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Ode Philosophy Poems | Ode Poems About Philosophy

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Details | Ode | |

Faithful Shadow

I saw a death shadow in the eyes of my infancy
a soft mercy with calm blue fancy,
in childhood, when free will asserted it's wild supremacy
we sang of star charriots and laughter loyal to hyperactivity,
I see a death shadow in the prime of my ascendancy
outlining my temple of truth, whistling thy words of wizardry, 

I hear It like the madness of morning's ending,
I taste It as if from the burning breast milk of a Dragoness,
I see It in the bleeding smile of my heart's kindness,
I speak to It when love's luster unlocks the lunacy of loneliness,
I feel the humble shade of It's jade justice in a world hot and hustling,

My death shadow has a surface sweet with patient purpose,
It is not rough with forboding frost that frights the fight of flesh,
rattling the scythe of doom and cackling for cataleptic crisis it does not,
It is not a grim God or a greedy Goddess, no taxing terror trumpeted,
It has never been an angel of escape or a demon of dour delirium, 
when suffering becomes a seduction of brute beauty I share in it's wise joy,
my death shadow follows the desperate yet disciplined form of my body battle
through life's plethora of coy poisons and possessive passions,
marching along side me with martial grace, sculpting my face with lion spirit -


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse | |

Ode to Spring

Through a fluttering veil of luscious hues,
Fair Lady coquets with the majestic Sun,
As the wicked Wind caresses her tender cheek,
The harshness of Winter all undone.

Sparrows perched upon the towering trees,
Whistle sweetly at the colorful array.
Fair Lady hums and sways in warm ecstasy,
As the wicked Wind drifts away.

The sinful Sun glows after a wearying day,
And spans its gaze upon the fields of fruit.
Fair Lady drowsy, lies upon the prickly grass;
The darkness envelops as all goes mute.

Copyright © Deepanshi Chaudhry | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ode | |

To Believe or Not To Believe: The Power of Unbelief

your belief system is the major indication
of what you can accomplish with positive validation
if you can see it, you can achieve
if you can perceive it, you can believe it

underachievers are always underestimating themselves
non-achievers are always looking for a handout and the most help
average achievers do only what is usually just required
but overachievers strive to realize their heart's desire

in The Bible Mark 6:5-6 are two of the saddest scriptures to me
it tells of the time when Jesus went to His birth place
to spread His Father's ministry
it is somewhat troubling to me when He could find there no relief
because the Nazarenes were in a mind set of utter unbelief
even though He had worked many miracles
in most every town he had ventured to
the citizens of Nazareth were unwilling to give Him His proper due
a showdown in Nazareth, Jesus trying to evangelize God's word
but they saw Him only as the carpenter's son attempting to do the absurd

the power of God can only manifest in an arena of positivity
it can not gown nor gravitate in an atmosphere of negativity
Jesus was rendered powerless, the passion in Him had subsided
because the unbelieving Nazarenes remained unyielding 
and completely one-sided

there is a significant amount of unbelief
in many church congregations
where some are just sayers of the Word
and don't believe in the power of the consecration
it takes one drop of negativity
to yield a whole crop of unbelieveability
understand that the Living God can't work in anyone's life
if they are in a state of mind clouded by negativity and strife
there is nothing that can't be accomplished if you know this in your heart
that God can work miracles just believe in His powers from the start
for God can move mountains, He can make a river divide
His powers are omnipotent, just keep a positive attitude in mind

don't undermine God's purpose for you life, allow Him some control
don't underestimate what He can do for you, if you surrender to Him your soul
always look for the victory, don't settle for defeat or loss
use the power of your belief, the power of the blood, the crown and the cross

if you believe God can open doors
what more could you ask for
just believe with God that you can do it
just trust in Him and let Him prove it
just believe in the power that is Jesus Christ
and imagine what you can accomplish
if you just let Him work in your life

Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ode | |


Falling ever helplessly
Into a burning sea
Of passion and desire
Where Rraine surpasses me

Comforted of saving grace
Unending empathy
Rising to a cloud of peace
Where Rraine inspires me

Now my life’s a billow
A churning fantasy
A blanket and a pillow 
Where Rraine amazes me

