POETIC BLOOMINGS is a Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild site established in May 2011 to nurture and inspire the creative spirit.


Simply put, an “Ode” is a poem commending a person, place, or thing.  Choose the object of your admiration, and draw us in.  



The yellow brick road loosely resembles
Sweet corn,
Acres of which thrive
Wholly due to his vigilant presence. 
Remarkable sentinel
Fearless defender
Tireless escort
© Copyright Marie Elena Good, 2013

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110 thoughts on “IN-FORM POET WEDNESDAY – ODE

  1. William Preston on said:


    He was a roly-poly sort,
    about as wide as he was tall;
    his classes were an open court
    and laughs flowed out into the hall.

    But nonetheless the man could teach.
    His reasoning was rod and rhyme,
    and this he said, to extend our reach:
    “Thinking is hard; try it sometime.”

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  2. To The Trees (double tanka)

    Silent sentinels
    Outside our doorway, watchful,
    Their green arms outstretched,
    Brown bodies rooted firmly
    To their Mother Earth, planted;

    From them I learn strength,
    In their leaves I hear music,
    In their trunks beauty:
    My old friends I’ve known for years;
    I put out my hands, join them.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

  3. Henrietta Choplin on said:

    Oh, I Love that, Meg!!

  4. DebiSwim on said:

    (I chose to pronounce forte with one syllable in this poem.)

    Ode to the Ideal

    Perfection in every form
    and epitome of aspiration
    shunning the norm
    and cruel privation.
    Without your forte
    how would our hearts sing?
    All would be tripe –
    our reach fall short,
    our imagination no wings,
    if there were no flawless archetype.

  5. Just wanted to let everyone know that although I’ve dropped off the radar for the last couple of weeks, I’m still here but have been very busy. The claims have been coming in steadily and I’ve been hither and yon more than once. I’ll be back in the poetic saddle shortly (tonight I hope).

    By the way, my vote for Walt the 2nd is still William Preston, and not because he liked my Appreciation form, but because he has so many angles, talents, and poetically emotional faces.

    Or, the poetic posse is also a good pick. I’d even do my best to help out from time to time.

  6. Holy Creator

    An eagle glides over a glassy lake
    Mountains and pines point up
    past glowing, billowy clouds

  7. William Preston on said:


    He didn’t ask much, that scrawny old dog:
    just to sit by my side, a pup on a log;

    or to nip at his tail as it whipped through the air,
    yipping a bit when he snatched it from there;

    or to gaze in my eyes as if he were saying,
    “Enjoy it, old buddy; living’s but playing.”

    For many a year he remained close to me,
    caressing my life as the tide soothes the sea,

    until the day came when his journey was over.
    He lies now in peace, in a meadow of clover.

    I often go there just to sit on a log
    and yearn once again for my scrawny old dog.

    copyright 2013, William Preston


    In childhood my life was run
    by parents, teachers and adults.
    In adulthood, my life was run
    by spouse, children, and job..
    In retirement, for the first time
    my life is run by me.

  9. Pingback: Ode to the Commode | Whimsygizmo's Blog

  10. Tried to resist. It was futile. 😉

    Ode to the Commode

    How can’t we live without thee?
    Let us count the ways…
    Walking to the outhouse
    (in the snow, uphill, both ways)
    to pee –
    those were the days.

    Oh, water closet privacy!
    Oh, automatic flusher!
    How we adore your efficiency
    (with just the occasional plunger.)

    Oh, swirl of bright blue cleanliness
    and swish of poo right down,
    we flush at your faithful friendliness
    to our yellow and our brown.

    So familiar, and so steady,
    we fondly call you “John,”
    like an old friend, roused and ready
    for emergencies at dawn.

    Oh, sweet loo, how can we thank you
    for Charmin’ our bottom line?
    With just some plumbing and a tank you
    help everything come out just fine.

    You even nurse our rough nights,
    oh, cool porcelain one.
    And in the end, as is your doody,
    even the paper work is done.

  11. Pingback: I’ll Remember Him…. | Metaphors and Smiles

  12. “Ode to a Lily”

    Upright, you stand, upon my landscape, green!
    A magic, thread-like gravity has struck
    your spiraled head from darker region seen
    as if the ground had open plans and plucked

    you from some shadow! Takes my breath away!
    You stand there, solitary in your shoe;
    a pot where you’re imprisoned with dismay.
    Yet, you defy a turning of your hues.

