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The drama is complete poetry. The ode and the epic contain it only in germ; it contains both of them in a state of high development, and epitomizes both.

quote by Victor Hugo
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Rode to a Knight Impale - after John Keats - Ode to a Nightingale

. :) kindly refer to notes. :)

My part aches and a rousing stiffness pains
my whole as though viagra I had drank,
or loosened up some pheronomic chains
split seconds past, endorphined, anticipating prank.
'Tis not through envy that I ask a lot,
but seeking through your image happiness,
love-lipped epitome of all that please
amused muse stays aware that what you've got
conjurs wet dreams, streams’ ready eddies numberless,
straw hollow swallows spring in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
fat vat prime time cocked, erect in deep pelvic berth,
tasting of horny fauna’s jelly beans,
dancing tandem to tambourine song since sunny birth!
O for a beaker full of the warm south,
filled to whet winking brink noways obscene,
with beaded bubbles oozing at the brim,
of purple-hooded mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
and with thee knock on doors quite in the swim:
ride far away, knot solve, and quite forget
what you senses leaves had never known,
no weariness, no fever, and no fret.
Here, men lose wit to hear each other groan
as palsy shakes a few, sad, beardless chins,
where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and sighs;
where but to think of size baits rod with sorrow
and leaden-eyed despairs,
No, Beauty, none may mime your lustrous eyes,
where new Love pines, fears un-orgasmic morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
not roped in by vile censors, critics’ pards,
but on untrammelled wings of intimacy,
though most dull brains perplex, their sloth retards.
Already with thee! tender is the night,
and tenderness my motto ‘tis well known
to massage tissues starry nights, sun days,
without the which love’s light
moons absence of reflection, breezes blown
through tortuous gameplays, inexperienced ways.

You should not care what flowers are at your feet,
for all is incense garland, and endows

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.

Poetry...Poetry...

poem by Akash Agrawal
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An act of poetry

Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry

A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art

Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation

Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:

The pen be our salvation.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire

'I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers'~Shakespeare

'Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too,'~Pope.

Still must I hear? -- shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,
And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse?
Prepare for rhyme -- I'll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

O nature's noblest gift -- my grey goose-quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,
That mighty instrument of little men!
The pen! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes
Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose,
Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride,
The lover's solace, and the author's pride.
What wits, what poets dost thou daily raise!
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise!
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite,
With all the pages which 'twas thine to write.
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen!
Once laid aside, but now assumed again,
Our task complete, like Hamet's shall be free;
Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me:
Then let us soar today, no common theme,
No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream
Inspires -- our path, though full of thorns, is plain;
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain.

When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway,
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey;
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime,
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime;
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail,
And weigh their justice in a golden scale;
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers,
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears,
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe,
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law.

Such is the force of wit! but not belong
To me the arrows of satiric song;
The royal vices of our age demand
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto II

THE ARGUMENT

The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.

THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;
From whose corrupted flesh that breed
Of vermin did at first proceed.
So e're the storm of war broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various rout
Of petulant Capricious sects,
The maggots of corrupted texts,
That first run all religion down,
And after ev'ry swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their mothers got their sons,
That were incapable t' enjoy
That empire any other way;
So PRESBYTER begot the other
Upon the good old Cause, his mother,
Then bore then like the Devil's dam,
Whose son and husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral tie of blood
Nor int'rest for the common good
Cou'd, when their profits interfer'd,
Get quarter for each other's beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But only by the ears engag'd:
Like dogs that snarl about a bone,
And play together when they've none,
As by their truest characters,
Their constant actions, plainly appears.
Rebellion now began, for lack
Of zeal and plunders to grow slack;
The Cause and covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b' out of season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O' th' King's Revenue, and the Churches,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on;
Which forc'd the stubborn'st for the Cause,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
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Poetry On The Chin

You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.

You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.

You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.

Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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An Ode To You...

Ode those that would place their family, before their
own ambitions.

Ode, to the soul of our nation. Women. For if it is men,
that are the history, it is surely woman, that are the soul.

Ode, to those who provide, protect
and guide their loved ones.