Longing for a day of Rraine
Under a pecan tree
My thoughts a scorching desert
Where Rraine refreshes me

Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode | |

Ode to Athena

the dutiful daughter standing behind her father
in lightning thick with aegis assurance
read to protect her family
and counselling them times of need

Athena, the grey eyed goddess
who watches carefully with graceful wisdom
coercing ignorance into obliteration
solutions fly into her hands
for her to dispense and she desires

Athena of the City
philosophizing with the common man
trading amongst mortals
companion to heroes in distress
strategic with the broken soldier

Athena the virginal queen
modesty made attractive
purity prioritized in beauty
   who ran through rape's smitten fires
with the strength of civilization in her hands

Yet even you, Pallas Athena,
illustrious among even immortals,
are not without your faults
Even you fear death's decay
dragging your name into Lethe's depths

You weave with Fate's spindles in faulted pride
as your equals fall beneath your altar 
spinning spiders slaving in cinders
and gorgons  grazing beneath your Parthenon
made golden by their angered gaze
Are you not jealous as well as just?
Is not your immorality made irrelevant
in the light of your immorality?

 One does begin to wonder
If your wisdom is mere intelligence
Your knowledge mere luck covered stupidity
Your duty and honor merely a fear
To be seen as a vulnerable beauty
Your prized purity mere pride
Your longevity simply a lie
Perhaps all the exists of you
Is a memory wasted with the false belief
That your good outweighs your transgressions

Copyright © Alan Thorimbert | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |

A Portrait of A Pastor

a portrait is a picture or a likeness of an object, person or place
a rendering, a representation of something in all of its grace
but a portrait of a Pastor is more than just a facade
it's not an image of what man thinks but a reflection of God

people come with their own agendas about what a Pastor should portray
but it's not his clothes nor his cars it's the message from God he conveys
a Pastor should be pictured as a faithful speaker who reveals the truth in his speech
an under shephard of our Lord Christ and it's the Gospel that he'll preach
a Pastor should be drawn as a mentor to his members and circumspect in his behavior
a prayer partner in conjunction with the Holy Spirit and Jesus our Savior
a Pastor should be an image of one who comforts all in their times of need
a teacher of the Gospel who in his flock tries to plant God's righteous seeds
a delineation of an obedient servant leader who stands firmly on God's Holy word
and he should not be the subject of gossip nor the pettiness of this world

a portrait of a Pastor should be a comment on his spiritual calling
an anointed man whom God will use to catch us when we've fallen
a portrait of a Pastor should be an exhibit of compassion, wisdom and respect
a display of leadership, kindness, humility and intellect
it should be a picture of a potter who tries to mold us into godly shape
a silhouette of a counselor who doesn't judge but advises when we make mistakes
a portrait of a Pastor should be a reflection of the image of our Lord Christ
a man who will always allow the Holy Spirit of God guide and rule his life

Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ode | |


Redemption is a fancy dish
Served on a wooden plank
It’s full of nails and crusty bark
With no one else to thank

Just cut away the ugly parts
And untie all the knots
Don’t look too deep or underneath
Defute those aging thoughts

Just look at all the daily bread
Your maker has provided
The hearts to help you break it
Your destiny decided

Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode | |

WHAT WE OWE GOD: An Eternal Debt of Praise

a couple had a good son whom they sent off to grad school
his goal to become a doctor as he was smart and nobody's fool
now on his own he decided to no longer attend Sunday service
he felt that God had no need for his personal worship

some people tend to feel that God doesn't require their praise
the question of a debt of gratitude in their minds has never been raised
but what people fail to realize or even comprehend
is that it was God who gave life to them
Creator of the universe and every living being
Creator of everything we're touching, hearing and seeing
Dr. Albert Einstein once made a very telling remark
that seeing how the human eye works is proof there's a God

when viewing this wonderful world and all the magnificence it beholds
one can clearly see the hand of God that has uniquely unfold
a sunrise, a sunset or a rainbow after a spring shower
a solar eclipse, a child being born are all proof of God's great power
He created man and it was He who gave us the breath of life
He gave us His love and grace and His son as a sacrifice

