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Ode Write Poems | Ode Poems About Write

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Details | Quatrain |

Ode to Poetry Critics (Co-written with James Fraser)

Wipe that silly grin from your face, boy
I am a woman, but certainly not a wimp
Watch me roll with the punches, tough guy
It'll take more than your words my style to crimp

    Hey, babe, your style really sucks
    Call that art, I have seen kids write better
    Have some heart, instill it in your writes
    Feel the moment, feel those letters

My feelings are there, you just may not relate
If you can't grasp my intent, too bad for you
I write from my heart, not from a man's head
I know what I'm saying, you just haven't a clue

     Oh, i see you have posted another piece
     Let me read and determine my thoughts
     Excellent shape and so true to form
     This definitely has plusses, you must be man taught

Hold on, joker, no man has influenced me          
Dickinson and Teasdale are among the finest
Your thoughts on my work I'll disregard
Your views on poetry reveal your blindness

      The last write you wrote, has invited my see
      It has clearly shown, your writing to be
      Scope, shape and the form you have written
      I have scrolled to your past, and I am sorrowful smitten

No more condescending from ye on the throne?
What was it that made you feel superior?
And, furthermore, what gave you the right
To make any poet feel inferior?

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ode |


You’ll  trip on this mountain,
 using its ball point or fountain. 
 And in less than a wink it will make you to think, 
of a myriad ways to using your ink. 
A star black and white, not shining and bright,  
Trusted for excellence, it compels you to write. 
From the crack of dawn, till late into night, 
Makes you keep writing, till you get it just right. 

- Prince Freakasso  
(painter & poet) 

Copyright © Prince Freakasso | Year Posted 2009

Details | Ode |

A Poets Friend

I have a friend in poetry name Christy,
The poems she writes make your eyes go misty.
She is gentle and kind,and knows what to say,
Her poems help me get through another rough day.

She writes long poems and short poems and never strays,
Im sure she checks her comments to see what you have to say.
She writes about war she writes about peace,
She writes about children dieing in the streets.

I dont know her personally but i know of her poems,
I read them all the time ,and im sure she is well known.
I hope i can write like her one day,
So all can see what i have to say.

For now ill just try and do my best, 
To write like Christy without taking a rest.
I dont know how she dose it day after day,
I seem to run out of words to say.

What ever you do Christy , dont stop writing,
The words in your poems, keeps us fighting,
To find ways to end all this trouble and pain,
So children can walk the streets , without fear of being slayen.

Copyright © Alan Fitz | Year Posted 2008

Details | Romanticism |

Ode to Mi Corazon

As I pull weeds from cracks in sidewalks
Yout sit on top of thrones made of solid gold
And I pay no mind to the women around me,
Only to your beauty do I hold an Ode.

I see my fair Spanish lady
my daring, sweet rose with thorns,
That run up and down her spine.
As she stops in the daily parade
Waving at the peasants,
She looks at me and summons her guards
Too take me away.

Her beauty is unbearable.
I cannot take not being with her
For a single moment in my life.
Her hair,
Black like coal,
Her smile is bright, as the first rays of the Red Sun
In the dawn.
Her lips painted with ruby lipstick,
her silk laced dress and shawl wrap around her,
Like a beautiful butterfly in her cocoon.
Her skin of olive, dark color and her green eyes.
My God, those sweet and piercing green eyes
Oh, how they hit my soul and make me shiver with excitment.
She is intoxicating and I am intoxicated in her beauty.

She is like an angel, a Latina beauty who walks the streets paved gold,
As I walk the cracked, cobblestone walkways.
She shines in the Spanish sun, like a dimoand in the ruff
As you blow the dust off her sweet brow,
she glows and sparkles with extordinary excellence.

She is beautiful and sweet and kind.
She loves me, but her father minds.
I am only a peasant, and she royalty.
Can our love ever be together in one holy matrimony?
I pray to the Lord, of all that is good,
Please give me a sign that she loves me.

Soon a storm came over,
blowing me down to the ground
And a cloud of dust swallowed me whole.
A great Conquistador on a great white stallion
pulled me up and told me that she wanted to see me.
I shacked with nervous of joy as I followed the warrior.

