Ode Poems

Popular Ode Poems
Ode To Aphrodite
by Sappho

Deathless Aphrodite, throned in flowers,
Daughter of Zeus, O terrible enchantress,
With this sorrow, with this anguish, break my spirit
Lady, not longer!

Hear anew the voice! O hear and listen!
Come, as in that island dawn thou camest,
Billowing in thy yoked car to Sappho
Forth from thy father's


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Ode To A Goldfish
by Jack Robinson

This sad sequence came as aftermath
To the day I gave my goldfish a bath.
She was so happy. There was nary a scowl,
as she got her rubdown with the towel.

Then, into the water she slid -- in the nude,
to swim. A vision of piscatorial pulchritude.
I do get sentimental about a fish so ornamental..
And I knew: for her to flourish, I must properly nourish.


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Ode On Indolence
by John Keats

ONE morn before me were three figures seen,
I With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced;
And one behind the other stepp'd serene,
In placid sandals, and in white robes graced;
They pass'd, like figures on a marble urn,
When shifted round to see the other side;
They came again; as when the urn once more
Is shifted round, the first seen shades return;
And they were strange to me, as may betide
With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.


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Ode To The Moon
by Mary Darby Robinson

PALE GODDESS of the witching hour;
Blest Contemplation's placid friend;
Oft in my solitary bow'r,
I mark thy lucid beam
From thy crystal car descend,
Whitening the spangled heath, and limpid sapphire stream.

And oft, amidst the shades of night
I court thy undulating light;
When Fairies dance around the verdant ring,


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The Bard
by Thomas Gray

'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
Confusion on thy banners wait,
Tho' fanned by Conquest's crimson wing
They mock the air with idle state.
Helm, nor Hauberk's twisted mail,
Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
From Cambria'sÊ curse, from Cambria's tears!'
Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, 10


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Recent Ode Poems
An ode to a skylark
by Baramundi Roy

I am a little skylark, and God painted my colour brown.
Some people look upon me, and in disappointment frown.
But God has been very wise you see, because I have found
that my colour camouflages me whenever I'm on the ground.

I would not change my colour even if I had the choice.
For God has given this little skylark a wonderful voice.
People look up in wonder whenever I'm on the wing.
as there, high in the sky, my melodious songs I sing.

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An ode to a Trilobite
by Baramundi Roy

Swimming in profusion in the Cambrian sea
this lovely creature is so appealing to me.
It's a fossil of variety and surprise
with its simple three lobed shape and compound eyes.

On its primordial feet it scurried around
the ocean floor hunting for food to be found.
Whenever threatened, it would curl into a ball
like a modern cheese hog to escape from it all.


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by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu

In Biafra, when we drank from the tilting
cusps of dank leaves and washed with the spittle
of cassava,
the sun scorched like hell.

Añuruedoahu*, the oasis of war, like worldly
cowrie, stagnant, yet devoid of rural fetish,
calmed our nerves and built in the altar of
our souls hopes of answered prayers.


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To recollect the battle of Gloster hill(Solma-ri , Imjin River)
by Kinsley Lee

The late spring in the field, the coquelicots are blooming
In this Imjin area, on the vale and hill.
Spring’s coming, the red thieves were looming,
And human-wave attacking, to the Gloster hill.
Here and there, on the hero’s blood,
The flowers’re blooming as the hue of blood.

In this area, one thousand years ago,
The Tang Dynasty Army invaded
And the Silla soldiers blocked their blow.


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Arise Youths
by Graham Ereks

Eight years have come and gone, yet my people still remain blind,
Many a year our leaders shower us with their sugarcoated tongues.
A zillion promises they make now and then, fulfilling none;
Enriching themselves while the poor masses remain indigent.

Poverty in our land has been catapulted, unemployment is now our most High;
A posse of inconsiderate oldies we have as rulers, a bunch of purposeless grandpas.
Need we die before our voices can be heard? Are we even living?
Now and then we pray things be better, but I guess all is but a colossal bummer.


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