Ode, to those that know the difference, between
compromising and belief.

Ode, to all who give their lives, in
time of war; especially the majority, for
they are mostly, from economically challenge areas.

Ode, to a rare breed of politician, who puts their
constitutes, before their political ambitions.

Ode to those that understand, that their religion is not
necessarily the one and true religion. For if that were
true, what of the billions of others, that have chosen
a religion, not likened to theirs?

Ode, to all who react, to the plight of those less fortunate.

Ode, to the parents of this world, who teach
their children the values of life and living.

Ode, to the countless millions, who give of themselves and
ask nothing in return.

Ode, to those who consciously attempt, to make this a better world.
For if we want a better world, each of us, must try and be better.

Ode, to the power, that causes words that are
lodged in the birth canal of life...to finally be born.

poem by Joe Fazio
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(dde) ...........To You...

Ode those that would place their family, before their
own ambitions.

Ode, to the soul of our nation. Women. For if it is men,
that are the history, it is surely woman, that are the soul.

Ode, to those who provide, protect and guide
their loved ones.

Ode, to those that know the difference, between
compromising and belief.

Ode, to all who give their lives, in
time of war; especially the majority, for
they are mostly, from economically challenge areas.

Ode, to a rare breed of politician, who puts their
constitutes, before their political ambitions.

Ode to those that understand, that their religion is not
necessarily the one and true religion. For if that were
true, what of the billions of others, that have chosen
a religion, not likened to theirs?

Ode, to all who react, to the plight of those less fortunate.

Ode, to the parents of this world, who teach their children
the values of life and living.

Ode, to the countless millions, who give of themselves and
ask nothing in return.

Ode, to those who consciously attempt, to make this a better world.
For if we want a better world, each of us, must try and be better.

Ode, to the power, that causes words that are lodged in the
birth canal of life...to finally be born.

poem by Joe Fazio
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For One And All

Ode those that would place their family, before their
own ambitions.

Ode, to the soul of our nation. Women. For if it is men,
that are the history, it is surely woman, that are the soul.

Ode, to those who provide, protect and guide
their loved ones.

Ode, to those that know the difference, between
compromising and belief.

Ode, to all who give their lives, in
time of war; especially the majority, for
they are mostly, from economically challenge areas.

Ode, to a rare breed of politician, who puts their
constitutes, before their political ambitions.

Ode to those that understand, that their religion is not
necessarily the one and true religion. For if that were
true, what of the billions of others, that have chosen
a religion, not likened to theirs?

Ode, to all who react, to the plight of those less fortunate.

Ode, to the parents of this world, who teach their children
the values of life and living.

Ode, to the countless millions, who give of themselves and
ask nothing in return.

Ode, to those who consciously attempt, to make this a better world.
For if we want a better world, each of us, must try and be better.

Ode, to the power, that causes words that are lodged in the
birth canal of life...to finally be born.

poem by Joe Fazio
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For...One And All

Ode those that would place their family, before their
own ambitions.

Ode, to the soul of our nation. Women. For if it is men,
that are the history, it is surely woman, that are the soul.

Ode, to those who provide, protect and guide
their loved ones.

Ode, to those that know the difference, between
compromising and belief.

Ode, to all who give their lives, in
time of war; especially the majority, for
they are mostly, from economically challenge areas.

Ode, to a rare breed of politician, who puts their
constitutes, before their political ambitions.

Ode to those that understand, that their religion is not
necessarily the one and true religion. For if that were
true, what of the billions of others, that have chosen
a religion, not likened to theirs?

Ode, to all who react, to the plight of those less fortunate.

Ode, to the parents of this world, who teach their children
the values of life and living.

Ode, to the countless millions, who give of themselves and
ask nothing in return.

Ode, to those who consciously attempt, to make this a better world.
For if we want a better world, each of us, must try and be better.

Ode, to the power, that causes words that are lodged in the
birth canal of life...to finally be born.

poem by Joe Fazio
Added by Poetry Lover
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Here's To You...

Ode, to those that would place their family, before their
own ambitions.

Ode, to the soul of our nation. Women. For if it is men,
that are the history, it is surely woman, that are the soul.

