Ellie belfiglio

When I hear this sound that awakens me, intimidating its way into my cloistered night, I write…




In captivity, freedom is like a tall tree.

I’m not a prisoner, I disagree.

The mixed feeling of being chained, enhanced,

The deep despair, I breathed and glance.

I am not a woman, you are not a man.

Trust our souls, writing we can.

You wrote delightful odes for me.

I was powerful, energetic, and free.

I was knowledgeable, smart, and mystic.

I was alive, alive and artistic.

Be my sublime friend without seeing me.

Your words are imprinted in my memory.

Loathsome battle has been my life as I’ve known.

Animated peace is what I wish to own.

Evil ruined my life with blood.

I built a castle on ruin to abide.


I listened to the expressive memory, beautiful song.

I laugh with joy, cry for wrong.

I was after a friend for indelible trust.

Now I am dizzy of the search, I’m lost.

The new experience was pure bliss.

Later it felt like devil’s kiss.

I was frightened of new nifty me.

Exasperation arrived like a stinging bee.

Your talking melt the hardest stone.

Regretfully I prayed to be alone.


When I am falling for woe,

Fear howls, then I glow…





In front porch, gazing at the tall tree,

Cloudy sky, gloomy horizon, nature and me.

Somewhere far, very far, it’s a shocking lightning;

Follows by a thunder, loud and frightening.

Rosy clouds in horizon turn gray.

Enormous and beautiful, they sway.


The magnificent colors are the reflection of sunset.

Huge drops of rain make my face wet.

The rainfall musically caresses my ear,

Nature has composed a melody, a cheer.

I gaze to the space, admire the show.

That glorious moment takes me to many years ago.


Walking home from school in fall-

On my favorite sloping street, my last call.

The majestic autumn of my home town was blushing.

Millions of dry, colorful leaves from trees rushing.

The thrill of their breakage filled the air.

I sang along to join and share.

I put my school bag on  apiece of wood-

To open my arms wide, if I could.

Dancing for that ecstasy in my town;

I worshiped the clean air, now it’s gone.

breathing deeply to inhale the breeze,

The pleasant perfume of wet leaves, the ease.

Turning and dancing, I didn’t care-

My mom’s worriment , her stare.

I wanted to feel, breathe, and be free;

In that beautiful moment of nature and me…


Behind my vaporous window, feeling cold,

I thought about happy days, the old.

I laid my fingers on the steamy window for dance;

The word HATE appeared not romance.

Looking at HATE with anger made me numb!

Shudder arrived, bliss, I needed some.

I wiped the word with a quick touch.

Looking into the cold, I didn’t want much.

Somewhere far, very far, thunder was clashing.

My uproarious soul felt the expressive bashing.


In my front porch, I think about transient sky.

A lonesome immigrant I am to get by.

I write about nostalgia, tear, laughter and sigh,

Hope after terror, unity, simplicity and why.

Happy, sad and bewildered, I try-

To just hang on, not to try…





The flame of fire, burning my life, was cold.

The blaze rose to the sky made me old.

The false feeling mixed with flare,

Love died, burned, and went to air.

Hatred arrived and sat on the page.

The shameless foe bragged with rage.

I became a pretender, hateful guest,

A hardworking machine without rest.

My pride ran out, my support stayed.

An indelible thrill shook me and said:

“Life in fright is living spring in fall.


“Cold summer is agonizing and dull!”

Unbeliever I was to my root;

A loathsome despair in my heart, not a juicy fruit.

My body learned to take abuse, not my heart.

The events made me to fall apart.

The dirty love was only about touch.

I closed my heart, didn’t want much…




The reason this poem is long because it’s an ode. Odes are long poems that tells a story. In Eastern Poetry, one must follow the rules of writing ode. For example  FERDOUSI, the famous poet of Persia who wrote a very long ODE “SHAHNAMEH”, “THE BOOK OF KINGS”, and VIRGIL, one of the best poet at Roman time, who wrote odes in Latin. Rumi also wrote odes besides writing other kind of poetry. His most famous one is “MASNAVY MOULAVI”.

In no way I am comparing myself to those masters. What you will read is my little ode as the title says. I hope you enjoy it.


I walked on the hot asphalt as a young teen.

It was summer afternoon, rays were seen.

My heels sank, I felt the heat on my feet.

I craved to find my double in street.

A piece of bread fell on the dirt.

It was in a beggar’s hand, I saw the hurt.
His empty eyes pierced me like a lance.

I melted by the heat of that glance.

I dizzily ran to bury me in a suitcase.