things have happened in our lives of which we're not even aware
times when God has shielded us from the evil that's out there
He's sent His mighty angels to watch over our backs
He's sent His heavenly warriors to stop any and all attacks
an eternal debt of gratitude and praise to God we owe
but we're not the only beings who are in the know
the angels in heaven praise His holy name
the devil in hell also bows down to Him in shame

created in His image His likeness we now bear
we're His beloved children for whom He tenderly cares
He makes Himself known to us every morning, noon and night
He is our source, our all in all, our strength and our light
an eternal debt of praise from us towards God is due
and as you read this poem I hope you get a clue

God doesn't need anything from us He's complete on His own
It's us who needs God as we can't do it alone
God is great, God is sovereign, He is the King of kings
He's all powerful, He's all mighty and controls everything
there is nothing in this universe that is not under His command
and no matter what we think He holds the whole world in His hands
and today that young man who thought that God didn't need his praise
is now a doctor and disciple of Christ whose hands are forever raised
an eternal debt of praise from us the Lord God is due
because if it wasn't for the Lord God there would be no me nor a you

Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ode | |

Ode to Soup Poets

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

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode | |

Soldier of battles

SOLDIER OF BATTLES..    Steve Hudson

It started, in silence, in infancy; the eyes look beyond the darkness
To understand the sounds of rage, echoes of misunderstanding,
The beginnings of normalcy wrought with disturbance,
Bereavement for the loss of innocence and the first lesson learned.
The lines in ground becoming clearer.
The only thing that ever came easy for me is warring,
Not because I chose the ground, but because it chose me.
Here is your sword; here is your battle,
The field is endless and there is no turning back,
So find your heart and find your place among the ranks
You sojourn with.
You tell one another it will be okay, and that we will pull through,
But no one really knows.
Its only after our first encounter and mortal blow that we find some
Courage to face another foe.
The welcomed peace endured for a season, then skies darken
On eminent splayed horizons and shadowy realms of spirit
You try to make sense of the next wave of terror,
Taunted and vexed at every turn.
Your enemies take form in shapes of, what is true?
Wrestling, pondering among bloody concepts and the why.
Wounds received through fearful encounters take shape of scars,
Scars take shape of trusted moments carried through
Onslaughts of deception.
Fallen men on smoldering ground, tormented by hounds of confusion.
This is how it started, but not how it ended for you see, 
There was One we found in heated skirmish
Battle hardened and sure footed, the spear and shield wielded
With skillful hands, He inspired confidence in us all.
On days we found respite, He sat with us and taught strategies in warfare,
The secrets to winning the hearts and minds of defeated bretheren.
The certainty and comfort in His eyes, told stories of ancient victories held.
A kingly stature though plain to view, never considered Himself better
Then the lowliest man I knew.
We asked about some of the scars He brandished, 
“They are scars received from the greatest of man’s struggles,” He said,
He got them while defending the poorest of souls.
It was then we understood, it was of us He spoke.
So now we gladly fight for this One who became the captain of our heart,
We’ve learned from the truths that have pierced our very souls,
our greatest cause and reason to be.
A soldier of battles was He…

Copyright © Angel fire | Year Posted 2012

Details | Couplet | |

My Ode to the Netherlands

My Ode to the Netherlands
White water lilies picked for Verlena in Friesland. The Dutch Republic is over a century old. We are there during autumn. Flowers are everywhere. The sunflower fields The sunbeams Yellow and brown profound the canvas To visit the Domtower is a climb. Utrecht is a trek. An ode comes to mind… Dutch greetings we say… Dutch greetings we say, in the land of Friesland today. Welcome all! Our home is our joy. We are logical people and not emotional. We are expressive in our thoughts. Call us opinionates, if you want. Dutch greetings we say to all! ________________________________________________________/
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse Contest Name: Your ode to 'my' Netherlands and/or 'my' Friesland Date of Entry: March 29, 2014 Date Written: March 29, 2014 ~Elly, happy birthday... This is two forms in one poem. The couplet and the irregular ode. Best wishes and hopefully, this is not to much.~:)s

