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halku - 250 (with the grandfather 'B')

demanding
--------------
the grandfather 'B'.

writing the ode to slip.

only with lates.

poem by anonym
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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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Slip Kid

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight ...
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight ...
Ive got my clipboard, text books
Ive got my clipboard, text books
Lead me to the station
Lead me to the station
Yeah, Im off to the civil war
Yeah, Im off to the civil war
Ive got my kit bag, my heavy boots
Ive got my kit bag, my heavy boots
Im runnin in the rain
Im runnin in the rain
Gonna run till my feet are raw
Gonna run till my feet are raw
Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
And Im a soldier at thirteen
And Im a soldier at thirteen
Slip kid, slip kid, realization
Slip kid, slip kid, realization
Theres no easy way to be free
Theres no easy way to be free
No easy way to be free
No easy way to be free
Its a hard, hard world
Its a hard, hard world
I left my doctors prescription bungalow behind me
I left my doctors prescription bungalow behind me
I left the door ajar
I left the door ajar
I left my vacuum flask
I left my vacuum flask
Full of hot tea and sugar
Full of hot tea and sugar
Left the keys right in my car
Left the keys right in my car
Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
Only half way up the tree
Only half way up the tree
Slip kid, slip kid, Im a relation
Slip kid, slip kid, Im a relation
Im a soldier at sixty-three
Im a soldier at sixty-three
No easy way to be free
No easy way to be free
Slip kid, slip kid
Slip kid, slip kid
Keep away old man, you wont fool me
Keep away old man, you wont fool me

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
Added by Poetry Lover
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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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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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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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Truth and the Devil

The devil unstoppably took pride in salaciously writing; the book of
obnoxious caste-creed and venomously penalizing hatred,

The devil unstoppably took pride in acrimoniously writing; the book of
indiscriminate bloodshed and disastrously traumatizing ruthlessness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in vengefully writing; the book of
tyrannical devastation and lecherously bellicose orphaning,

The devil unstoppably took pride in fretfully writing; the book of
vindictive war and satanically criminal holocausts,

The devil unstoppably took pride in maliciously writing; the book of
coldblooded barbarism and manipulatively bizarre malice,

The devil unstoppably took pride in forlornly writing; the book of
worthless
ghosts and mortuaries brutally anointed with fresh blood,

T The devil unstoppably took pride in indigently writing; the book of
nonchalant spuriousness and fecklessly insipid meaninglessness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in torturously writing; the book of
ominous
animosity and hedonistically pugnacious illwill,

The devil unstoppably took pride in dictatorially writing; the book of
licentious bawdiness and insanely threadbare nothingness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in heinously writing; the book of
lascivious poverty and baselessly crippling uncertainty,

The devil unstoppably took pride in savagely writing; the book of
despicable
defeat and lethally ballistic atrociousness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in raunchily writing; the book of
dolorous
delinquency and insidiously slandering betrayal,

The devil unstoppably took pride in preposterously writing; the book of
scurrilous lunatism and barbarously incarcerating fiendishness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in frigidly writing; the book of
jejune
mockery and impudently castigating brazenness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in heartlessly writing; the book of
ghastly
bloodshed and indefatigably bombarding politics,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Grandfather Squeers

'My grandfather Squeers,' said The Raggedy Man,
As he solemnly lighted his pipe and began--

'The most indestructible man, for his years,
And the grandest on earth, was my grandfather Squeers!

'He said, when he rounded his three-score-and-ten,
'I've the hang of it now and can do it again!'

'He had frozen his heels so repeatedly, he
Could tell by them just what the weather would be;

'And would laugh and declare, 'while the _Almanac_ would
Most falsely prognosticate, _he_ never could!'

'Such a hale constitution had grandfather Squeers
That, 'though he'd used '_navy_' for sixty odd years,

'He still chewed a dime's-worth six days of the week,
While the seventh he passed with a chew in each cheek:

'Then my grandfather Squeers had a singular knack
Of sitting around on the small of his back,

'With his legs like a letter Y stretched o'er the grate
Wherein 'twas his custom to ex-pec-tor-ate.

'He was fond of tobacco in _manifold_ ways,
And would sit on the door-step, of sunshiny days,

'And smoke leaf-tobacco he'd raised strictly for
The pipe he'd used all through The Mexican War.'

