Ode Quotes

Quotes tagged as "ode" Showing 1-12 of 12
Roman Payne
“She wakes in a puddle of sunlight.
Her hands asleep beside her.
Her hair draped on the lawn
like a mantle of cloth.”
Roman Payne, Hope and Despair

Frank O'Hara
“I am moved by the multitudes of your intelligence and sometimes, returning, I become the sea— in love with your speed, your heaviness and breath.”
Frank O'Hara , Meditations in an Emergency

Roman Payne
“My Love wakes in a puddle of sunlight.
Her hands asleep beside her.
Her hair draped on the lawn
like a mantle of cloth.
I give her my life
for our love is whole
I sing her beauty
in my soul.”
Roman Payne

Kamand Kojouri
“This is an ode to life.
The anthem of the world.
For as there are billions
of different stars that
make up the sky
so, too, are there billions
of different humans that
make up the Earth.
Some shine brighter
but all are made of
the same cosmic dust.
O the joy of being
in life with all these people!
I speak of differences
because they are there.
Like the different organs
that make up our bodies.
Earth, itself, is one large body.
Listen to how it howls
when one human is
in misery.
When one kills another, the
Earth feels the pang in its
chest. When one orgasms,
the Earth craves a cigarette.
Look carefully,
these animals are
beauty spots that make the
Earth’s face lovelier
and more loveable.
These oceans are the Earth’s
limpid eyes. These trees, its hair.
This is an ode to life.
The anthem of the world.
I will no longer speak of
differences, for the similarities
are larger.
Look even closer. There may be
distances between our limbs but
there are no spaces between
our hearts. We long to be one.
We long to be in nature and
to run wild with its wildlife.
Let us celebrate life and living,
for it is sacrilegious
to be ungrateful.
Let us play and be playful,
for it is sacrilegious
to be serious.
Let us celebrate imperfections
and make existence
proud of us, for tomorrow is
death, and this is an ode to life.
The anthem of the world.”
Kamand Kojouri

Charles Dickens
“She dotes on poetry, sir. She adores it; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up, and entwined with it. She has produced some delightful pieces, herself, sir. You may have met with her 'Ode to an Expiring Frog,' sir.”
Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers

John Keats
“I burn'd
And ached for wings”
John Keats
tags: ode, wings

Claudia Bakker
“Seeking survival, hostile, hidden from sight,
Deliciously flavoured - juicy, sweet bite,
Exploding senses preparing to ignite,
Inspiring to escape from the suffocating night.”
Claudia Bakker, Dark Woods

Ana Claudia Antunes
“Pay to go inside Neruda's home
A body lies there with no dome.
But right there in the front hall
Lean a fairy against the icy wall.
Oh Endless enigmas had the bard!

Nice and large and calm backyard
Ends In the middle of a rare room
Rare portrait of revelishing gloom.
Up climbing at the weird snail stair
Does make you grasp for some air.
And there's a room with bric-a-brac:

Old and precious books all in a pack.
Dare saying what I liked most of all?
Enjoyed seeing visitors having a ball!”
Ana Claudia Antunes, ACross Tic

“We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams; —
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample a kingdom down.

We, in the ages lying,
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself in our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

A breath of our inspiration
Is the life of each generation;
A wondrous thing of our dreaming
Unearthly, impossible seeming —
The soldier, the king, and the peasant
Are working together in one,
Till our dream shall become their present,
And their work in the world be done.

They had no vision amazing
Of the goodly house they are raising;
They had no divine foreshowing
Of the land to which they are going:
But on one man's soul it hath broken,
A light that doth not depart;
And his look, or a word he hath spoken,
Wrought flame in another man's heart.

And therefore to-day is thrilling
With a past day's late fulfilling;
And the multitudes are enlisted
In the faith that their fathers resisted,
And, scorning the dream of to-morrow,
Are bringing to pass, as they may,
In the world, for its joy or its sorrow,
The dream that was scorned yesterday.

But we, with our dreaming and singing,
Ceaseless and sorrowless we!
The glory about us clinging
Of the glorious futures we see,
Our souls with high music ringing:
O men! it must ever be
That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing,
A little apart from ye.

For we are afar with the dawning
And the suns that are not yet high,
And out of the infinite morning
Intrepid you hear us cry —
How, spite of your human scorning,
Once more God's future draws nigh,
And already goes forth the warning
That ye of the past must die.

Great hail! we cry to the comers
From the dazzling unknown shore;
Bring us hither your sun and your summers;
And renew our world as of yore;
You shall teach us your song's new numbers,
And things that we dreamed not before:
Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,
And a singer who sings no more.”
Arthur O'Shaughnessy, Music And Moonlight: Poems And Songs

“Africa is
My parentage
.... this place
Is not my home
I abide
In a land designed
.... by men
Who hate my 'tone

May the blood of my antecedents
Bless my seed
.... and may it be
Their defense
And may that blood
Forever protect
.... their truth
And their innocence

*Excerpt from:
Jacob's Ascent,
New Collected Poems by Mekael
© Mekael Shane, 2019”
Mekael Shane

Pablo Neruda
“(..)no te vayas al cielo,
alcanza
las manzanas,
no las nubes,
ésas
déjalas
ir por el cielo, irse
hacia el pasado.

eres
tu presente,
tu manzana:
tómala
de tu árbol,
levántala
en tu
mano,
brilla
como una estrella,
tócala,
híncale el diente y ándate
silbando en el camino.”
Pablo Neruda

The Ballad of Philippe Petit
—for the world's greatest rope dancer

Philippe Petit hangs his high wire
in the third eye of God,
fills the dull air with blue fire,
all alone on the big city street,
Little Phillip, Philippe Petit.

Philippe Petit, high priest of daring,
feels wind pulse in his feet,
flying high on his mystical string,
between tall towers above the street.
Little Phillip, Philippe Petit.

Little Phillip by the Golden Fleece,
making Seventh Avenue sing.
He draws a magic circle of chalk,
rides his cycle around in a ring,
Little Phillip, Philippe Petit.

Little Phillip, clown gargoyle,
spewing light on the grey street,
rope dances twirling sticks of fire,
bright sparkle of the dark street,
Little Phillip, Philippe Petit.

Philippe Petit juggles fire and balls,
winks at Zeus, laughs at Mars,
pulls Newton's beard, sups with God,
cycling his way from heaven to street.
Little Phillip, Philippe Petit.

Little Phillip, when we get there,
you'll surely be on high,
juggling molecules for your maker
on the wide streets of the sky,
Little Phillip, Philippe Petit.

Philippe Petit, The King of Heaven
has a brilliant little fool
juggling fire at his footstool.
A light on the dark city street,
A light, a light, Philippe Petit.”
Daniela Gioseffi