Ode, to those who provide, protect and guide
their loved ones.

Ode, to those that know the difference, between
compromising and belief.

Ode, to all who give their lives, in
time of war; especially the majority, for
they are mostly, from economically challenge areas.

Ode, to a rare breed of politician, who puts their
constitutes, before their political ambitions.

Ode to those that understand, that their religion is not
necessarily the one and true religion. For if that were
true, what of the billions of others, that have chosen
a religion, not likened to theirs?

Ode, to all who react, to the plight of those less fortunate.

Ode, to the parents of this world, who teach their children
the values of life and living.

Ode, to the countless millions, who give of themselves and
ask nothing in return.

Ode, to those who consciously attempt, to make this a better world.
For if we want a better world, each of us, must try and be better.

Ode, to the power, that causes words that are lodged in the
birth canal of life...to finally be born.

poem by Joe Fazio
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This...Is Life

Ode those that would place their family, before their
own ambitions.

Ode, to the soul of our nation. Women. For if it is men,
that are the history, it is surely woman, that are the soul.

Ode, to those who provide, protect and guide
their loved ones.

Ode, to those that know the difference, between
compromising and belief.

Ode, to all who give their lives, in
time of war; especially the majority, for
they are mostly, from economically challenge areas.

Ode, to a rare breed of politician, who puts their
constitutes, before their political ambitions.

Ode to those that understand, that their religion is not
necessarily the one and true religion. For if that were
true, what of the billions of others, that have chosen
a religion, not likened to theirs?

Ode, to all who react, to the plight of those less fortunate.

Ode, to the parents of this world, who teach their children
the values of life and living.

Ode, to the countless millions, who give of themselves and
ask nothing in return.

Ode, to those who consciously attempt, to make this a better world.
For if we want a better world, each of us, must try and be better.

Ode, to the power, that causes words that are lodged in the
birth canal of life...to finally be born.

poem by Joe Fazio
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To Those Of You That Do...

Ode those that would place their family, before their
own ambitions.

Ode, to the soul of our nation. Women. For if it is men,
that are the history, it is surely woman, that are the soul.

Ode, to those who provide, protect and guide
their loved ones.

Ode, to those that know the difference, between
compromising and belief.

Ode, to all who give their lives, in
time of war; especially the majority, for
they are mostly, from economically challenge areas.

Ode, to a rare breed of politician, who puts their
constitutes, before their political ambitions.

Ode to those that understand, that their religion is not
necessarily the one and true religion. For if that were
true, what of the billions of others, that have chosen
a religion, not likened to theirs?

Ode, to all who react, to the plight of those less fortunate.

Ode, to the parents of this world, who teach their children
the values of life and living.

Ode, to the countless millions, who give of themselves and
ask nothing in return.

Ode, to those who consciously attempt, to make this a better world.
For if we want a better world, each of us, must try and be better.

Ode, to the power, that causes words that are lodged in the
birth canal of life...to finally be born.

poem by Joe Fazio
Added by Poetry Lover
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To You...

Ode those that would place their family, before their
own ambitions.

Ode, to the soul of our nation. Women. For if it is men,
that are the history, it is surely woman, that are the soul.

Ode, to those who provide, protect and guide
their loved ones.

Ode, to those that know the difference, between
compromising and belief.

Ode, to all who give their lives, in
time of war; especially the majority, for
they are mostly, from economically challenge areas.

Ode, to a rare breed of politician, who puts their
constitutes, before their political ambitions.

Ode to those that understand, that their religion is not
necessarily the one and true religion. For if that were
true, what of the billions of others, that have chosen
a religion, not likened to theirs?

Ode, to all who react, to the plight of those less fortunate.

Ode, to the parents of this world, who teach their children
the values of life and living.

Ode, to the countless millions, who give of themselves and
ask nothing in return.

Ode, to those who consciously attempt, to make this a better world.
For if we want a better world, each of us, must try and be better.

Ode, to the power, that causes words that are lodged in the
birth canal of life...to finally be born.

poem by Waldon Pond Productions
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Poetry: What Is Poetry?

Poetry pleases my ears
that words sound in harmony,
but not to a foreign tongue.