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ode | |

That Crazy Old Doctor

There've been times in my life
 where I've just had to say,
 "I must, give it all up,
 for, it's that kind of day"!
I must, really say this
 I really, just must;
 if I didn't say it,
 then, it wouldn't be, "just".
There's this crazy, old man
 we'll just call him, "Doc";
 who fills up blank pages
 with, "poetical talk".
He's scribbled, and scrabbled
 'til way, past bed-time,
 trying to finish each poem
 and, complete every rhyme.
If he hadn't done this
 he'd surely gone, "mad",
 his nonsensical nature
 was, all that he had!
No hidden agenda
 when first, he wrote down,
 each poem of nonsense
 to erase a childs' frown.
And, Doc always did this
 manipulate, "clues"... that , all of his poems
 were merely geared, to amuse.
He loved to let nonsense
 be the order of the day,
 and, with every poem
 we all smiled, the same way.
His only intention
 was to set our minds, "free",
 his style, just did it
 so, poetically.
With his own tongue, in cheek
we knew we'd been had,
and his poems rhymed perfectly
proving he was no, "fad"!

The volumes of topics
 that Doc's written of,
 included all that could be
 written.....below, and above.
He's written of magic,
 puzzles, and games...
 ..with, strange little creatures,
 with, strange little, "names".
The, crazier his story,
 the saner he'd feel,
 and, the more that we heard
 convinced us they were, "real"!
His poems, were genius
 as he weaved us, a tale;
 with, nonsensical rhymes
 that did so, without..."fail".
"Old Doc", has quit writing
 he's up in heaven,
 this year, his birthday'd ...
 make him, a hundred, and seven!
He's given advice,
 taught what we must do,
 he said, "Be who you are...'s youer,!"
He's maybe still writing
 in, see,
 that'd be just like him
 as, that's who he must, be!
That, silly old doctor... silly, as a goose;
 we all loved his poems,
 for, we loved Dr. Seuss!

Copyright © david goodwin | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |

Ode on the Four Forgotten's

Here take my hand,
I have watched the world torn itself apart,
Through agony and despair
I have seen the tears of the innocence’s and smiles from the wicked
How long does this world needs to endure?
The sufferings cause by war and sickness;
Life long torment endured by those who stand upright for the truth,
If you take my hand you will know my purpose of existence
I am Sorrow, that’s who I am.

Here take my hand,
And know the false teachings of this world
Everywhere I look, I see lies
Lies this world has created, 
I wish to bring light into this world, if only my words were heard
And my teachings are truly followed.
My followers are lost, instead of finding those who are lost!
If you take my hand, you’ll know my purpose of existence
I am Truth, That’s who I am 

Here take my hand,
And you will know the handiwork of man
God created man in His image, and man created society in his image.
A society of greed, lust, hatred, envy and the thoughts of evil towards one another,
A spitting image of mankind darkest part of their hearts,
Know then, sorrow and truth
They know me for I surpass them and bring them all to being
I am Love.
Take my hand, 
And let me ease your sorrows and,
Let me open your eyes to the lies this world has implanted in your heart
I have seen them ignore the poor out on the streets, 
As they are in a hurry to merry in charity, to claim names for themselves,
Mankind has truly been deceived by the lair or have they deceived themselves?
Know me and know love, for truelove is unconditional.

Here take my hand,
And know my words are true and just!
For I represent those whose voices have been silent.
I represent those, whose strength has being taken,
I am the shield for the weak and the sword for the righteous.
I have seen those who uphold the laws are the ones who break them.
I have seen the blood of the innocence turning the river red.
Laws are meant to rule man and not man to the rule laws,
Corrupting the true law is a sin, for it corrupts justice!
Take my hand! And know what true justice is.
I am Justice, and question me not on laws for I know the laws.

