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Ode Inspiration Poems | Ode Poems About Inspiration

These Ode Inspiration poems are examples of Ode poems about Inspiration. These are the best examples of Ode Inspiration poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Ode | |

Just a Girl

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


Details | Ode | |

Erie

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 


Details | Ode | |

Because They Play the Game

Dedicated to every young man bestowed the honor of wearing 
the glorious Oklahoma Sooners' Crimson & Cream 

--------------------------------------------------------------

Over sixty 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 remember 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 without it.
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 the name.

Sixty 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.


Details | Ode | |

An Ode to the Bee

The echo of Winter will never eclipse
The gentle breeze carrying Spring, 
Or birds overhead, with their eyes well affixed
On the future for marvelous things. 

The sedulous bees bringing life to the Earth, 
While they buzz and wash over each section.
The warriors of progress, unknowing their worth,
Wielding only a sting for protection.

The tiny striped martyrs then bravely depart
From the plant, at some length, to the swarm.
The nectar collected, their personal art.
The hive waiting, welcome and warm.

To witness this magic in calm disbelief, 
Is a treasure, a blessing to see.
The simple, whole truth is, from mountain to reef, 
All life here would cease without bees.


Details | Ode | |

Ode To Marriage

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.


Details | Ode | |

NO ONE KNOWS

Tomorrow is a mystery,
future isn't sure.
Tomorrow is killing me,
victory isn't pure.

Have got so much to give
but don't know what I would get.
Tomorrow has got me pensive,
tomorrow's pregnancy is a threat.

Will tomorrow be bright?
as I sleep and say goodnight?
Will tomorrow shine?
Will it be just fine?

Life is a crazy ride
but still make it a pride.
Live for today and hope for tomorrow
and hopefully meet a day to follow.

*Sammy Kyle*


Details | Ode | |

Ode to My Hills

Driving home, the sun beaming down
highlighting the Quantock foothills
a criss-cross quilt of very small fields
too steep for mechanical ploughs
worked still by man and shire horses

Bright gleaming yellow rape and mustard
interwoven with shades of brilliant green
a paradise for birds nesting in the hedges
tiny dots of white sheep scattered round
deep scarlet red of the fields laid to fallow

Ancient hills stun with captivating beauty
hardwood trees hundreds of years old
spread their sheltering branches wide
casting fat and long shadows ''neath their feet
grassy banks giving shelter to small animals

I gaze with delight filling up my soul
loving the fact these are my hills
that roll  and soar around my village
with magical names for each hill
some very bare others full of heather

Reminding me of my native home
Will's Neck and Cothelstone
rearing up above the deep valleys
with nestling lakes and rivers
this place my place till I pass on

these hills were the first place in England to be given the title of outstanding beauty 
1956 check them out in Wikipedia for these amazing views


Details | Rhyme | |

Ode To Miss Charlotte

Ode to Miss Charlotte

I read about some verbal wars
That brew among some poets.
It’s fought between the ‘know-it-alls’
And those who just don’t know it.

I came upon your essay
On this sacred hallowed site
And after reading what you said
I am convinced you’re right.

Man, in his poetry must apply
 Some elementary rules
Lest those who seek our legacy
Will think we all were fools.

Who makes the rules by which we write
May always tease our minds
But poets’ hearts will always be
The source of all we leave behind.

Haikus are a special breed
But we’ve known all along
That Japanese write differently
Yet sing their haunting songs.

So, let life stand and judge me 
As I travel the poets’ road
While I’ve not only butchered haikus,
I have devastated odes.

Author’s note: Listed below are some of my posts that will clarify some confusion.. Jake
On Raisin’ Haikus, Haiku Hell, Haiku Shoppe, Haiku Town Dog, Haikuville, Haiku Hash, Haiku Omelet (1 and 2), Haiku Hound


Written by: John Posey 10/05/13
Inspired by: Haiku Fanatics, a poem by Charlotte Puddifoot


Details | Ode | |

In Reverence To The One Up There

How did we acquire the knowledge of getting food following all protocols and procedures of knowing when the Earth is in a fine mood to give a handshake of bountiful harvest? In search of knowledge and understanding man has explored Nature, down to its hood and due to his short comings, treated humanity unfairly and rude. Knowing the mechanics of an existing phenomenon makes one a happy and creative dude but having no idea how it even existed makes his understanding still bare and nude Under a higher authority, we’re all nursed be it a gentleman with the fine name-Jude or matter in a non-stop pause having no artery of sustenance like the wood Life and existence, wisdom and health, He’s the source Him- not even the microscopes can elude He is existing, everlasting and much more than a force He is no other than God and He is good.


Details | Tanka | |

Ode to Ellen

You’re my symphony
the blood that runs through my veins,
ageless and timeless
like the metamorphic Rose
you came to dwell in my life!

© Harry J Horsman 2013  


Details | Ode | |

inspiration

Inspiration
scattered in abundance of dissapointments
births demons to our lives.
A happiness we cannot give 
but want so much in return at times.
The last leaf of autumn
Is not without redemption.
But a subtle invitation.
A process of perfection.
It does not live a lie.
Wounded warriors 
today embrace uncertainty! 
The soul cannot be decimated.
Nor is there a tragedy
that goes uncompensated.
Dont settle for what you want to hear..
The truth is in you.
And it is so much more beautiful.