I was a fast- flown bird tired of chase.

Proudly I disappeared in the air.

Height didn’t scare me to search for my pair.

The bold bird flew high to reach-

Ambiguity, no! What, who, which!!

Falling was the next for the silly high- flown.

My pieces knew the chances were blown.

Carefully I gathered my body from earth;

Put them neatly in the suitcase in desert.

Me, was gone! I wasn’t me.

I was finished, somewhere far with dree.

The ultimate materialization took place.

My extreme evaporation was on earth’s face.

I became a lover of nonentity.

I was a fire born as enmity.

The precious woman gave birth to a fire.

The fire released amiable mom from mire.


Me, an inauspicious kink,

Was balck and blue like ink.

I was a verse with one goal;

That was: Destruction of every soul.

I was OMAR KHAYYAM’S wine.

Buried in a suitcase with black design.


Now, is today and I am not at my best.

I don’t know what to do with unwanted guest.

Black suitcase, I mean, carefully stares.

My pounding heart shakily flares.

The suitcase, I don’t want it.

Devilish thoughts arrive and sit.

I think revenge, a war;

And then again, I put them back in a jar.


People around are important to me.

I am to them only a stinging bee.

Doesn’t matter who raves, life goes on.

People come and go, rays shine from sun.

A baby is born in laughter and blue.

Life goes on with joy, it’s true.

Me, still, an ill- luck owl;

Inside the black suitcase growl.

I wanted to tell to get lost.

It stares at me and says: “I must!”

“Don’t look at me.” I say, “Please!”

“That is the way it is.” It says. I freeze.


As a teen, when my heart was filled with love,

I was innocent, fresh, tiny, and a dove.

The slender looking young boy,

Who brought me laughter, fulfillment and joy.

Those days are now long gone..

The young boy is buried under the sun.

I, withered in face and manner, wait.

Lingering thoughtfully not to be late.

When I try to put words on the page,

They scatter like the wind and rage.

Only one line echoes in my head;

That is: “Inquisitive eyes, all of sudden, and dread”…








Sunflowers in vast field sway like a dream.

A feverish shudder rises in its extreme.

Animated nature is not about fate.

The gloomy impetuosity is what we rate.

The delicate blooms of sunflowers crush.

The bitter remorse changes yellow to blush.

An eloquent silence falls after the daze.

Rays of the sun burn grass with blaze.

A moment of bliss is the whole of a man’s life.

Nights come to an end with a morning rife!

The shrill, frantic cries of the rebels,

Rings after the man like so many farewells!

The misty night pregnant with fear, ague, and cold-

Fevers every conceivable shape and size in wold.

The imprinted loves in memories remain;

Like a sweet dream after awakening in brain.

The discolored walls of sunflowers allure.

Ten years hence, grown older, still endure.

Casting a dark shadow over bright, serene happiness;

Then chill and darken the heart with savage wound of emptiness.

The mournful song of the wind abolishes the game.

The picture of spring rose glows with flame.

Woeful smile, a tear on the cheek, and a searching glance,
the gloomy show of the sunflowers enhance…




Once, there were sky, earth and nature.

Then there came creatures, plants, and despair.

Flowers, trees, animals, human;

Babies born from woman and man.

Suffering, bliss, play, and convenience;

Life was nothing but a great experience.

Parents set aside and empty box-

Which will be filled with joy and vox.

Toys go in for a child.

Joy and fear enter when you’re a bride.

Hardships fill the box as we grow.

Often we feel to run away and flow.

The box is half full in spring.

A picture at the bottom is abut swing.

At the top of hill you feel cold.

Gazing down the hill to the wold.

The box is full of dire and ice.

Living has had a high price.

We cling to the box, put more in with force.

We don’t know nature within its course.

The time comes to close the door;

With all the stuffs in the box, we want more…






I write about the endless rain;

An amiable rain in domain.

A rain brings the colorful rainbow-

After it stops for a moment to show.


I write about the gushing rain;

A hostile rain hammers my brain.

A rain brings muddy flood.

It is the tears of black cloud.


I write about the spring rain;

A living water for nature and grain.

A rain brings life and breeze.

It is ecstasy, bliss, and ease.


I write about despairing rain;

An unsightly rain fr lonely in pain.

A rain brings the dashing emptiness-

To the spirit and soul with stress.


I write about the coquettish rain;

An unrivaled rain breaks the chain.

A rain brings sensible face,

Fresh air, breathing, and grace.


I write about harmonious life;

A clashing life with peace and strife.

A life brings thrill and bliss;

Hot summer, yellow fall, and spring kiss…