A Pome a Day for a Year

Of all the pomes of great importance,
none come close to the Ode.

If a pome was a train from
Thomas the Tank Engine,
then the Ode would most surely
be a Gordon.

Grandiose, old, convinced of his
own magnificence, no time for
Percys (limericks) or Edwards (sestinas).

Just his own sweeping ego
from horizon to train track,
adorned on all rails using some kind
of welding device.

A train only goes forward, and so
does Gordon. He has no time to
look behind him, for the past
is something that happened to some
one else.

Gordon lives in the now,
as does the Ode.
A call to love a thing with all the
gravitas one can muster.