    You’ve shot yourself into the sky, bold scene!
    and, naked as a snake, you charm my sense;
    your winding, curling way of turning things
    now sends me to oblivion, intense.

    Oh, praise your gift and praise your grace today;
    regretful I can never grow your way!

    (I purchased this beautiful calla lily at a store which will remain nameless. Please see its photo on my site. I’ve never seen a purchased potted plant die so quickly! So much for my green thumbs, lol.)

  13. Iris D on said:

    Ode to Oklahoma

    From the Dust Bowl Days to current drought,
    Your people are strong and resilient, no doubt
    Okies may survive a tornado but loose their belongings
    They will be helping their neighbors instead of gripping
    Churches working together to weather the storm,
    Checking on friends and family to keep them from harm
    Native sons and daughters return to sell-out crowds again
    To raise funds to assist FEMA and Red Cross donations
    Come Sunday morning you’ll be worshipping the Lord
    Thankful to be alive and working together in one accord

  14. William Preston on said:


    Squat and bloated,
    it spilled over its sponsons,
    looking like a whale
    having a bad bout of gas
    as it carried cars and passengers
    across the Sound.

    It mooed like a lazy cow
    as it left the dock;
    it chewed the waters in the slip
    as it slid away
    from the side dolphins.
    As it trudged forth,
    no one threw streamers
    or confetti.

    And why would they?
    Klickitat was strictly a utilitarian conveyance,
    a boat, not a ship;
    performing yeoman service
    and recalling a day when yeomen
    were somebodies.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

    • William, I didn’t know what this was about. You intrigued me with your words, and I was compelled to look it up. Fascinating. Thanks for this – love your ending.

      Marie Elena

      • William Preston on said:

        Thank you, Marie. I haven’t been to Puget Sound in years, but when I used to go, the ferryboats were one of my favorite attractions, especially the old boats that began their working lives on San Francisco Bay in the 1920s. They still had a flavor of Victorian grace about them.

  15. Ode to a Toad

    I see you hunker on the sidewalk
    mimicking eroded clods. You stalk
    insects. Your eyes and tongue accessorize
    with wet dark spots, your throat swelled with talk.

  16. flashpoetguy on said:


    Now I lay aside my sleep
    To set me down iambic feet
    About a long maligned invertebrate
    That people think is chic to hate.

    On summer days you’ll see it crawl
    In sidewalk cracks as raindrops fall;
    Smooth-bodied, slimy, wriggling bait
    Afraid to suffer fishhook fate.

    With all there is to write about,
    You wonder why I choose to tout
    This unsung hero, the lowly worm,
    And go so far as invent a poem

    About this ugly parasite.
    Are there not better things to write?
    I’m not as foolish as you might think.
    The day will come when on the blink
    I find myself as all selves must
    Buried on my way to dust,
    The good I did when once alive:
    This ode to worms will save my hide.

    Perhaps while I am lying there,
    Some crawling things will stop and stare.
    Perhaps the word will have traveled ’round
    That a worm’s best friend is underground.

    I’d like to lay me down to sleep
    And not be pestered six feet deep.
    One good deed deserves its turn:
    “Leave me be. I’m the man who wrote
    ‘An Ode to Worms!'”


  17. Ode To A Sunflower

    With thick green stem rising from earth,
    towering over all flowers in the field,
    a head appears like a golden birth.
    Velvet black eye centers yellow shield.
    So a mighty sunflower is born.
    A bonnet of leaves frame softly a face.
    Close look reveals shapes of seeds.
    They turn their heads in studied grace.
    As cool winds prepare autumn’s place,
    sunflowers stoop, their faces forlorn.
    So a mighty sunflower recedes.

  18. Aww! Such a sweet and lovely tribute! I never used to be a sunflower kind of gal, but have grown to love their cheer in recent years.

    Marie Elena

  19. To The Florence Nightingales Of This World…

    Right there,
    With their lanterns’
    Light outpouring comfort,
    You can see the compassion in
    Their eyes: minist’ring angels.

    © Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

    And my dream (aside from writing, of course 😉 ) is to become one of these Nightingales.

