These Inspiration Ode poems are examples of Ode poems about Inspiration. These are the best examples of Inspiration Ode poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Just a girl in a room, sitting on the floor,
I can see her in this window, but I see no door
Crying her song of anguish, of this unspeakable pain,
Has every intention never to feel it again
I rock, I tremble, my life is at cost
All I know is this shell, for it's myself...my core...my all I have lost
From the start I new this fight could only last so long,
I aimed to defeat it, striving to remain strong
Each day in and day out, facing the demon, fighting the doubt
At a moment with no warning, without any clue
I was losing my strength...my energy...all the will I once knew
For now, my all is lost, my memories are faint,
There is no pretty picture left for me to paint
This girl on the floor, in this empty room
Was this girl condemned for a life of doom
My tears disappeared, like they'd never been there
Dried up with my soul, the time is clear
Wanting to shake her, make her open her eyes
To show some hope, the blue is still in the skies
Then, out of nowhere, I found the door
I wanted to save the girl on the floor
As I neared and inched to her close
She wasn't that girl, what I saw was a ghost
As I turned to walk out, stopped by a noise
I heard the laughter of girls and of boys
With that came a voice of peace and of grace
She told me, she's happy, no-more demon for her to face
I am calmed, I'm reassured, I'm no longer in pain
She was the broken me, but now I am strong again
I owe so much to you
When you pulled at me,
Tugged me from my toiling,
When I was crouched low,
In the kitchen, blurry choke of tears
I saw the outline of your peninsula
Etched in florescent blue in my mind
A little red star on a map
Such a hard drive (for me and the Ford)
But I, swept into the arms of that gentle house,
Saw a clearing in the nettles, one that I could pass through
And those turned to violets that kissed me as I was waking up
And going to bed, listening to the healing black wind
Through the many cracked windows
Presque Isle with her flags and sea glass
The promise of going to Canada
Turning my head to look at the lake, that dark lake
Itself enigmatic- a sea but not a sea
I think about that, brush the snowy sand from my palms
Yes, in a way,
That could be me
(Dedicated to my “Baba”, Ashok Kumar Malhotra)
In halls of marble, where minds are born,
In the sanctum of youth’s last hurrah,
Amid the womb, where knowledge is torn,
Came the wisest of men, from afar;
A man far wiser than years, was he,
The word “BEST”, was his best metaphor,
He explored “The Ultimate Reality”,
As he left the select in awe;
He spoke in words, by Orient, obscure,
Though his meaning was clear as glass,
His manner reserved, calm, demur,
But no mistake who was Master in class;
“Don’t ever believe man’s truth is true,
“But on mind’s wind, cast your seeking sail,
“Let man’s perspective of truth, be your clue,
“To pursue, the existentially real”;
“Intrinsically be, the all you are,
“Phenomenologically, view all that you see,
“If earnest, then only, shall the esoteric disbar,
“And there, will all’s essences be!”
Though now I’ve left those marble halls,
And gone from the Master’s side,
His words beyond my destiny calls,
And brings truth, dignity, and pride!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Greatness lies, not in being strong, but in the right using of strength; and strength is not used rightly when it serves only to carry a man above his fellows for his own solitary glory. He is the greatest whose strength carries up the most hearts by the attraction of his own.”
~Henry Ward Beecher~
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About this poem:
My Philosophy Professor in College 35 years ago, after I'd come back from the war, whom I spoke to recently on the phone...for some reason he is stuck in my head, so this is my tribute to him, my "Baba"! "I Love This Man!"
When passion roars
in our bosoms
for mounting on horseback
that breaks through fortresses
or mounting a cloud
to plant in its whiteness
the banners of madness
or ascending a star
to break in its space
the barriers of silence
it’s alright to search for a myth
in whose folds we tuck
a few details that
make known our presence
that they may
give a couple of sparks
or light up a couple of candles
or add a couple of sentences
to the lines of our life, confined
between two moments of the spirit’s manifestations
the moment of its rise
in a dumbfounded embryonic lump
and the moment of its convulsion
in a conquered heartbeat.
Dedicated to every young man bestowed the honor of wearing
the glorious Oklahoma Sooners' Crimson & Cream
Over fifty years, boy and man, I have been a Sooners fan;
And always hoped to be among the truest in the stands.
And while I don’t know all the players’ names,
They’re my heroes, each and every one, because they play the game.
When they’re on the field of battle, my Sooners surely give their all;
And when they’re on the sidelines, just waiting for a coach’s call;
Visions of glory must be dancing in their heads;
The glory of the moment and our cheers, the glory of playing for
the mighty Big Red.
And for those Sooners who rarely played, whose names were
known only by a few,
Make no mistake my friend, each of them is my hero too.
Like soldiers waiting in the ranks, but never called to fight,
They ‘re ready and they’re willing, their spirit and their sacrifice
add to Big Red’s might.
I stand in awe of Sooner Magic. No, I never doubt it.
My Sooners could have never won so many Championships
But don’t misunderstand when I say Sooner Magic won those games;
It was Sooners players who, once again, rose to the occasion and
glorified their names.
Fifty years of college football and my Sooners have won the most.
Their fierce pride and performance inspire this simple toast:
“My Sooners Team goes on and on, different faces, different names;
But my heroes, each and every one, for win or lose…
they play the game.
Have you ever been moved by beauty?
stood and listened to the birds sing?
been transfixed by the sight of deer?
Watched the eagles soaring the thermals?
gazed on the beauty of a woodland lake?
or sat by a ring of fairy mushrooms?
Just as nature herself enthralls us
so too do the written words of poets
I find my self transfixed by them
As their words weave their magic
no matter if in verse or rhyme
flights of fantasy are inspired
Bless you all poets for your gift
it is the magic, the fix that inspires
as you part with your precious words
Can I have this hand in marriage dear,
Can you grace me with "I do",
Let the angels sing to Heaven,
Let my heart soar with their tune.
Let us seal our love for we two,
Let no others interfere,
Let Evil, with his one good eye,
Attempt to trick and snare.
Let Age pass on his cares to us,
For bound, we are as one,
We'll ride the heady winds of joy,
Until another song is sung.
Until another song is sung, my love;
We'll drink the drink of fools;
Let passion be our compass,
And a blinding trust our rule.
Let us plant the seeds of new life,
That through Time will resonate,
Let our names be always dear to those,
Who set them on their fate.