Ode poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best ode poems ever written. Read all poems about ode.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
wine with purple feet
or wine with topaz blood,
with seven crippled feet,
Among the market greens,
from the ocean
When I close a book
I open life.
Ode to the cherry tree
How sweet does spring become
Upon the budding of your flowers
Upon the welcoming sight
An ode to you and all your beauty
On ode to you and all your glory
An ode to postdeath screams on the verge of smiling silence in time of human truths moves
For me, the poem's crystal clear, eight syllables to start,
Then suddenly the rhymes appear, so I must play my part.
I choose the ones I think worthwhile, that aptly fit my theme,
Some help the style or make me smile, more verses still to stream.
Death too, is Poetic.
The ode of life is neither written in Iambic Pentameter nor any other form but blank verse, because it is not dictated by many strict poetry rules, it is but adherent only to randomness in whatever sense. Alas! Everything is Poetry; living is a never ending emotional rollercoaster of a poem and death is just Poetry in motion especially when being driven in a hearse.
I am a Lawyer but see as my side hustle I nurse wounds too, but you'll never see them because they are covered in the sheathe of my masculinity and whatever society deems right for how a man should be in pursuit of his proverbial tranquility; so these days I just weep dry tears, sob with a closed mouth, cry in silence and hold all my emotions with a clenched fist as I smile through my pain, laugh out loud despite being hurt, continue living as if blood nor tears were never shed and all this so as to protect my testosterone by hiding whatever levels of estrogens science claims I may have; say Love, my heart was broken a long time ago and many times more, ergo what I do have is a fragment of shattered glass and if you look close enough you can even see the blood circulating through my body, come now and witness the funeral of my pain, the demise of all emotions and death of all feelings because there is Poetry even is this, but see I never knew that being alive could be such an onus heavy enough to make my shoulders drag; I don't mean to brag, but am blessed with much intellect yet even so I must ask isn't knowledge some form of a hallucinogenic drug because it takes you through highs and lows and in the end knowledge itself is really just unbearable pain like letting a body repleted with so much life go by pulling off the plug.
This ode of life is neither written in Iambic Pentameter nor any other form but blank verse, because it is not dictated by many strict poetry rules, it is but adherent only to randomness in whatever sense. Alas! Everything is Poetry; living is a never ending emotional rollercoaster of a poem and death is just Poetry in motion especially when being driven in a hearse because death too, is Poetic.
O witheringfragrantbeautiful flower
I want to write an ode to you
captioning An ODE TO WITHERING FLOWER!
Before I finish my poem
This is an ode to a special kind of worker
To a worker we don't talk about
This is an ode for all the escorts, all the hustlers, the hookers, the rent-boys, the
strippers, the lady boys, the call girls, the masseurs and masseuses.
Ode to day when
everything came together
for an old lost soul.
Ode to a woman that
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