Copyright © LIde Sangtam | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |


If you dwell on sorrow and pain
And forget about life for a while
It's like having your head in your ass
No one can see when you smile

Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode | |

The warrior's Many songs yet Unsung

In the full light of a warriors plight,
Sometimes it becomes a case of  being slighted and being Aright,
Its a case of solemn thinkings to soothe this anguish and its deeprooted pain,
Do see things from the Warrior's point of view,
He sees Life as a kaleidoscopic dreamy paraphrase,
Roasting Angernuts and storing them aways as Groundnuts stored in airtight 
For when his flesh is pricked his thunderous clap resounds for eight villages and 
His most favorite son supplies his fill-ins of heavily spiced and stuffed roasted  
His most loving and caring daughter never allows his fresh kicking "House and 
Bush fly saluted" Palmwine to cease its awesome flow,
His youngest and most active wife sits at his left side to wrap his "wisdom 
fumes" in its tobacco sheath...Marijuana never tasted more spiritual from her very 
He loves the looks on his strongheaded sons'  face as they sit in gossip to roast 
his yellow sweet corns,
The feel of roasted corn blended with the "wise fumes" arising from this 
Marijuana spliff all wetted down with the Imperial fluidity of palmwine.

Drinking this two mouthfuls of the enemy chief's blood at battle never felt any 
For you it would be constant anguished Bed tossing,
Draping my palace in Human skulls and rare animal skins,
Writing for Kings, Knights and their Monks,
Writing for Spliffs, Chieves and their Drunks,
Writing for Owls, Dragons, Angels and their Wings,
Knowing full well your brain might learn to take its rightful Literary place,
We must have moved with this much a-blaze,
We will slow down for you to sip in this page's full intake,
Not a case of primitive battle acclaims,
Just a feel of the Martial spirit though,
The warrior's many many songs yet unsung,
His life and times,Do keep within your salient confines.

Copyright © Anthony Edmond | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ode | |

Divine Impartation

Conforms to the original,
in whose image we are made

Bequeaths holy curiosity;
crystallized in the human consciousness,
spawning the inescapable question:
who am I?
why am I here?
why are things as they are?

A passage to edifying discoveries;
a transport to purpose;
lagrangian to eternity; 
the wondrous, 
yet incomprehensible zone 
awaiting our attainment

Imagination, it is; 
the attribute of the creator,
the fount from whence, 
humanity and reality sprung

The cradle for human advancement,
the wind beneath our wings;
in the continuous journey,
of discovery — tiny footprints,
on the infinite expanse of time;
silhouette horizons —
sketches of scapes of infinity

Imagination; imparted on us — 
instrument to soar above obstacles;
existential challenges,
pedestals to ascension,
in the necessity of trials —
the price for divine profit,
purposefully placed on our way; 
the test to ensure our growth and graduation,
in our accent to unity with divinity 

Copyright © oliver Okoli | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ode | |

Benign Neglect?

In this life, 
of inevitable recompense, 
of inescapable accountability, 
for collective responsibility, 
indifference to injustice
is not an option;
an epitasis, it is,
in this metaphoric 
epic drama of life

Copyright © oliver Okoli | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ode | |

Vixen in the Snow

Rudolf got his big red nose
From Vixen in the snow
They had it out one foggy night
Beneath the mistletoe

She bopped him once good and hard
Which caused his nose to grow
She bopped him twice around the yard
His nose began to glow

Then she buffed it bright and red
So everyone would know
Rudolf got his big red nose
From Vixen in the snow

Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode | |

The Poet

The poet breathes the written word
And lives to bend a phrase
At times it’s funny or absurd
And often full of craze

To rid the heart of pent up rage
While making someone smile
To cleanse the soul at every stage
Salvation for a while

To right the words upon a page
And verbalize a dream
To write the wrongs of any rage
And help delay a scream

To help prevent insanity
Or going off the edge
To rob the world of vanity
Or make a solemn pledge

To take and twist an old cliché
And make it dance around
To serve up talk like an entrée
Or dish it off the ground

Distort the meaning of a quote
The ringing to a name
Sometimes intended to promote
More likely to defame

Emotions can run deep through it
And hide between each line
Disguise themselves as words of wit
Or something asinine

Sometimes I right the way I feel
I use a different name
Sometimes I let them think it’s real
Fulfilling just the same

A poet can make up a word
Of sheer and utter bleck
And use it as a mockingbird
While rhyming, what the heck

Or even make one by mistake
And use it in a retale
Imagine trying to relate
Your dog getting a retale

