Posts Tagged ‘ ode ’

An Ode to Soren

The statue sat in thinking pose
long fingers stretched up past his nose
pondering the worlds every woe
as burning sun gave to blustery snow
that affected not his train of thought
no matter how hard the wind did blow.

Across the twisting graveled path
sat a boy, engrossed in thoughtful task
of what the marbled form did spend
so much time lost in mental math
considering or seriously solving
though stuck on the pedestal in the grass.

Was he remembering some love long lost?
Or how creation came with fallen cost?
Or had death covered his closest friend
with blackened breath like creeping moss?
Did he think of the burdened poor
who died from hunger by the score?
Or was he sending prayers to heavens gates
past the fabled golden shores?

But the statue (who is you, Soren, my good man!)
sat untouched by natures chilling fan
to only challenge the mind of passer-bys,
who, on seeing his brow-furled guise
would stop to think and, thinking, stand
with a thousand thoughts passing ‘neath their eyes
engaged with sorting truth from lies.

For when one man thinks,
others join, minds a’brew;
and thinking men, my friend,
is what will always please you.

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An Ode to Kristin

A happy sparrow claimed the sky
and all the twinkling stars set high,
called them children, sang them lullabies,
then tucked them to bed at the end of the night.

But one little star would rise so early
and rub its eyes in an avid hurry,
for sleep made the bright, bright sun so blurry
and it wished to wave goodbye.

The sparrow (who’s you, dear Kristen!)
saw the evening star’s soft glisten
as a teared rolled down its pointed chin
and, ever caring for her children,
asked

“Why cry, why cry, little evening star?”
“For the sun waves not to me from afar!
I wake while she still sits low in her yard,
but I burn too low to be seen!”

The sweet sparrow, ever caring, ever loving,
waited till the next evening,
then, in flute-like voice, began singing
to the clouds that lounged on the mountains.

Her voice carried such mournful tones
that the clouds could not rest on their stoney thrones
so swiftly they flew before the coming gloam
and reached the soon-setting sun.

Thus as the sun settled quietly down,
the clouds covered her light like an evening gown
and the early-bird star shined like an emperor’s crown
as he waved ever excitedly.

Now able to see the farewell wave,
for the clouds had softened the light of day,
the sun happily in kind repaid
and bid goodnight to the evening star.

The star, so excited, kissed the sparrows cheek,
and the little bird’s heart reached its peak,
nearly bursting with a happy squeak,
for the love of children to any ends,
no matter if she must sing to clouds in the faroff mountains
or cart a little boy around on blessed weekends,
was all the happy sparrow wished to do.

An Ode to Jennifer

The rising moon said to the setting sun:
“You must trim your brilliant bangs,
their flaring length dims my ivory face
and keeps the world watching you,
for my soft-lit lamp can’t keep up the pace.”

But the sun, (who is you, sweet Jennifer!),
laughed, and let loose her shining hair,
“Silly moon! Were I to carelessly cut
my fiery-scarlet locks,
weaved quilt-like ’round the world and ‘neath doors long shut,
your own ivory-hued light,
though comforting ’tis true, would fade to black,
for it is I who lends the lamp to you!

So as night rolls over the oceans-blue
and sips up the cities sprawled,
be not jealous nor feel too much ignored,
but remember my bright rays
will, like a flute well played, fade (still adored!)
and leave an ever-haunting chord
that will echo from your dusty face
and return back to this earthy place,
so that those who hear the reverberations
will shower you with un-earned praise:
for though you are loved when I have slipped to bed,
it is I who make you great
with my long-stretched brilliant bangs!”