.Gone
Lights go dim, the evening goes
Like most evenings do 
Morning comes, the daylight glows
But there’s nothing new.

Sins

~ ‘Tis through God’s grace we're able to withstand
inane commissions of the human mind. 
We question why, but never understand,
then search for answers that we’ll never find.
  We scan our thoughts where evil bides within
and wonder where inside our goodness dwells.
We search in vain for causes of our sin
and pray to God divinity prevails.
  To reason why is but a conscious fault
that binds our scruples to a moral heart.
Though questions why forever will be sought
thus, never letting clarity impart.
   Be not dismayed, the answer is at hand,
     as innocence receives the mark of man.

Song of The Silversword No 1: ABAB

A mountain of some measure aligned slopes,
Silversword's statuesque uncommonness,
bikers and skiers, youth urban slang, 'dopes,'
pics of height's flowering tower upness.
Centuries of swordplay, The Word, acclaimed,
plowshares and the sorts treats its new version.
Purplish flowers are structurally framed,
like a cross handle, silver hairs orphan.
Majestic still today, handle to point,
Jehovah's watchtower, grand edifice
leans to age and weather. Volcano joint
Maui's 'House of the Sun' sole home exists.
Another species bides the intellects,
nature goes on living with the ... neglects.

Winter Sun

perches low enough
and bides an early farewell~
the sun in winter

How long can Love wait?

"How long can Love wait?"

The world could end tomorrow; 
we hold the world in our hands,
and Love waits, bides its time;
when the call comes, for Love,
we run and hide, or we shoot strait -

How long can Love wait?

The world could end tomorrow 
we hold the world in our hands 

the Heart's closed, 
or an open gate

(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)

The Pit

A deep deceptive pit 
One so inescapable and filled with turmoil 
In this pit a man bides 
Not by choice, but for no reason 
Not for treason 
But for nothing at all 
Why is it that he deserves a life of torture and hell
When a person worse has everything at the ring of a bell 
The more he tries to escape,  the deeper he falls
For the pit is too tall
Footsteps come near 
Yet, not to rescue his soul, but instead to sneer 
“Climb on out” they mock 
But for the man in the pit the exit is locked

A Speech With Two Motives

Kirk goes back to practised cadence,
With it he hits ears, no conscience,
Great stir in a once mute audience,
Afresh bides his time: Great Patience…

Talks triggered between close sitters
That a night guard steals embitters:
His straight sack: more hard hitters:
‘People’s wealth the meanly fritters!’

At the right time drop microphone:
Now, your voice is a xylophone.
They all hear you, no francophone.
If there’s one he should guess through tone.

What speakers do is stamp knowledge,
Over the rest ‘some sort of edge’:
That of one who’s passed through college,
Night candles not burnt sacrilege…

The Guard who steals likes his worst foes;
Just time he stepped on his seen toes
But like one fighting men’s woes:
It hurts when what comes quickly goes.

Prince-Heir

based on a photo posted
on media today
of King Charles III


         bitty boy bored
wedged between babysitters -
        queen is celebrant…
prince-heir bides seventy years
beholden crowds cheer his crown

A Visitor

He comes visiting when least expected
In all places at any time or clime.
No rich nor poor ever can shun his calls,
Not the  youths or those who are past their prime.
     When he arrives, you cannot close your door;
     He makes his entrance though you say, “No more.”

He frequents battle fields and hospitals; 
He drops by on anyone, weak or strong.
His visits, though unwelcome, fall on all--
Man, woman, child, alone or in a throng.
     When he appears you cannot say, “Next door,”
     He barges in for what he’s looking for.

Though mute who utters not a word nor sound,
Oft he announces himself with a “Bang!”
Sometimes he bides before entering a home,
Sometimes he’s as quick as a boomerang.
     At times he leaves a clean job, at others gore,
     His visits are an event to deplore.

There are few who invite this visitor
And would embrace him if he could be touched.
But most fear and detest this unseen guest
That distinguishes not who’d be dispatched.
     He crawls or slides or floats, or he may soar--
     And comes for you before you can implore. 

March 30, 2023

Hiku Quaternion 1x4

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