She was there, under a palm tree
Near a beautiful beach in Barcelona.
She smiled and a glow covered me with passion.
I hugged her and kissed her upon her sweet lips.
I tasted virginity and she tasted loyalty.
We both tasted beauty and harmony.
As the warrior left us,
We made love upon a vigin white sheet,
Soon covered with a flowing river of red.
She moaned with exticy and love was in the air.
The Ode to my sweet Spaniad, Mi Corazon!

We lay there in each others arms
Looking up at a clear night sky
The twilight glimmered ever so softly
And a shooting star blazed across the sky
I kissed her and she kissed me.
I whispered in her, "My love forever"
And she pushed me back upon the sheets
and we made sweet and ever lasting love again.
As we looked in each other's almond colored eyes.
I said to her, in a soft voice, Mi Corazon.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |

Ode 2 My Poetry

Why can’t I do it how I want to do it?
Been told my rhymes are simplistic at best
I may violate pentameter but I write what I like
Why must it pass some journal’s vapid test?

Behind a block of writer’s I’ve been hiding
Cowed by thoughts of editing snafus
Trying to write deep, intensive tomes of valid lore
Only to be chastened and abused

There’s elegance found in concise expression
Saying all the world in just a line
No matter that I know this I belabor all my thoughts
Create an elegy for elegance in time

Onomatopoeia is my best friend
And alliteration waltzes through my dreams
Thoughts chatter, clatter, chirp and clunk around about my head
Demanding that they be released in streams

And after I have done what I have done here
Exposed my heart by opening my head
I send it forth with hope that someone will enjoy my words
And get rejection letters in their stead

But won’t you like my poem just a little?
I promise it won’t be a trite conceit
You say my writing’s convoluted, so, I strive to simplify it
Then you call my writing sophomoric and cheap

Yet still my writing exists, remonstrating
That whether it be ballad or blank verse
It should be able to do just exactly what it feels like
And it finds you and your editing, perverse

It says it does not care if it is published
Doesn’t want you to consider it profound
For if you did then it might accidentally be common
And make cool people like me put it down

But won’t you like my poem just a little?
At the very least try to be noncommittal

Copyright © Mari Roberts | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

An Ode To A Friend

We met in 8th grade...We became great friends and
Years later,

She Dared Me To Write my First Poem January 21, 1948...we were both 16...I on January 9th and she on January 20th same year.

"I bet you can't write the second verse to this poem!" she said to me in sassy manner...

She shoves a note book page to me with a scribble in her handwriting.

The title was "I Love To Dance!"

How absurd I thought, after all, I was a "singer!"

Without hesitation I took the paper and began to write..."I'd love to be held close in your arms where only I could share all your charms..." 

I followed with a few more line of "poetic bliss", to my thinking, and her respone was..."How did you do that?"

I replied, hands on hips, "Well you wrote the first so I wrote the second!"

Eloise replied in evident astonishment, "Girl, mine was from a song sheet!"
We fell out laughing as any 16 year olds would do.

Of course, I've written thousands of poems since then and I often say, "It's like breathing to me!".

My friend Eloise will be laid to rest tomorrow, March 16, 2013...Such a sad song for me. We stayed in touch over the years and often still laughed about that dare for me to write a second verse...Who knew?!

My heart is filled with the sorrow of Eloise's demise
Yet I sing still

Copyright © Cynthia Alvez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |

FROM MY HEART: Ode to Everyone

A note to behold
That is strictly from my heart.

I am trained to have a little faith
Even when the night turns dry.

Maybe I am formidable to many course
But this one, I know is my call.

If at any time I will be retreating one
Not and Never will I quit my garden porch.

Even at the moment of inertia
My words are mine, not meant to be loosen.

If penury strikes me or I had a grudge
Not with my spare and axle of glory.

I may seems not to be buoyant before onlookers
But I  believe My knowledge are Mine.

If there is no two ways about this
Then I am a winner of all time.

Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |


Blank white sheet of paper FOREVER I AM in your debt…please allow me to EXPRESS my INFINITE gratitude… for it was you that granted me the chance to finally RELEASE…*FREEDOM*…for so long I’ve searched for a home that I could sincerely call my own…I know now that close to you is where I’ve always belonged…to the only one who embraced me fully and never passed judgment…UNDERSTANDING from where I’ve come and how long of a journey it’s been…rescuing me from the pit of sometimes my own self-pity…and when I submerged into the darkness of misery…you provided the LIGHT for me to follow….the man that I AM today is more than a man…it is every man that has endured pain and suffering and rose from the ashes…*RISING SUN (SON)*…it is with you that I am able to share that EXPERIENCE…I HOPE you’re able to understand so many understatements…a simple LETTER to the one I truly adore…my greatest appreciation…

CiD *Creativity Is Demanding*
Add Watercolor

Copyright © Claiborne Randle | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |

World Justice: Ward, Jennifer

World Justice: Ward, Jennifer

W to the J, J to the W
Voice crackle to the sound of unfairness
Question your place within the white world of today
Your community privileges
With pen in hand, contemplates to write the notes of despairs

W to the J, J to the W
Concern by the brothers and sisters of yesterday, today and tomorrow
Voice crackle to the sight of classicism, sexism, racism
Ism to the reason of wrongness
Lift your sword, write the notes of desolations

W to the J, J to the W
Yesterday, today and tomorrow bullshit shut down
Voice crackle to the vocalism of the nonsense, ignorance
Stand against the personal struggles, write the notes of accomplishments

W to the J, J to the W
Open your voice 
Let it sing with the rhythm of the goddesses
Athena, the goddess of war will be by your side
So, lift your sword
Write the notes of struggle, despair and resilience
Vocalize for the brothers and sisters of yesterday, today and tomorrow
And your sword never let go

Copyright © Vickie Ortiz Vazquez | Year Posted 2010

Details | Prose Poetry |

Ode to the Writer

Play you noted Lyricists! Let not your lyrics be missed! Your silence is the frequency, Enticed by a laced melody Condemned in a rhythmic spell Only time will really tell Your lyrical harmony Etched in life's symphony Oh, Hail! Or Hale! Kings of speech! May your words reign or rain on minds inpeach Let knowledge rule as you teach You are to blame for the popular fiction And the lost hip hop depiction Your vowel movement is the mission As they are turning to wrong station So arise oh sons of scribes! Let not fame be your weakening bribes The mystery is your story is still empty But the words to be written are plenty I plant thee in the soil of possibility Growing history in eternity Let the acclaimed awaiting your spark, put page to flame, Illuminating the shame where fiction is no longer fame Arise masters of word! The creators of a new world. Your potency is cryptic avalanche in dormant To awaken minds with your content With an earth shattering rumble you move earth with your stumble Tripping all over yourself to cause a rampage and turn a page marked in history That leads to the bread crumbs of destiny, displaying your self-mastery Oh again rise blood line of prophets! Be not sold out by profits. Your words intertwine the future with the past As ignorance over knowledge shall never be surpassed So your prophecies can be for the youth’s benefits And lost in the realm of the elder’s forfeit While bleeding your ink work, flooding the stage Flowing ears steadily from age to age I say rage warrior of the Pens! This is the age when ignorance ends. As wielders of the pen die by the pen are heard Cutting and stabbing the paper in furry blurred Let those pens bleed till society flood Cleansing it with its righteous blood To awaken other giants from their slumber Killing silence's winter into summer Where ignorance is not left to its own device Only your golden silence should be an adequate price

Copyright © siza sibiya | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? |

Green onions(ode to)

Green Onions

What fool can write about green onions?
Not me, Not me
I'm not a fool you see

Green onions are food
not a poem my friend whose goofy

But I don't mean to be rude
or crude to any dude
who writes about green onions 
and not eat for food

So what if I'm rude or crude
to you, foolish dude
I'm not like you, I'm no fool
But a dude who's cool

So don't confuse me with a fool dude 
'cause I'm a cool dude
I do not write about green onions
that is you, a fool you see
and a fool you will always be

I do not write about green onions
you see ,you see

Copyright © greg halligan | Year Posted 2005

Details | Rhyme |

Ode to Robert Frost

Mr. Frost I could have met you had I tried.
You were born in the same year as my dad,
With a decade yet of living when he died.
I could have sought you out and wish I had.
My father never wandered from the farm
As you did often, chasing after fame,
But he spoke to me of its worth and charm
As you expressed in poetry, the same.

I think you loved the world but knew its faults
And spoke obliquely of it in your lines.
You sprinkled them a bit with seasoning salts
Leaving it for us to puzzle your opines.
I love the way you use such simple words
To write of natural things I too have loved,
The sunsets, apple harvests and of birds
And in the reading of them, I am moved.

