Random Ode Poems (275)

ah to feel a hold of a love,

how long ago this may be..


She died so so long ago,

haste not to date sence,

or let i get hurt by death of two.

Ah to feel a hold of a love,

would be lovely,

would be awsome,

but, must i take a risk?

Must i loose yet another child,

and possible wife?


Ah there in deed lies the quetion,

in my life...

I stand on a cold snowy night
nothing but a full moon and bright stars in my sight
would like to send a message
but the air is taking my life with thought's we've never
met so how can this be right with only an image of
your face standing in the light should i reach through
the moon or wish upon that one star tonight cause
without that special someone in your life!

It's just another cold night.





E.M.P
12/22/17

With your mercury mouth in the missionary times,
And your eyes like smoke and your prayers like rhymes,
And your silver cross, and your voice like chimes,
Oh, do they think could bury you?
With your pockets well protected at last,
And your streetcar visions which you place on the grass,
And your flesh like silk, and your face like glass,
Who could they get to carry you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I put them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheets like metal and your belt like lace,
And your deck of cards missing the jack and the ace,
And your basement clothes and your hollow face,
Who among them can think he could outguess you?
With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims,
And your match-book songs and your gypsy hymns,
Who among them would try to impress you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I put them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

The kings of Tyrus with their convict list
Are waiting in line for their geranium kiss,
And you wouldn't know it would happen like this,
But who among them really wants just to kiss you?
With your childhood flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish manners and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs,
Who among them do you think could resist you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever, ever persuade you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row,
And your magazine-husband who one day just had to go,
And your gentleness now, which you just can't help but show,
Who among them do you think would employ you?
Now you stand with your thief, you're on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul,
Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

Você é meu "kamba"?(Are you my beloved friend?)
Eu digo Sim!!!(I say Yes!!!)
Listening to an old samba
Below the Rim...
So he inspires me
And i compose a song
Let us be!!!
I love my mothertongue
Set your heart free!!!
Be my scarlet bee!!!

The man in the...always wears his cruel frown
The man in the...is always dragging his feet upon the ground
The man in the...has a dull dank smell on his hide
The man in the...years ago had lost his one pride
I saw him...he saw me.
I saw him...I felt weak in the knees
I saw him...and shuddered in fear
I saw him...and shed a few tears
He saw me...and nodded with glee
He saw me...and had eyes that weren`t free
He saw me...and took my hand purposefully
The man in the...always smiles with love
The man in the...now lives up above
The man in the...looks down on me from time to time
The man in the...was gone in his prime
I didn`t see him...and I missed him
I didn`t see him...and I was sorry
The man in the...Nothing.

I, as a twig, placed upon healthy ground,
was then covered with good soil and sand.
Appearing as one 'dead', indeed profound
that some future day I'd beautify the land!

While covered with earth secure and warm,
no fears nor fret for some weeks to come.
As I patiently laid there, as one to be born,
to a bright new life,... yet feared by one.

Tis the weed that's born with trembling fear
as it's fragile life is considered but waste.
But as a 'ROSE', my life is indeed secure,
since by few am I of intolerable taste.

As I grow, I receive a gardener's best care,
while the poor weed is simply cut & burned.
Tis sad to see the poor weed tremble there,
as he fears rejection and mankind's spurn.

For weeks by the shivering weed I laid,
not much different from him indeed,
But once my grower distinction has made,
Tis "Welcome Rose" and "Good-bye weed!"

It's sad in losing a close familiar friend,
that grew abreast my very own side.
But worse than that, the fatal end,
of the life of one who desperately tried,

For all his worth to be his very best,
in blossom and in gorgeous bloom.
As by my side poor weed grew abreast
the one who sealed his certain doom.

A 'ROSE' indeed, in full glorious array,
with all my gleaming splendor shown.
Yet sad I am each long remorseful day,
for the horrible end of one I've known.

Who by my side through sun and rain,
and the fiercest weather's beaten test,
did not so much as groan nor complain,
but offered to me sweet comforting rest.

As shade he offered in hot summer sun,
and strength against stiff blowing wind.
My dear friend the weed will be the one,
of whose un-forgotten grave I'll send,

A fragrant bouquet composed of 'ME',
as a tribute to my dear faithful friend.

Who can resist radiant beauty
shining from within the soul of
a woman?

When in her s*xual power,
What man would not devour
a woman?

The seed makes it's journey
to implant in the womb of
a woman.

Who bears the the child
and helps it to grow tall?
A woman.

Who nurtures the child
from her breast when small?
A woman.

Who cuddles when crying
Reassures when they're trying?
A woman.

Who sets her child free
to fufil their destiny?
A woman.

What hope is there for
a man to compare to
a woman?

Forget what you have heard
On subject, predicate,
That these are merely words,
No detriment, nor benefit.

Not “sticks and stones “ these words,
Are so much more than just,
Nouns, adjectives and verbs,
Said in earnest or in jest.

They make a statement cogent,
Words have value and weight,
And in pressing moments,
Are a prison or escape.

We cry and we laugh,
At life and paragraphs,
In books that we have read,
And what has oft been said.

For worse or for better,
We submit to the letter,
Whether in law or in scripture,
Of events the predictor.

And we must be stricter,
Make words an elixir,
As if bought from a vendor,
We must always remember,

Silver-tongued men days past,
Set other mens hearts ablaze,
T’wards the good or evil task,
T’wards comfort or malaise.

So before you speak and,
Before pen and paper,
And before you click send,
Be certain don’t waver.

Let wisdom first abound,
But hold all men to account,
Let every phrase inspire,
Lift lowly heads up higher.

Here there is more power,
With every syllable,
For test and proving hour,
And days most difficult.
WBJS 7/10/22

1, hour alone,
in a destination unknow,
with a man of charm,
to hold in ur arms,
1, Day together,
when it feels forever,
with an exceptional girl,
id give her a lace of pearls,
1, week apart,
where it breaks my heart,
with only one wish,
i ask for a kiss,
1, month with fear,
i'll fill with tears,
running like a river,
knowing im not with her,
1, year in ambition,
hope to make a transition,
with all my power,
i wish for that first hour...

by S.B.W

This lovely land, was built by hand,
Generations in the makin'.
The stones they found, prised from the ground,
Became the bones of fam'ly homes,
And pony's stalls, or pasture walls,
All trimmed just right and fitted tight.
Thatched roofs they fledged with straw or sedge,
This land is cold, the wind is bold,
They had no logs but did have bogs,
So dried the peat to make their heat.
Used what they had, these clever lads.
And so unchanged some things remain,
Built strong to stand and grace this land.
Yes there's the rains, the crooked lanes,
And prices high to make you cry.
But oh the charms, the people warm,
Will make you smile, with wit and style.
From far away I came to stay,
And tour a while this Em'rald Isle.
Though I must part I leave my heart,
Until once more I gain these shores.