The Boabom Journal » poems

The Shadow

admin — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 15:21:42 +0000

The Shadow

It was fall,
it was late.

The different tunes of
the colors made
the evening look dark.

Sweet smells
of plants on
the weat ground,
turning into soil.

Slow winds playing
among the trees,
touching the last
straw of grass,
the sleepy movements
of the lake.

The forest main road
was lightened by lamps
so that people could
walk in the dark.

But in this evening
she was alone.

Although she knew
the life of the forest,
she could not see
nor hear anything.

Only the feeling of the air.
The slow smell of the fall.
The softness of the darkness.
The stones under her feet.

The air was wet with
water drops,
still breathing the last rain.

And the sweat running
down her face
become a steam of
salt water.

Running down the hill
she suddenly stopped,

Standing in front of her,
on the side of the road,
was a tree.

Surrrounded by light,
from the lamp posts
behind.

Stripes through the light,
triangles and squares,
yellow and white,
dark blue and
green,
grey
and
black.

It was
the most
beautiful glory
she had ever seen.

After a while she
looked down on the ground.

There was the shadow of the tree.

She rested in the shadow.

Slowly breathing,

First then she saw her own,
as a black print
in the grey shadow of the tree.

She thought of running home,
but started to walk instead.
Suddenly wanting to
touch the tree.

As she lifted her hand,
she saw that it was not one tree.
It was three trees between her and the lamp.

They were all old, strong and
high
birch trees.
Standing beside each other.

Her hand felt the
wet moss
on the hard skin of
the trees.
She touched all three
of them,
one by one.

The breathing between them.

Thanking.

Inger (Boabom Norway)

(photographs by Yemado)

Mount Analogue

admin — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 17:03:16 +0000

You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again.
So why bother in the first place?
Just this: What is above knows what is below,
But, what is below does not know what is above.
One climbs, one sees.
One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen.
There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up.
When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.

Rene Daumal (1908 – 1944, France)

(a contribution by Tim)

Open the Door, to That Which is Pure

admin — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 15:57:31 +0000

Open the Door, to that which is Pure.
We are Our Own Doctor, We hold Our Own Cure.
The Past hidden Ages, do not need to hold Sway.
Over so much that We Do, or so much that We Say.
The Desire which shimmers, is holding a Lie.
Searching the shadows, while the Light we defy.
The sorrow, the misery, they all hold the Key.
Listen to their Truth, as The Path, to be Free.
We make Our mistakes, Over, and Again.
Perhaps they’re not wrong, perhaps they’re a Friend.
In seeing the Window, through which they persist.
We can realize the Lessons, We all seem to miss.
Accepting the Who the What and the Why.
Gives cause to Rejoice, but never to cry.
For returning to Self, is a Wondrous state.
Our Ultimate goal, Our Ultimate fate.
It is not that We grow, it is not, an advance.
We simply return, to Our Childhood Dance!

Anonymous, (Boabom North)

For best results, yield…

admin — Fri, 09 Apr 2010 15:43:23 +0000

Any student who enjoys Boabom, who tries to understand its peculiar Ways, especially Logak, will find this poem by Lao-Tzu enriched by the perspective of the Art.

Stretching a bow or filling a teacup, it is the same:
For best results, yield.

Over-harden a blade and it will soon break;
Stuff a house full of riches and it is not safe;
Define yourself by pride and arrogance and you ensure your downfall.

On completing a task, remove yourself, lightly.
This is the Way of Nature

Lao Tse

~~~~~0~~~~~

Three Boabom Haikus

admin — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 16:43:44 +0000

Solstice approaches.
Good friends, fresh air, lots of food.
Boabom outside!

Elegant Yuas
Phrased together as a class.
There is sweet music …

Paralyzed with Fear,
Gaunai Humiliation.
Student’s first logak.

- The Other Anonymous Student (Boabom North)

Three Boabom Haiku

admin — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 13:28:01 +0000

Breathing through movement.
Barely can do this new move.
Samut: “Too easy.”

Balance improves, but…
Flailing arms and legs. Watch out!
Someone yells “Timber!”

Angry arrival.
Meditation in movement.
Why was I so mad?

– The Other Anonymous Student (Boabom North)

“Poemas Místicos” in Amazon.com!

admin — Tue, 12 Jan 2010 19:03:45 +0000

Sojamm!

It is the first month of the year and we already have good news. The book Mystic Meditations (Poemas Místicos) by Asanaro is officially available to the public! It can be purchased from anywhere in the world through amazon.com.

We invite everyone to share this with friends and those who are interested in learning a new perspective on the Boabom Arts!

Available here: amazon.com / Poemas Místicos

Thinking about our Boabom classes… : )

admin — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 23:56:28 +0000

Greetings, grins and smiles, welcome students all
sandals, shoes and boots, waiting in the hall
conversation bubbles, and laughter while we wait
someone changes quickly, they were a minute late
there is no inconvenience, no one is upset
as a group we stick together, since the day we met
now class begins it’s rhythm, seductive and secure
new movements that we learn, help us to explore
the pace and combinations, produce a healthy sweat
the rhythm and the cadence, help us to forget
the moves that work the body, also work the mind
living in the moment, class helps us to unwind

ps: our class rules and all the others drool!

OOPs! sorry … no competition!!!!! sojammm!!!!!

Paul (Boabom North)

Boabom Haiku

admin — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 12:42:27 +0000

Among the treetops

Is where we dare to emcee

Right-, left-brain; hands, feet

Sweat, breathe, move: we’re one

The week’s “to-dos” are outdone

Awaken yourself

–Vanessa & Lucie (Boabom North)

Poem by Lao Tzu

admin — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 14:22:52 +0000

On tiptoe,
one is not steady;
Stretching legs
cannot keep pace.

The intent to shine
dulls the gleam;
Claims of greatness
merely diminish.

Great presumption
makes nothing grow,
And smugness
simply fades away.

To find harmony with yourself,
it is a waste to carry
these things with you…

Tear them up,
throw them away,
go beyond…