  20. William Preston on said:


    It stands upon the plains, as plain
    as land itself, but years of rain
    and wind have wreaked their will. In pain
    I walk the lane. I walk the lane

    with memories of sunshine days
    when laughs within would mimic rays
    that danced upon the walls. I gaze
    and whisper praise. And whisper praise.

    copyright 2013, William Preston

  21. Holy Cow

    By David De Jong

    Thou doest flee and escape my care
    Whilst I toiled afield, most unaware
    Thy actions prevail and dare persist
    Stir mine anger whilst I shake my fist

    Wither thou goest I clearly see
    Yonder the garden trampled by thee
    Trodden and eaten with ease in haste
    My labors of tending now but waste

    Though thy dwelling be ample and bright
    Discourse of thine quarters bares forth right
    All thou doest consume I pray lament
    Whilst I shovel all thine excrement

    If not that I loved thee in my life
    I’d leave thee to struggle in thy strife
    I shall not rest till thy course return
    With logs of mesquite ready to burn

    The taste of thine flesh upon my tongue
    Potatoes with gravy songs be sung
    When I shall find thee I shall partake
    Thy succulent roasts, and corn fed steak

    • William Preston on said:

      The highfalutin tone makes this all the funnier. Until I got to the end, I was thinking of an old song, Milk Them In The Morning Blues

  22. Marjory MT on said:

    MY ODE to YOU

    I’d heard of all you could do
    long before I first met you.
    I’d heard praises that folks sing
    keeping up with each new thing.

    Praise for you was without end
    from folks who cast you a friend.
    They loud your looks, color, feel
    declaring that you’re so real.

    We met, and we were bonded.
    For you, I had long waited.
    You filled up my deepest dream.
    Nothing better have I seen.

    We were together always,
    in long nights and sunny days.
    Now, I just have to move on
    ‘cause something new came along.

    You’ll have a place, not alone,
    I know you’ll feel right at home.
    You’ll find you are a good fit
    with the other past wig-gits.

  23. William Preston on said:


    I wrote to praise the lowly skunk.
    Though it puts most into a funk,
    I think that’s most unfair, by far.
    That’s what I think, and so have thunk.

    In striking spots or long white bar
    the skunk is quite the sartorial star,
    and if it is a road-killed skunk
    it causes one to wash the car.

    copyright (if it’s worth it) 2013, William Preston

  24. Ode to H2O

    Two parts Hydrogen
    One part Oxygen

  25. ejparsons on said:

    I wrote this in remembrance of a famous tree in the middle of a small town along the coast of Maine.

    Ode to Herbie

    A mighty elm
    Tall and strong you stood
    Two centuries and a half
    Older than this great nation

    Yet remarkable
    A landmark in your town
    A landmark for the generations

    So long standing
    Notched with memories
    By many long departed
    And a few that still remain

    What you’ve seen
    What you’ve heard
    And how you’ve survived
    Oh, the stories you could tell

    You will be missed

  26. Odeon*

    Here’s to the pairing I must ‘ship’:
    It’s paper and the paper clip.
    Without the one the other can
    spread out all over your divan
    or table, ottoman or chair.
    Reorganize? A sad affair
    of pages whose main purpose is
    to keep the order of your MSS.
    When hearts are joined by desk supplies
    there is no need to improvise
    because the words are sequenced right.
    It’s so important when you write.
    And so, thus ends, my ode-ious caper:
    I celebrate the clip and paper.

    (Per Wikipedia: Odeon: ancient Greek and Roman buildings built for singing exercises, musical shows and poetry competitions.)

  27. elishevasmom on said:

    Ode to the Lost Poems

    I deserted every one of you
    to flee for life and limb,
    left abandoned to his rage,
    while saving my own skin.

    I got away to start anew,
    but oh, at such a cost.
    He destroyed what I left behind
    and to me, you were all lost.

    I’ve carried you in my memory,
    with pain so deep to feel,
    that each time I approached it,
    it felt so much more the real.

    And so I made my sad goodbyes,
    and laid you all to rest,
    returning to my writing
    feeling that would serve me best.

    Then one day, placed in my hand
    so wholly unexpected,
    copies made from long ago.
    You all were resurrected!

    While informing my new writing,
    showed you weren’t completely gone,
    now, at last it’s great to say
    you’re back home where you belong.

    Ellen Knight 8.10.13
    (write an “ode)

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