And The Raggedy Man said, refilling the bowl
Of his own pipe and leisurely picking a coal

From the stove with his finger and thumb, 'You can see
What a tee-nacious habit he's fastened on me!

'And my grandfather Squeers took a special delight
In pruning his corns every Saturday night

'With a horn-handled razor, whose edge he excused
By saying 'twas one that his grandfather used;

'And, though deeply etched in the haft of the same
Was the ever-euphonious Wostenholm's name,

''Twas my grandfather's custom to boast of the blade
As 'A Seth Thomas razor--the best ever made!'

[...] Read more

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Slip Slidin Away

Words & music by paul simon
Slip slidin away
Slip slidin away
You know the nearer your destination
The more youre slip slidin away
I know a man
He came from my home town
He wore his passion for his woman
Like a thorny crown
He said delores
I live in fear
My love for yous so overpowering
Im afraid that I will disappear
Slip slidin away
Slip slidin away
You know the nearer your destination
The more youre slip slidin away
I know a woman
Became a wife
These are the very words she uses
To describe her life
She said a good day
Aint got no rain
She said a bad days when I lie in bed
And think of things that might have been
Slip slidin away
Slip slidin away
You know the nearer your destination
The more youre slip slidin away
And I know a fa-ther
Who had a son
He longed to tell him all the reasons
For the things hed done
He came a long way
Just to explain
He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping
Then he turned around and headed home again
Slip slidin away
Slip slidin away
You know the nearer your destination
The more youre slip slidin away
God only knows
God makes his plan
The informations unavailable
To the mortal man
We work our jobs
Collect our pay
Believe were gliding down the highway
When in fact were slip slidin away
Slip slidin away

[...] Read more

song performed by Paul Simon
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
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Slipaway

I can tell that youre wild
And you love their achey smiles [? ]
And I know Im on the list to be kissed
When youre givin out the name
Of the one you want to blame
[? ? as the one you want to claim ? ? )
Youll be on the brink of tears, thats right
Could I talk you out of stayin here tonight?
Well I see that youre cute
In your viarucci [? ] suit
And your eyes have seen the shadows that you hide [? ]
I could be a little sweet
That would come off very neat
Youd be on the brink of tears, thats right
Could I talk you out of stayin here tonight?
Ive been waitin all this time
Somethins gotta change now
I get the same erratic line
Slip, slipaway now
Slip, slipaway now
Slip, slip, slip, slipaway now
Well I see that youre fast
And youre trip will never last
And I know Im on the list to be missed
Its your sentimental streak
That allows you to be meek
And youre on the brink of tears, thats right
Could I talk you out of stayin here tonight?
Ive been waitin all this time
Somethins gotta change now
I get the same erratic line
Oh slip, slipaway now
Slip, slipaway now
Slip, slip, slip, slipaway now
Slip, slipaway now
Slip, slipaway now
Slip
Thats right
Slip, slip, slip, slipaway now
All right

song performed by Cars
Added by Lucian Velea
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Grandfather Bridgeman

I

'Heigh, boys!' cried Grandfather Bridgeman, 'it's time before dinner to-day.'
He lifted the crumpled letter, and thumped a surprising 'Hurrah!'
Up jumped all the echoing young ones, but John, with the starch in his throat,
Said, 'Father, before we make noises, let's see the contents of the note.'
The old man glared at him harshly, and twinkling made answer: 'Too bad!
John Bridgeman, I'm always the whisky, and you are the water, my lad!'

II

But soon it was known thro' the house, and the house ran over for joy,
That news, good news, great marvels, had come from the soldier boy;
Young Tom, the luckless scapegrace, offshoot of Methodist John;
His grandfather's evening tale, whom the old man hailed as his son.
And the old man's shout of pride was a shout of his victory, too;
For he called his affection a method: the neighbours' opinions he knew.

III

Meantime, from the morning table removing the stout breakfast cheer,
The drink of the three generations, the milk, the tea, and the beer
(Alone in its generous reading of pints stood the Grandfather's jug),
The women for sight of the missive came pressing to coax and to hug.
He scattered them quick, with a buss and a smack; thereupon he began
Diversions with John's little Sarah: on Sunday, the naughty old man!