The strangest thing I ever heard
A poet talk about
A poet can reverse a word 
Or turn it inside out
Copyright © Mike Martin 2015

Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode | |



Dutch greetings we say…
          Dutch greetings we say,
                 in the land of Friesland today.
                       Welcome all!
                            Home is our joy.
                            Logical people and not emotional we are.
                                      Expressive are our thoughts.
                                                Call us opinionates, if you want.
                                                           Dutch greetings we say to all!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

Ode to a Guitar

Your tempered strings and true, O ancient lyre!
Harp-like, thy graceful template shall resonate
Within the hollow confines of my soul
Not tortoise and beech, but rather the ideal
Purity of your design (here but fully
Realized by half) speaks to me
Now as ever before in my youth
Touches, as it were, my heart-strings
(Not inaptly named!) and stirs forth
From the depths of my being a song.

O! if I could master that song sublime
A tune to capture thy several contradictions
'Twere a song would outlive the race of men
Embodying form and function, earth and air
Female grace in curve and force in line
With woman's waist and hips, yet double-tusked
Shoulders square, slender neck, even a mouth
Teeth of gut, a creature turned inside-out
A half-opened signpost to infinity.

Copyright © Kyle Elsbernd | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode | |


If dedication ever was
A flood goes out your way
If time could stop just because
I'd wish the while to stay

More grand than any setting sun
Surpassing any sight
More dear to me than anyone
A circle of delight

Of mothers and of sisters
Of daughters and of theirs
Of cousins, aunts and nieces
The mother of my heirs

And those of you who volunteered
By marriage or divorce
A special dedication
Goes out to you, of course

Legitimate or otherwise
Once or twice removed
Abandoned or misguided
Or otherwise behooved

If someone else decided
To turn you into kin
You might as well face it
You're in the game to win Girls

Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? | |

Ode to a windswept child


Proud windswept child
How shall I not
Look onto thee with fright?
- The Lord has spoken,
Loud and clear -
His will men cannot fight.

The Lord has spoken,
Yes - He said -
"As Sarah thou shall be -
The mother of six millions,
Those perished and decieved."

The Lord had mercy over me -
He sent His Angels forth,
Those strong-winged guardians
With their hard,
Never failing support.

Until the end comes
I shall fear
To speak about their names:

Of Hunger,


Of Terror,


And of their brother -


Oh windswept child,
Thou need not say
What Lord has given thee -
The might of all Jerusalem,
The freedom of the sea...
And blissfully He lets you stand
Before my tearless eyes -
He gives you sheer naivety,
A will to be surprised.

So easily He lets you think
All power is now yours -
But lessons history shall teach
Will show that you were wrong...

Copyright © Domi Marchewka | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Ode to Small Birds

A shiver of Appalachia
superfine sugar of maple
windblown through the spine
tingling in a burst of aortic air
Inhaled as though fresh but by
the mountains rendered spent
the slightest reminder of
organic perpetuation fiercely painful
and entirely disembodied, each moment
blanketed by eternity and the hereafter;
primordial yet ethereal, a shadowy glimmer
of final destiny.
(While) in the treetops, the heron and the wren
speak peacefully as they observe
the rising of the sun.

For Lydia Davis and Susan McKeown

Copyright © Aron Jacob | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ode | |



My first and principal comfort  is tea  
Which may be prepared in a weakened form 
And must  be hot or the afternoon free
Will be spoiled by a tiny teacup storm. 
The cup should be large for added volume
And not too narrow so that my biscuit
Doesn’t  - as  I  gaze over the cup’s rim  -  
Fall from cup into  room:  
If  I must needs leap about to catch  it
Then the afternoon’s outlook will be dim.

Window with a view  over a garden,
Preferably with a lawn and flowers;
And let no one have to beg my pardon
For trampling over the grass or bowers.
Oh but the shape, the form,  and sweet design, 
The delicate choice of the trees and blooms
Must have good taste in texture and balance
(Of necessity mine)
So that the garden seen from  all the rooms
Will you at once delight and then entrance.

