Boding Poems | Examples

Untitled

We were young,
no accident,
brittle are branches
snapping
of fragility.
They say,
there's blood
in a tree's bark...
And the pain comes,
with chopping
of the wood.
We can't be blamed
for loss of innocence
to the grey swirly
of constant clouds,
watching us
since we were
knee hide,
delivering
fore-boding
nightmares.....

Zen mode

God’s grace in-pours
from our fontanel
soma nectar drips
boding all is well

God’s disc of light
hovers over our head
nothing need be done
we are by His hand led

Say it like it is

We feel God’s hand placed right over our head,
His grace in-pouring through the fontanel
and as we are in this manner spoon-fed,
bliss rapture rises boding all is well.
There’s no urgency for soul to ascend,
for there remain no goalposts to defend,
as breath by breath we behold in surprise,
the dance divine taking us to new highs.

Zen mode

a stream of bliss 
enters the fontanel
third eye glistens
boding all is well

toroidal heart hums
rapture fills form
we’re poised in peace
centred in this storm

Zen mode

centred deep within each and every cell
lies the spark of God wherefrom bliss mists swell
caress divine sublime is intimate
seductive tingles that do not abate
boding all is well in mind-body shell
we are the flame and in it ego dies
each breath ushers a new blissful sunrise

As we metamorphose

We’re he who spirit has chosen to christen,
transforming within form each and every cell,
which reflecting God’s light, sparkle and glisten, 
synced to rhythm of bliss beats, boding all is well, 
that thus gentling attention, as we listen,
we sense vibrations of Om, the cosmic bell.
In time form becomes a flame that has no name;
tempest of bliss magnetism, we cannot tame.

Zen mode

the tenth door pulsates
boding well for soul’s ascent
even though we are in surrender
seeking nothing save caress divine
transmuting decaying form made of dust

Death Blows a Flamed Horn

In a chariot of fire in the sun
  blew a pale horse and pale rider’s last breath,
and on your grave sings a boding raven
  in the shadows of the valley of death.
Where no graven image rise from its bones,
  only a cold wormwood wind on death row
pipes through the rushes beyond the tombstones
  where time cut short above stood still below.
But far more does sound a haunting in me
  as if your faint voice my ear passing through -
and I trapped betwixt next world and earthly
  sit this day communing with God and you.
Yet I fear death itself I shall not mourn
when diviners blow its fiery flamed horn.

    
               Written: July 1995

antithesis

a crepuscular forest of shadows,
of fierce animal boding -
devout day-mare crossfire

Simplify

Softened attention, marked by pure intent,
agendaless, yet trying to connect
with music of the spheres, for soul’s ascent,
delights as bliss beats within rise unchecked.

When eye be single, pheromones mingle,
resulting in a thunderous bliss surge
and we feel an ethereal tingle,
as male and female polarities merge.

The path is simple but mind complicates,
conjuring beliefs of heaven and hell
but heart’s innocence always celebrates,
with caress divine boding all is well.

Thought is overrated; shift to the heart,
for that’s where we feel bliss ignition start.

Letter To Memories

Dear Memories,
You are so precious to me.
Especially the fond delights;
Which keeps my mind afresh of past moments,
To which I make renewed and informed decisions today,
Sustain ancient renowned trends,
And become a better version of myself.
I put you in high esteem,
For there won't be an iota of change if you hadn't existed. 
And to the ill-boding and unsuitable ones;
Thanks for growing and exposing me to glare reality.
For you taught me to learn,unlearn and re-learn.
It has been a hell of a ride.
But , ohh ! I've got to admit, 
My desired transitions are visible and laudable.
You are the best companion.

New Year - New Me

Last year she belonged to you
Giving her all
For you to breakthrough. 
Chimes at twelve
Fireworks exploding
Yet no Good-will came from your boding. 
She picked up her heart that
Dragged on the floor
Dusted it off
Deciding she was worth more.
Resoluting to be the very best
That only she can,
She stopped her influence
Sobered again.
Then she was free from things
That bound her
Became a fresh experience
Happy, joyous and free!

One More My Friend

                     I
One more my friend, one more
  ice cold beer golden filled,
till I alone face my mortal end
  and by its treachery killed.
Where haunts a ghost of mine
  whom I once much owed...
one more my friend, one more,
  just one more for the road
                    II
One more my friend, one more
  boding self-evident truth,
but fear not a day of reckoning
  nor an everlasting reproof.
Behold the virgin and the whore,
  alas both have sins to bear…
one more my friend, one more
  fork in a road to nowhere
                    III
One more my friend, one more
  lost courage for me to find,
to forgive a troubled weary soul 
  and rest with peace of mind.
Let church bells ring for brides
  and infants in holy baptism...
one more my friend, one more
  old demon for my exorcism
                    IV
One more my friend, drink up
  and seek a blessing now,
seek a true salvation and pray
  that you find it somehow.
And if I pass before my time
  among the grateful dead…
drink up old friend, drink up
  and live long in my stead!


  Written: December 1996

Decomposition of My Dignity

I am being held hostage by a pressing force of incognizant, and I am impregnated in a world of spiraling storms of confusion.
  Fragments of memories prods my mind. Sudden and swift memories of my failings and sins are but a measured minute of my life.
  Why can't I remember slipping into this fog of incertitude, this doom  pressing force of incognizant.
    My heart grows numb against the days and nights that I spend in despondency.
  Familiar faces shifts to peculiar and ill-boding images.
 Solitude is a conundrum of emptiness.  A bittersweet embrace.
  My tongue is locked in an aphasia space.
  My brain has forgotten its ability to command, and so my legs and arms have no will of its own.
  I want to run away, run to a place that will strike a familiar note in my brain.
  I hate being handled by strangers who pull at me and torture me with applications of abuse.
  In a regular diurnal, my dignity is decomposing.
  Despair is the song of my wretched soul. 
  I can not stop crying.  


copyright Labyrinth of Life

Mastering the Dark Clouds

In all our days upon the earth
they are clouds all around
some are light but others dark
amidst them there’s hope to be found

These dark one’s can be awful
black and over boding to the soul
your mood seems always cast down
hopelessness fills you as comfort’s stole

Remember to lift your drooping head up
for over your hill lies your eternal hope
there’s a God in heaven waiting patiently
to see you passing down your rope

So this is our God of hope
Jesus who wipes away our cloud
keep your heart embraced in His
eternally secure the Lord has vowed

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