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Ode Women Poems | Ode Poems About Women

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

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Details | Ode |

For Mama

She showed me the clouds
and how to walk on the ninth one. A dreamer.
In the absoluteness of her mind, no barriers
exist within existence
as if her battles have
been won. I think she craves to fly,
past those clouds---another possibility
to make possible, a challenge
to challenge. Or dream about.
She probably thinks that when I complain
I cannot see the clouds,
the way she did when things got rough
in life. Of course, I beg to differ.
She dreams. I live. I don't
keep my eyes on clouds all day
as if there is nothing else to see
to make me understand the world better.
I suppose I'll rest one day, exhausted
by the what-ifs and whys, while Mama smiles
and points upward.

Copyright © Nikkia Roberts | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ode |

Ode to the Madman

Ode to the Madman

It was heaven in hell, both.
It was 115 degrees and I was in hell.
But heaven was in sweltering Palm Springs.
And I tasted nectar and ambrosia, both,
Under the dauntless palms.
I took in the majesty of the gods
As they bowed to each other,
Like kow-towing Chinamen in white robes.
I took in the flames and the feathers, both.
I took in the shadows and the spotlights of the stabbing sun.
The book was Women by Bukowski.
I lounged by the winking, blue-eyed pool,
Eyeing the half-naked women in bikinis,
Reading the drunken madman,
Sipping daiquiris on ice
Brought to me by the big-breasted beautiful girl
From behind the bar.
The way she walked as she brought me my drinks,
Was a Revelation and a turn-on, both.
It seemed, as I discerned from her big-breasted body language,
That she already knew the answers to life’s unasked questions.
That she had already traveled 
To the farthest star in the galaxy.
That she had already tasted the wine of eternal wisdom.
Yes, it was the way she walked.
Bukowski would’ve smiled and said:
“Comon honey, let’s dance!”
I was in heaven and in hell, both.
It was 115 degrees, and I sweated.
But I saw paradise under the dauntless palms.
Ode to the madman!
“I sip this daiquiri in your name.”
Brought to me by the big-breasted beautiful girl
From behind the bar.

Copyright © stark hunter | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ode |

Ode to a Mellow Glass of Chardonay - by Michael Dom

Marvellous Mellow Glass of Chardonnay
What was my life before you came my way?
My parched throat and tongue, my taste buds were rife,
My heart, my mouth, with the raw taste of life!
I would sweat by my brawn, or by my brows, 
Through the days and nights, for a wife and house;
But, with a Mellow Glass of Chardonnay,
My troubles and strife’s seem to wash away!
My heart, my mouth, would taste the sprite of life
If you were woman, I’d make you my wife!

*A poem written on a request from Keith Jackson AM.

Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2014

Details | Ode |


*The Mother's Day Poem*

such rare jewels
And givers of life....

They extend a guiding hand in pitch darkness to lead 
Their children to a beacon of light. A constant presence 
In the lives of their children come rain or shine 
Through success and failure. In sorrow, mothers wipe 
Their children's teary eyes with a comforting smile.

Mothers are stalwart pillars of support and love for their family. 
They greet their newborns with joyous beaming eyes, loving them 
Prima facie. Unconditionally, continually, they love their children 
From the cradle to the grave. Mothers are the glue that hold 
Families and households tightly together

Possessors of the most tenders of shoulders to cry on, to lean on. 
Possessors of hearts that beat with patience and understanding
Blessed with hearts easy to love and cherish. Possessors of arms 
Ever ready and eager to caress. Mothers are natural role models
Teaching their children right from wrong. 

Mothers shower their children with fruitful advice and
Life lessons. Shielding them from all shades of harm. 
Watching them grow and blossom into adulthood
Lending them mighty wings to soar across troubled oceans and seas
Over foggy mountains and glens, over seemingly insurmountable 
Obstacles day in, day out

Mothers are indeed such rare jewels.....

Happy Mother's day, mom!*wink*

Date written: 05/08/2015
Date posted:  04/12/2016

Copyright © Edward Ibeh | Year Posted 2016

Details | Concrete |

Ode to a modern woman

I swear madam 
That your manners 
Are worthy of a village dope
And your ambitions are tremendously humongous 
At the expense of someone else;
And you are also so lazy 
That there’s no time at all
To manage some cleanup and cooking 
And no ironing and washing.
Childcare also not conducive
And job prohibited at all
But to the art of shopping 
You dedicate your every day.
And to sum up this conversation:
Your ego – size of railway station
You also wither on a vine
(Above means that your talents 
  Are completely wasted).