When I’m fully tead and gazed-with-eyefuls
Out come my guitar and harmonica.
I make, with strings plucked and air in mouthfuls,
Music and song from Spain or Africa.
And when I strum and blow those melodies  - 
Arpeggio, vamping,   or  free chording   -
They flow o’er the garden and teacup edge.
They come about with ease  -
Great pleasure and  delight  affording
The pansies, the heather, the rose, the sedge.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Written by Sydney Peck
Entered in Cyndi   MacMillan’s Contest 

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |


The golden silence melts away, and joy un-named
From the phantom pipes exults me
For no silence can so rhapsodized and doubts tamed
That man deserves better glory.
And what if sin could, levelling us, permit this to remain
Tell me then what is the eternal antidote of our pain?  
Like distant peal of evening bell, a plaintive song
The unknown angels could also sing
And golden glow the light divine where seraphs throng
Chiming solitude's shadowy wing
Where my soul beneath the bough of your academy ignites
By the rapture that your balming melody in me excites
What do you wise man of shadowed boughs tells my heart now
What deep remembrance from me gone
When music was language to which all wisdom bow
And by songs you spoke Eden's tone
And I the Adam now understood the truth you sweetly tell
The prophecy recovered while kept in trance under your spell.
 No bird then you are, sweet singer from times afar
Too sage your purpose tells the hope
The griots spoke, ere magis found their vision's star
Song beyond silence giving scope
To the word that instant wandered and did not move, and no eye
Nor I could describe that form, elusive in the brimming sky
Great philosopher, wisdom teacher, nightingale
That from solititude drops pearls
For which I sell all promise other, so prevail
Your fragrance to unbroken worlds
Where there still perhaps the universal language can be heard
In as sweet as tone as this cataract of hymn from a bird.
 I love to learn, but in the aura of such light
I retain nothing but pure joy
And while in ecstacy yet claim I a full sight
Absolute and with alloy
For music makes of faith a better candle for the darkness
And faith brings truth where only faith can spark our human hardness
For up and down around me move a district loud
With the sweet notes of prophecy
Yet no one lingers, no footstep halts in the crowd
As men pursue their destiny
By choice, deaf to their own healing, and wealth so beyond compare
The peace so freely given in a song filtering the air.

Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ode | |

Dear Sister

As a rose, 
ever so beautiful, 
ever so attractive 

Perhaps, more so, 
to wishy-washy, 
whimsical wanderers, 
than hearty-heady,

Drawn to your vivacious, 
velvety beautiful petals
Only to leave it,
scratched and scarred
As a rose, 
ever so beautiful, 
and attractive
Perhaps, thorns for protection, 
must you have

For MQ

Copyright © oliver Okoli | Year Posted 2007

Details | Ode | |

The Wordsmith

To take a stand and to defend it
A broken vow and try to mend it
A learning line and try to curve it
To beef it up and try to serve it

To fashion out of nothing
So gracefully and grand
Ever surging stream of lire
Flowing from the hand

Appealing thoughts
As one can find 
Take two or three
To somehow bind

Cunning ploys
Made to deceive
Compelling tales
To spin and weave

Holding back
Confusion neither 
Here nor there
Nor cabin fever

A penny for your roaming thoughts
A dime for all the time that you spend
A dollar for your fortitude
A fortune for your attitude

Have you all sorts of plexing woes?
.. and vindication grand?
Just take it to the Smithy
SHe’ll help you understand

Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode | |


I am life, living 
past present
today tomorrow
now then
never always
yes no
asset or liabilty.

Copyright © marcell porter | Year Posted 2005

Details | Free verse | |

Ode To Yesterdays Past

I confess I rarely take the time
To thank the past for Yesterday
And that I rarely miss a chance
To mumble some complaint: 

How fast you went, 
How little of your time I spent, 
How much I've lost to you, 
How much of you I regret! 

But though you took with you
Todays I wished to keep
I've not forgotten
The many Todays
That Yesterday got me through.

To Yesterdays I raise my glass
A toast to faithful friends of past
Too often overlooked and
Not too often thanked.

So here's to Yesterday -
For never forgetting to take away
The burdens of Today. 

Copyright © Camille Casserly | Year Posted 2012