The House of Odes
Writing
these
odes
in this
year nineteen
hundred and
fifty-five,
readying and tuning
my demanding, murmuring lyre,
I know who I am
and where my song is going.
I understand
that the shopper for myths
and mysteries
may enter
my wood
and adobe
house of odes,
may despise
the utensils,
the portraits
of father and mother and country
on the walls,
the simplicity
of the bread
and the saltcellar. But
that's how it is in my house of odes.
I deposed the dark monarchy,
the useless flowing hair of dreams,
I trod on the tail
of the cerebral reptile,
and set things
-- water and fire -
in harmony with man and earth.
I want everything
to have
a handle,
I want everything to be
a cup or a tool,
I want people to enter a hardware
store through the door of my odes.
I work at
cutting
newly hewn boards,
storing casks
of honey,
arranging
horseshoes, harness,
forks:
I want everyone to enter here,
let them ask questions,
ask for anything they want.
I am from the South, a Chilean,
a sailor
returned
from the seas.
I did not stay in the islands,
a king.
I did not stay ensconced
in the land of dreams.
I returned to labor simply
beside others,
for everyone.
So that everyone
may live here,
I build my house
with transparent
odes.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Related quotes
With you I should love to live, with you be ready to die.
I knocked on an earth-red door
I knocked on an earth-red door
And death let me in;
He spoke warm and soft
About the log fire within.
And though I warmed to his charm
His company was dim;
So I shut the door and left,
Drinking Vodka and Gin.
Singing limerick odes for death
About duties of sin;
Walking erstwhile forever?
'Til his feet made no din.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cease to ask what the morrow will bring forth. And set down as gain each day that Fortune grants.
Get Out Of My House
(hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw!)
When you left, the door was
(slamming!)
You paused in the doorway
(slamming!)
As though a thought stole you away.
(slamming!)
I watched the world pull you away.
(lock it!)
So I run into the hall,
(lock it!)
Into the corridor.
(lock it!)
Theres a door in the house
(slamming).
I hear the lift descending.
(slamming!)
I hear it hit the landing,
(slamming!)
See the hackles on the cat
(standing).
With my key i
(lock it).
With my key i
(lock it up).
With my key i
(lock it).
With my key i
(lock it up).
I am the concierge chez-moi, honey.
Wont letcha in for love, nor money.
(let me in!)
My home, my joy.
Im barred and bolted and i
(wont let you in).
(get out of my house!)
No strangers feet
Will enter me.
(get out of my house!)
I wash the panes,
(get out of my house!)
I clean the stains away.
(get out of my house!)
This house is as old as I am.
(slamming.)
This house knows all I have done.
(slamming.)
They come with their weather hanging round them,
(slamming.)
But cant knock my door down!
(slamming.)
With my key i
(lock it).
With my key i
(lock it).
This house is full of m-m-my mess.
(slamming.)
This house is full of m-m-mistakes.
(slamming.)
This house is full of m-m-madness.
(slamming.)
This house is full of, full of, full of fight!
(slam it.)
With my keeper i
(clean up).
With my keeper i
(clean it all up).
With my keeper i
(clean up).
With my keeper i
(clean it all up).
I am the concierge chez-moi, honey.
Wont letcha in for love, nor money.
(its cold out here!)
My home, my joy.
Im barred and bolted and i
(get out of my house!)
(wont let you in).
(get out of my house!)
No strangers feet
(get out of my house!)
Will enter me.
(get out of my house!)
I wash the panes.
(get out of my house!)
I clean the stains.
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
Wont enter me.
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
Yeah! wont let you in!
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
Let me in!
Woman let me in!
Let me bring in the memories!
Woman let me in!
Let me bring in the devil dreams!
I will not let you in!
Dont you bring back the reveries.
I turn into a bird,
Carry further than the word is heard.
Woman let me in!
I turn into the wind.
I blow you a cold kiss,
Stronger than the songs hit.
I will not let you in.
I face towards the wind.
I change into the mule.
I change into the mule.
Hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw-hee-haw-hee-haw-hee-haw...
Hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw!