Copyright © Arthur Zozulya | Year Posted 2015

Details | Ode |

Immortal - A Tribute to the life and voice of Dr Maya Angelou - Part I

As the life and voice of Dr. Maya Angelou were profoundly deep and moving, I hope you will find this grateful tribute to her to be fitting. As it is too long to be posted here, you can find it at


Or, Read it in parts I and II:

Part I:

The name woke me up - sat me up in my bed...
"Maya", the name my voice called out...
As I sat there in the dark, listening...
As I had so many times before...
Wondering at the "whys" and "how - tos" of my impossible dreams.

And as the dark, so was the divide -
That place in me, between what I was,
And the Why and Who I wanted to be...
But always, her voice, that voice named "Maya",
Had called across the divide as a still and steady light.

That unbreakable, unshakable, steady light...
I wondered where it was now, with blinking, thinking eyes.
Had it vanished? Was it vanquished? Could I once again rise -
In the dark staring dead at me... daring me to rise...
I felt hopeless, lost back in the divide… now growing ever and ever wide.

What happens now - my question?  A miracle now, an answer - indeed...
For through the dark, that voice named "Maya" whispered...
Whispered into me... sounding a new song's drumbeat creed...
"You", the whispering voice whispered..."You, child - Now, You"...
And my feet were suddenly planted, planted bravely on the ground.

And I stood tall and strong, stepping peacefully forward, twirling round,
For the dark no longer stared at me, but I stared into it...
It no longer owned me... but instead, I commanded it,
By a path so still and steady - and now, so brightly lit:
The light I had strained to see was now the miracle shining from inside of me.

My divide... was now, somehow... unified.
And again the whispering voice came: "Yes child - Yes - I speak your name…
I have come and gone so very far, borne witness to it - 
Have delivered a gift to you all - and you were born to use it.
Share it... wear it... and to the dark - dare it - with that unbreakable, unshakable light.”

“Be a voice for all seasons - make some noise for all the reasons,
The downtrodden have to hope for, that the world would grasp and grope for…
Be my voice Now… as I have been yours… a brilliant spirit, not a wandering ghost…
Make your choice, Now - Decide - to be Identified…
To see and live your unbreakable, unshakable, unstoppable dreams.”

Continued i Part II

Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Ode to Red Shoes

Another older post.....funny how some material things represent success....these red-soled shoes certainly do exactly that to many women, including my grandddaughter (maybe she'll get a pair if she graduates from med school)- so here's to my girl and what I know goes through her mind when she sees picture of "Christian Louboutin's"

One word is all that comes to mind-
As I hear the tapping of heels on pavement,
Christian Louboutin, the slayer of all shoes,
I see the smooth black leather studded pumps,
The tiny details of his red soles catch my eye,
I know when I wear them I will raise my head up high,
Rarely do people disapprove,
Always sold in pairs – that’s two,
I know one day I’ll own a few,
Christian Louboutin, the slayer of all shoes!

One picture is all that comes to mind-
When I see the soles of a special kind,
I kick my feet up high,
Longing for the day when I can wear those heels with pride,
Makeup, hair, and nails all match,
My red soles and I can never be detached,
The sight of a deep red,
It is what I’ve tattooed in my head,
Permanently stitched into my view,
Christian Louboutin, the slayer of all shoes!

Copyright © Genevieve Mika-Stevens | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ode |

Immortal - A Tribute to the life and voice of Dr Maya Angelou - Part II

Part II  of  The Poem, Immortal, A tribute to Dr. Maya Angelou, is posted below:

... continued...

And her voice passed through me, and kissed me with a trace of grace…
And then… the voice of Maya echoed once more… again:
“I have others to see Now… you have somewhere to be Now:
An appointment with your life, so precious and rare, awaits.
Make haste, my child, make haste.”

And I ran after her voice, out onto my doorstep…
To behold the night heavens so wide and awake…
Aglow with their newest host - I stood and watched her circumnavigate,
All of the spheres that the toil of her years - and her joy - had built there.
And I could feel her voice in the gentle wind blowing…

The voice of Maya, saying to me… saying to you…
“You, child, You… oh Yes, child -Yes… Now, child - NOW”.

And NOW… she is Immortal.

Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |

Ode To Women

I cant figure out why women are such a puzzeling sex to men.
I think its like the three letter word, we say when, and you say how long
has it been?

I especially love it when they say " oh I'm not high maintenance" and 
I need to get this and that done as we scratch our heads and say is it me
or is she the only one.

When we go out we pick any old thing we have on hand, and women say
"Oh I have to get something new" and it probably cost more than our wedding

We guys go and spend ten bucks on a haircut and a shave, but when you go its 
an all day affair and cost so much I have to ask for a raise.

So men we are left to ponder and sworn to never concede,
but I find its easier not to argue and just give them what they need.