Poetry draws a picture
to invite my eyes,
but still puzzles my mind.

Poetry blows with wind,
in water He flows,
shouts in thunders,
and bounces as rock in roll.

Poetry preserves His truth,
in secret codes, simple words,
only reveals to the worthy.

Poetry sings in my ears,
dances in front my eyes,
kisses my lips,
brings fragrance,
that fills my mind
and imprints my soul.

Poetry does not like as I like
as whenever I use as like wrongly,
and it is unfair He uses
correctly all times He does,
but I make Him to like
as I do like anyway.

Poetry tells stories
to company my journey,
writes jokes
to convert my tragedy
into a comedy,
and builds a rainbow bridge
where my dream
and reality meet.

Poetry blinded Homer
with Helen and war,
afflicted Catullus
with his love and hate,
taught Beowulf
how to fight!

Poetry made Li Bai drunk
in magical words,
brought sorrows to Du Fu,

[...] Read more

poem by Laijon Liu
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The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Z. Comments

CRYSTAL GLOW

Madhur Veena Comment: Who is she? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ....You write good!

Margaret Alice Comment: Beautiful, it stikes as heartfelt words and touches the heart, beautiful sentiments, sorry, I repeat myself, but I am delighted. Your poem is like the trinkets I collect to adorn my personal space, pure joy to read, wonderful! Only a beautiful mind can harbour such sentiments, you have a beautiful mind. I am glad you have found someone that inspires you to such heights and that you share it with us, you make the world a mroe wonderful place.

Margaret Alice Comment: Within the context set by the previous poem, “Cosmic Probe”, the description of a lover’s adoration for his beloved becomes a universal ode sung to the abstract values of love, joy and hope personified by light, colours, fragrance and beauty, qualities the poet assigns to his beloved, thus elevating her to the status of an uplifting force because she brings all these qualities to his attention. The poet recognises that these personified values brings him fulfilment and chose the image of a love relationship to illustrate how this comes about; thus a love poem becomes the vehicle to convey spiritual epiphany.

FRAGRANT JASMINE

Margaret Alice Comment: Your words seem to be directed to a divine entity, you seem to be addressing your adoration to a divinity, and it is wonderful to read of such sublime sentiments kindled in a human soul. Mankind is always lifted up by their vision and awareness of divinity, thank you for such pure, clear diction and sharing your awareness of the sublime with us, you have uplifted me so much by this vision you have created!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet’s words seem to be directed to a divine entity, express adoration to a divinity who is the personification of wonderful qualities which awakens a sense of the sublime in the human soul. An uplifting vision and awareness of uplifting qualities of innocence represented by a beautiful person.

I WENT THERE TO BID HER ADIEU

Kente Lucy Comment: wow great writing, what a way to bid farewell

Margaret Alice Comment: Sensory experience is elevated by its symbolical meaning, your description of the scene shows two souls becoming one and your awareness of the importance of tempory experience as a symbol of the eternal duration of love and companionship - were temporary experience only valid for one moment in time, it would be a sad world, but once it is seen as a symbol of eternal things, it becomes enchanting.

I’M INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOU

Margaret Alice Comment: You elevate the humnan experience of longing for love to a striving for sublimity in uniting with a beloved person, and this poem is stirring, your style of writing is effective, everything flows together perfectly.

Margaret Alice Comment:

'To a resplendent glow of celestial flow
And two split halves unite never to part.'

Reading your fluent poems is a delight, I have to tear myself away and return to the life of a drudge, but what a treasure trove of jewels you made for the weary soul who needs to contemplate higher ideals from time to time!

IN CELESTIAL WINGS

Margaret Alice Comment: When you describe how you are strengthened by your loved one, it is clear that your inner flame is so strong that you need not fear growing old, your spirit seems to become stronger, you manage to convey this impression by your striking poetry. It is a privilege to read your work.

Obed Dela Cruz Comment: wow.... i remembered will shakespeare.... nice poem!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet has transcended the barriers of time and space by becoming an image of his beloved and being able to find peace in the joy he confers to his beloved.

'You transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.'