IV

Then messengers sped to the maltster, the auctioneer, miller, and all
The seven sons of the farmer who housed in the range of his call.
Likewise the married daughters, three plentiful ladies, prime cooks,
Who bowed to him while they condemned, in meek hope to stand high in his books.
'John's wife is a fool at a pudding,' they said, and the light carts up hill
Went merrily, flouting the Sabbath: for puddings well made mend a will.

V

The day was a van-bird of summer: the robin still piped, but the blue,
As a warm and dreamy palace with voices of larks ringing thro',
Looked down as if wistfully eyeing the blossoms that fell from its lap:
A day to sweeten the juices: a day to quicken the sap.
All round the shadowy orchard sloped meadows in gold, and the dear
Shy violets breathed their hearts out: the maiden breath of the year!

VI

Full time there was before dinner to bring fifteen of his blood,
To sit at the old man's table: they found that the dinner was good.
But who was she by the lilacs and pouring laburnums concealed,

[...] Read more

poem by George Meredith
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This Is No Fish Story

We had been up and down Redwood Creek
For what seemed to me to be all day
Watching my grandfather fish for salmon
We started at the mouth of the river

Hiked over sand rocks and slippery green moss
The only reason I was there was
The fried chicken and potato salad
My grandmother made the night before

Lunch seemed so far away
My grandfather was out of sight
He had worked his way upstream
When we heard him yell 'FISH ON! '

My grandmother who had been hanging back with me
Left me in the sand
I had to move fast to catch up
Moving around large pieces of driftwood

He had certainly hooked something
His rod bending if half then straightening
As he let line out
With the reel's drag on

I knew how to fish
I just didn't like to
I had no patience
I wasn't like bird hunting

If I got bored bird hunting
When I was by myself
With just my dog
I could take a shot anyway

Just for practice
To get the dog used to the noise
Because I had no patience
At the age of twelve

I had never seen so much line out before
He kept backing further up the wide beach
It looked to me as if the fish knew the way
And was headed back to the ocean

Hook in his mouth
My guess was he was no longer
In the mood for spawning
He had my grandfather on

[...] Read more

poem by Tom J. Mariani
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Ode To Cheese

☺ .
Ode To Cheese,
Which Makes Us Smile,
When Camera's go Clack.
Ode To Cheese,
Which make us taste,
The greatest of flavors, the wackiest of whack.
Ode To Cheese,
Blue, Gorgonzola,
American and Cheddar.
Ode To Cheese,
Beja and Feta,
In all types of weather.
Ode To Cheese,
For those on a diet,
or trying to get fatter.
Ode To Cheese,
with crackers and wine,
with grapes can flatter.
Ode To Cheese,
when you're sad and happy,
Cheese just fits.
Ode To Cheese,
Mountains and Mountains,
or bits and bits.

Ode to the Cheese,
To appreciate,
eat,
and take pictures.

poem by Life Poem
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When I wasn't breathing

When I wasn’t blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t superbly adventuring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
an
ocean of bountifully resplendent and timelessly undefeated Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t scrumptiously relishing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
playground of optimistically enlightening and unbelievably royal
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t limitlessly triumphing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cascade of beautifully panoramic and effulgently liberating Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t pricelessly smiling; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
lantern of unendingly vibrant and inscrutably tantalizing Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t gloriously partying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
paradise of eternally vivacious and pristinely redolent Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unassailably inspiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
festoon of incredulously ameliorating and perpetually compassionate
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t magnanimously feasting; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cocoon of symbiotically philanthropic and ubiquitously coalescing
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t ebulliently fornicating; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
mist of wonderfully reinvigorating and blessedly burgeoning Immortal

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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An Ode to Christmas

When you see lovely lights
Of greens, reds, and whites
You know it is Christmas Time

When snow falls down from the skies
Soft and thick it lies
You know it is Christmas Time

When you hear Christmas jingles
And your skin begins to tingle
You know it is Christmas Time

An Ode for the scent of pine
An Ode to the dainty decorations that are so divine
An Ode to Christmas Time

When you get rosy cheeks
And children dash with squeals and shrieks
You know it is Christmas Time

When the young and old sit in front of the fire and come together
To get away from the cold weather
You know it is Christmas Time

When you warm up with your sweet heart
Unable to keep apart
You know it is Christmas Time

An Ode to Hot Chocolate with marshmallows
An Ode to the Jolly fellows

An Ode to Santa Claus
An Ode to decking the halls
An Ode to Christmas Time

poem by Bronti Phillips
Added by Poetry Lover
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