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


Details | Free verse | |

An Ode to LIFE Part 1

An Ode To LIFE


As I lay my head down and start to fall asleep I see myself being carried off to a place and time the place of our Lords birth in Bethlehem of Judea

As in the Bible tells the story of His life and how he lived and died in that human seance and rose on the day He told of

I do not remember being here but I remember the story I was taught so many years ago

As I walk through the streets of Bethlehem I see each scene  and hear  every word as I am learning the story they telling is true

The writer writes of a jealous King  and his way of dealing with his people and of Mary and Joseph who came to Bethlehem to have a child

The story tells of the three wise men  who saw a star in the north and heard of a child  who was born to be the King of the Jews  and come to see and bring Him gifts 

An  angel from the Heavens above came to Mary and Joseph in a dream and told them they had to leave Bethlehem or King Herod would have their son killed 

So they left Bethlehem and went to Egypt and there they lived until King Herod no longer ruled

As I follow along in my dream I see each scene  and hear  every word as I am puzzled by the fact I understand each

I don’t understand why I’m going through this time but I know I must continue on this journey 

As I am pulling through a time where I reach the place of Jesus’ in  Nazareth of Galilee

As I watched Him grow and work in His father's shop I could see the thing in Him that were with me

As I walk along the streets and look around I hear the people talk of a child that speaks of wondrous love that’s all forgiving and of a Father in Heaven that’s loving and true.

By Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS
Copyright 2013

                                                            Inspired by God 

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com


Details | Ode | |

THE WEST WIND

THE WEST WIND

Blow you westward wind, blow betide,
Blow upon the western sphere, blow a gale
Rout the shacks on the range, the ‘scrapper  a tremor;
Let wail the pine boulevard and the Indian stream screams,
Blow, the palm to bow, and matters to float on air;
And blow, by thy whim to sway the lives of men.

Whence, thou coming from and where, shall thou end
‘Less we come to thy base and offer sacrifices
To restrain thee and make thee honour our will.
Why be not visible, that thou be invincible?
Except thy howling echoed by plants and apparatus,
Like from a funnel, the emptiness of a hollow nothing.

Whirl then and Blow through the hemisphere,
Where the dreams of men pitch a watery globe;
Blow, blow down the poles, the outer space
Till they evaporates on the thin windy air
That man may lose control of them
And be swayed by life to where thou would blow.
  


Details | Ode | |

MAYA INSPIRATION

Inspiration is found in the gift that is given from the soul. It iminates and 
resonates as drums beating and nature singing bring forth swift sound 
movement and rhythm to the inner being. 
It is often initiated silently so attention is not focused on the giver of this gift but its 
recipient.
Inspiration is found in the laughter at one's self over the life led and the things left 
behind are now quietly amusing. Some small memory now brings a smile as the 
thought transpires into imagery and if note worthy, is transformed to prose put 
down by pen to paper and if found - even much later - shall bring as much joy to 
the reader as it first did to the writer.
Inspiration, like beauty, is too found in the eye in the beholder but not so much for 
the joy rested upon the sight of the onlooker  but the inward delight brought on 
partaking in the wonderful exchange of words held captive in intense 
conversation.
Inspiration is found in far off lands where watching growth and development 
seem surreal and suspended and yet touches the heart so indepthly that its as if 
you too were right there, joined at the hip, at the hand or even more importantly at 
the heart.
Inspiration is found in breathtakenly simple parts of humanity that are often 
overlooked - until it is too late, often underrated until the world embraces it or 
denied until someone takes notice and simply loves it.
Inspiration is found in the faces you seek to love, love to see and leave you 
forever seeking more. Both now and tomorrow, inspiration once again has 
embraced my heart through the soft spoken of one such inspirational, 
phenomenal life.
Inspiration - I give you Maya Angelou.


Details | Rhyme | |

Not An Ode To A Beet

I chase you through the bottle just trying to get a little taste, I pour your juice on my taters none of it I shall waste. I love your pickley goodness so crunchy and so sweet, with my fork I gently pick you up my mouth it does greet. A drop of juice silently falls and lands upon my plate, I swipe it up rather quickly and I don't bother to wait. Your vinegar touches my tastebuds it's such a yummy treat, I invite your friends out of the bottle with a smile for me they greet. They dance around on my plate saying hello to the rest of their friends, their greetings with the meat and veggies soon has to come to an end. I try to pick up another beet this one is putting up a fight, I do my best to stab it with my fork don't care if it takes me all night. I chase it around in circles in the corner of my plate it stands, it acts like the lone ranger tries its best to be tough like a man. I finally get hold of it it squirts me with its juice, I dropped it on my pants now I've got a beet on the loose. I got juice all over my shirt all over the place mat too, my shirt is now stained reddish-purple now what am I going to do? I tried my best to scrub the stain out while the beet stands there and laughs, I threw the bar of soap at him I was starting to feel rather daft. I knocked the beet to the floor he tried his best to move around, I stomped on his neck hard wanted to keep him on the ground. The beet tried to fight his way out from beneath my heavy foot, I laughed hard in his face back in the bottle, he will not be put. I slipped on his juice and fell hard to the floor, I go through this every time my life never seems to be a bore. I can't stand getting beet stains all over my new and clean clothes, I get extremely upset about it but that's sometimes how life goes. Copyright © Cynthia Jones Dec.14/2014