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House of Treasures
There is a house filled with treasures
Many strife to enter and get a sit
But the sits are reserved for only a few
War begin in the land as they crave to enter
They inflicted injury on some
Damaged the properties of some
And even eliminated others
Who their chances of getting in debar
And now the house of treasure still remains
Occupied by thieves and murderers
Plowing the treasures into foreign accounts
Living in luxurious houses and bullet proof cars
Their neighbours can live in a hut
And ride rickety bicycles in empty stomachs
If it were easy they would try their luck
Next time there is the call
To enter into the house of treasures
poem by Anthony Seyi Abiodun
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The House
For many years, the house
stood empty and forlorn.
The windows had been boarded
preventing the sunlight coming in.
No welcoming mat lay by the door;
laughter was a thing of the past
as spiders spun their webs
within the gloomy silence.
The house stood empty
abandoned by most living things
and there were those who said
spooky goings on went on
after night fell in there.
No one could prove it
because no one would stay there.
Only the fool hardy
would ever enter after dark.
The paintwork pealed
and the front door creaked
if someone dared to open it.
They say the house is haunted,
but no one knew
by what or who.
The house began to crumble
as each season came to pass.
The glory of its birth
lay somewhere in the past
and now the crumbling walls
would never reveal
any of the secrets that it knew.
Then a fire started
by a hand unseen
and the house finally died
within its own funeral pyre
15 March 2011
poem by David Harris
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Whoever cultivates the golden mean avoids both the poverty of a hovel and the envy of a palace.
My books are elegiac in the sense that they're odes to a nation that even I sometimes think may not exist anymore except in my memory and my imagination.
quote by Richard Russo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Many brave men lived before Agamemnon; but all are overwhelmed in eternal night, unwept, unknown, because they lack a sacred poet.
Nature gets credit which should in truth be reserved for ourselves: the rose for its scent, the nightingale for its song; and the sun for its radiance. The poets are entirely mistaken. They should address their lyrics to themselves and should turn them into odes of self congratulation on the excellence of the human mind.
quote by Alfred North Whitehead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aurea Mediocritas
be reminded that
in reaching the ethical
goal
one must compromise
at the middle
ground
between two
sinful extremes
Aristotle says
that is virtue.
(Horace's Odes II,10)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ghazal
I wish to go and dwell,
In such a place,
Where there's no one else.
No one to understand my speech,
No one around to talk with,
There, I want to reach.
I wish to build,
One such house,
Without a door to enter,
Without the boundary walls,
Thus there will be no neighbours,
And there will be no guard.
There will be no one thus,
To take care of me,
When I will fell ill.
And there will be no one,
To mourn or cry,
When I will die.
poem by Mirza Ghalib
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The Best Poems I Have Read
the best poems i have read have been too instructional
on the road it says: do not enter
no u-turn pedestrians crossing
one way no left turn
at the door of the newly weds on their honeymoon:
do not disturb
and in my house when you enter:
you are welcome
i guess it is all there is on these poetics
i have tried soaring myself
to the skies pretending to be a bird
painted sunlight carefully with the
color and flavor of my words
it did work for a while
sending some sensations to my heart
it did not last long: i am looking for some
doctor's prescriptions
Rx: poetry
one capsule,3x a day
after breakfast
no alcohol
just plain water
to my failing health
it was the best
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Simplest Reason I Can Give You
i wish to build a house
away from here
i have stored the necessary
colors of the paints
on the walls of my mind
i wish to stay in that house
alone
i will be in the company
of paper and
pen
i will fence it
it will be high
simply because
our house is not
my home
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Melancholic....
I have my own dreams
i keep them in my house
and no one sees them
every night i look at all
these dreams of mine
my treasure, my gold
they do not glitter anymore
i have my own rusty dreams
and i keep them inside my house
there they all turn to powder
to dust, to nothing
one night i am tired of all these dreams
put them all inside a box
and throw them all to the sea
and then the sea has all my dreams
now i have my house without dreams
it is an empty house
proud with nothing but myself alone
i am the dream of this house
it's only dream
soon the house shall be gone
soon i shall be too gone
someone shall build another house
another dream......
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It is not the rich man you should properly call happy, but him who knows how to use with wisdom the blessings of the gods, to endure hard poverty, and who fears dishonor worse than death, and is not afraid to die for cherished friends or fatherland.