Margaret Alice Comment: You are my peace and solace, I know, I am, yours too; A mere flash of your thoughts Enlivens my tired soul And fills me with light, peace and solace, A giant in new world, I become, I rise to divine heights in celestial wings. How I desire to reciprocate To fill you with light and inner strength raise you to divine heights; I must cross over nd hold you in arms, light up your soul, Fill you with strength from my inner core, Wipe away your tears burst out in pure joy How I yearn to instill hope and confidence in you we never part And we shall wait, till time comes right. the flame in my soul always seeks you, you transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.

RAGING FIRE

[...] Read more

poem by Praveen Kumar
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2 Pieces Of Drama

2 pieces of drama
The hammer's bout' to fall
2 pieces of drama
there's gunplay in the hall
2 pieces of drama
Make peace with your momma, the consequence is dire
2 pieces of drama
Boy you know not to play with fire
He rocks a big ??? caber
A ping pong table for a ring
He's mentally unstable
To him murder it ain't no thing
He'll do you dirty style
He's holding dirty bile
He's out pumping on the corner
Trying to stay warm
And keep it cool like Miles
He keeps it fundamental
He's got the jeans and the bubblegoose on
There's murder on his mental
He's got the deuce deuce in his palm
And y'all know the fable
How cain did able
Ever since the beginning
The world keeps pinning just like a turntable
2 pieces of drama
The hammer's bout' to fall
2 pieces of drama
there's gunplay in the hall
2 pieces of drama
Make peace with your momma, the consequence is dire
2 pieces of drama
Boy you know not to play with fire
La la la la la la la la (B Real Hand on the Pump sample)
When it's selling out back
Likes to pump crack
To the fiends that be getting high
He keeps his hand on the pump
He's ready to dump
On any chump that would even try
He got a finger on the trigger
He ain't scared to pull it
Head full of liquor
Boy you might catch a bullet
They're holes in stable
Drugs on the table
Everybody's sitting round
Watching cops on the cable
Dressed like a slob
Keeps his hair braided

[...] Read more

song performed by Everlast
Added by Lucian Velea
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Paradise Lost: Book 05

Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep
Was aery-light, from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan,
Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on every bough; so much the more
His wonder was to find unwakened Eve
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest: He, on his side
Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love
Hung over her enamoured, and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus. Awake,
My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,
Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight!
Awake: The morning shines, and the fresh field
Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
Our tender plants, how blows the citron grove,
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed,
How nature paints her colours, how the bee
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet.
Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye
On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake.
O sole in whom my thoughts find all repose,
My glory, my perfection! glad I see
Thy face, and morn returned; for I this night
(Such night till this I never passed) have dreamed,
If dreamed, not, as I oft am wont, of thee,
Works of day past, or morrow's next design,
But of offence and trouble, which my mind
Knew never till this irksome night: Methought,
Close at mine ear one called me forth to walk
With gentle voice; I thought it thine: It said,
'Why sleepest thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time,
'The cool, the silent, save where silence yields
'To the night-warbling bird, that now awake
'Tunes sweetest his love-laboured song; now reigns
'Full-orbed the moon, and with more pleasing light
'Shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain,
'If none regard; Heaven wakes with all his eyes,
'Whom to behold but thee, Nature's desire?
'In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment
'Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze.'
I rose as at thy call, but found thee not;
To find thee I directed then my walk;
And on, methought, alone I passed through ways

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
Added by Poetry Lover
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An Ode to Halloween

I am new to writing poems and I hope I can learn from all of you.
By the way, I learned how to write this kind of poem because of
An Ode to Christmas. Thank you very much!
An Ode to Halloween
When you see a child
In a costume scary and wild
You know it is Halloween.

When kids go trick-or-treats
And get lots and lots of sweets
You know it is Halloween.

When the trees give up their yellow leaves
And the dead give back their R.I.P.s
You know it is Halloween.

An Ode to scrumptious snacks
An Ode to skeletons that clack

An Ode to Dracula
An Ode to tarantulas
An Ode to Halloween

An Ode to the year’s best time
An Ode to clocks that chime
An Ode to Halloween

poem by Andy Jin
Added by Poetry Lover
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