I've tried to write like you did Mr. Frost,
You who read for presidents and kings.
Your dreams pursued no matter what the cost.
You found such beauty in the simple things.
I wish that I'd talked with you, Mr. Frost.
But I had duties that I couldn’t shirk.
When I had the time at last, the chance was lost,
But thank you much for leaving us your work.

Written for Jared's contest

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ode |


I have got to write,lines of poesy that sing.
I have got to write,because I owe you this:
I have got to write,because I just cannot:
Even if I wanted to,I would not stop:
I have to write, because I cannot stop:
I have got to write, simply because,
I want to...

Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

Why Wait Ode to Still Another Writer

At 64 you take a stance,
You'll never get another chance.
The zero option's not a joke,
No sense just waiting for a stroke.
So you let the novel fly,
There's big bucks there
It's worth a try.
You wait too long
It's never read
Stays on your shelf 
When you're long dead.

Copyright © Gary Kraidman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |

Ode to Jennifer Nettles

Wow it seems just like yesterday
I sat there watching the CMA
The rest is history what can I say
An angel sang “Why don’t you stay”

She was raw and raucous as I ever heard
But all leaned forward to hear her words
She held us in her reaching palm
And she exploded like an atom bomb

Jennifer, Jennifer won’t you sing for me
I’ll write you a song like none could ever be
I know you write the words you sing
And you really don’t need my fling

However I am just an old man with a silly dream
You can make it happen… or so it really seems
You should hear my words coming from up above
Like the ones sent me about the “Garden of Love”

I think you would find it really very prime
However Steve Earle didn’t write it, it is mine
And I am already married my kids are quite tall
Also when it rains I often slip and fall

If nothing else I hope this gives you a smile
Stranger things have happened 
You know every once in a while
It doesn’t hurt to dream, not by a country mile.

So Jennifer, Jennifer consider an old man’s plea
What the heck it can’t hurt to talk a while with me
It might even climb all the way to number one
Let the world hear the Garden of love, basking in your sun 

Wow it seems just like yesterday
I sat there watching the CMA
The rest is history what can I say
An angel sang “Why don’t you stay”

Copyright © Gregory Cox | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ode |

My Tales

I write my tales
Words, fragments, lines
Perhaps meaningless at times
In the same old fashioned way
Like it happened just today
I let my cherished memories; in turn 
Fill my hearts every yearn
The flowery feel
Beneath the gentle shadow of the hills
Covered in daffodils
In the same old fashioned way
I write my tales everyday

Copyright © ashek rahaman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Couplet |

Ode to Sean Kelly

I wanted to write just like soup's Sean Kelly
But every time I tried my knees went like jelly
So I put on my bowlers hat and tried an ode
Alas the wind was too heavy and it ended on the road
My hat, that is, not my  ode you understand
And my ode turned out so totally not  grand
However hard I tried to concentrate
The words coming out were just not great
I tried to type with finesse and a giggle
But the writing just looked like a wee squiggle
Oh dearie me what bad luck that was
I can't believe the amount of fuss
With knees of jelly and not even a laugh
With words of squiggles and a darn in my scarf
With a hat on the road and simply nothing on telly
Just for me trying to write just like Sean Kelly!!!

Copyright © FATHIMA DAWOOD | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ode |

ode to my books

quiet joy
The silent pleasure 
Freeing peace
You saved me
From the world
You saved me

When I was alone you were there
When I was lost you were my map
When I was afraid I looked to you
Your stories gave me hope

Your rough spine
Stitching standing out along the line
Hardcovers which edges have been rubbed smooth with use
Cardboard doors to a fleeting universe

Paper thin paper
Crisp a first
Then over time they fold
Become the billowing sheets on which we rest our mind

Glistening words
Inked with care
Reach out to pull you in
To keep you trapped within its grasp

Oh books
How can I ever repay you?
What payment can be given to that
Which shapes our lives?

How many things
Do I love because of you?
How much of me
Was born from your pages?

You were my sanctuary 
My palace in the sky
My land of which I alone could explore
Now I wish I could continue your gift

But can I?
Can your gift become mine?
Can I become the one 
To share the worlds within our world?

You shaped the world I walk upon
There could be no greater pleasure
To become
The paver of worlds 

For every time I forget myself
I find myself
In you
And that is a gift the gods could not provide

But maybe I could provide it
Maybe the next time the world falls
I would be the one 
To write my way out

Copyright © Jaycee Graffius | Year Posted 2017