Copyright © Edward LaMarre | Year Posted 2008

Details | Ode |

Women Are Treasures

Being the most rarest,
Specimen, by far
Should Women be treated
like the jewels, they are
With the Magic they bring
of a shooting star
It's like catching fireflies
in a mason jar
Something We marvel over
like a brand, new car
Which We wish to keep safe
from any scratch or scar

Copyright © Karin Edwards | Year Posted 2009

Details | Ode |

Sanguine Oranges Part 1

I was never an Orange Admirer;
some men think… to themselves, 
Wow it must be such a privilege, to be a Woman.. 

they are thinking all dreamily, 
Nostalgia splashing around in their pool of thought.

The Orange always falls,
but never on point. It never falls… falls on the days when we are frolicking in space,

it falls when you're giving an oral presentation; it falls when you are waving, or talking with a boy you like… Yeah like that helps,
you just turn another shade of red.. from the apples of your cheeks, to your ears… to your lacy white skirt. 

The Orange.. it spills..  
as you blush. When in your head you're trying to lick the flames of embarrassment, holding back tears- as each sanguine stream tears 

You try to hold, keep your eyes looking at something comforting..
like the soft peach walls, or other Women who have synchronized their watches.. each one verging the timeline- trying to pace the orange… predict when the Orange will fall and 

land splat! on the pavement.. readying their wicker baskets.
We never do catch the oranges, they always seem to slip from our feminine palms… as if we were holding ice cubes… they always seem to melt in your palms… before we can make Lemonade with such bitter lemons.. “I mean oranges.” 

But there is no reason to try to sweeten such things with metaphors..

Because even though metaphors are a brand of sugar poets use..
to add a dash in their coffee, on their simple ziplock bag of candied Orange peels…

we hold it behind our ears, you can find it on our tongue,
as we start to spout the bitter truth.
And such oranges cannot be tamed with sweetness…

Maybe a stale, yet flaky chocolate croissant from Dunkin Donuts will satisfy, subdue the Oranges fury..
soothe the convulses as each droplet of nectar seeps… Boys know, 
Oh how they pick it up… they just intuitively know… their bodies jump at it, beg for the presence of the woman, so they can bask in such an ambiance. 

They munch-and crunch on those pheromonal Breadcrumbs.. following 
them to the woman. Like Hansel and Gretel happened upon the Gingerbread house, just like men- they meet the house of desire.

Orange, a truth serum, it pulls the covers off of Everything..
even the secret crush of a boy in your class.
We ask the Question, 

Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ode |

catch this

catch this last kiss kiss friendly reminder kinda hard to resist laughter of our demise circle ing times flat lines existance persisting past chances drank from a flask drunken under shades tree life staggering through events twice insanity has becone corner stone never left to sip in company alone misery always prepared lending a hand though fog may clear still quick is sand oceans only choice left to enjoy a view time watering mountans peaking hues ?

Copyright © stranded stars | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ode |

Sanguine Oranges Part 2

"Why Eve did you have to eat that apple!” The apple gave birth to such distasteful Oranges..
The flush of hormones take our body, possess it into a raging Ghost- nagging our husbands… driving our children bonkers.. until they say, Mom, you're acting really irritable. 
Or your husband has to go to the store, on an emergency Chocolate break. 
His grocery cart filled with, Truffles, Skor Bars , Chocolate covered Orange peels. 
You think to yourself, oh he’s so good to me, and realize slowly that you're not showing it, when you're reprimanding him for not buying the right ice cream. 
But don't worry he understands, He had 7th grade health class torture as well..
So he gets it. 
My last message, that if I could tell Eve, and all men- would be 
Blood Oranges are a curse.

Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2017

Details | Ode |

Night and Day II

Woman however is all sweet fertile fruit, 
all honey dew drops on a crisp Summer’s morning. 
Woman is nurture vs nature, is skin as soft as velvet. Is a tawny, floppy eared bunny frolicking in a meadow of green and tuft yellow dandelions. 

But Woman is more than sugar and spice and everything nice. She is not a recipe of freshly baked pastries, sweet and warm. Is not a delicate fragile teacup. 

Is not a painting of supple bare skin and ivory body. 
Woman can be fire and flames. Can be lightning bright and thunder loud. Woman can be brambles and thorns adorned in cream white roses but can prick and draw from the innate crimson flood. 

Woman is more heart than body, woman is more soul than symmetry. Woman is beauty in imperfections galore. Is beautiful when authentic self is shown. 
Woman can be sour like unpalatable lemons and salt from a salt filled sea. Woman claims authority, are powerful beyond measure, surpass the superficial units of measure, of weight, of waistline, of height, contests. Woman is beautiful no matter what. Is anything she wants to be. 
Is the change she wants to be, and the change she wants to see in the world. 

Men and Women are night and day, Moon and Sun. 
Each perfect in their own way but together are a masterpiece, are an eclipse of beauty of the world’s most signature piece, and portrait of unity and peace. 

Copyright © Madison Demetros | Year Posted 2017