Best Apartment Poems
Start our life in this new apartment.
Its small, as small as our love started...
all I need is your hands
and just enough room to dance.
The music starts,
you pull me in.
We're two hearts
this is where we begin.
This is our,
our very first apartment.
Such a little world
that you and I both live in.
Just a boy and girl
as green as can be, we begin.
All I need is your hands
and just enough room to dance.
The music starts,
you pull me in.
We're two hearts,
this is where we begin.
This is our,
our very first...
Such a small world.
What a small world.
We're so little, just you and I.
Promise we'll always be little.
Little love, little world.
All I need is your two strong hands,
and barely enough room at all to dance.
Winter is approaching.
I feel it in my floorboards; in my baseboards;
in every nook and cranny.
I wait to be filled again at this time of Thanksgiving, and
As I wait, sounds of the past linger in my consciousness:
The excited moans of the men and of the women (some of whose
first introduction to me came from being carried across my threshold)
as they lay close together in their bed late at night;
The strange incessant wailing of babies that later arrived -
wailing that later changed, more often than not, into squeals of glee.
Some of the families I sheltered engulfed me with heaviness.
In those years, I was assaulted by loud shouting,
much like the barking of dogs from outside.
Those shouts were often met by shrill hysterical screams
or even by the sad sobs of children.
One sound stays with me like a ghost: the quiet weeping
of one lone occupant who held a gun to his head.
In an instant I felt his blood splatter against my walls.
I prefer to remember the touch of the children:
their small smudged fingers exploring my kitchen cupboards;
their tiny warm bodies scooting across my tiles.
On one unusual occasion, a child scribbled happily
on my bathroom walls with bright Crayola colors.
After the explosion of his mother’s angry words,
the bathroom was transformed, and with magic paper
a small part of me was wearing the figures of gold and purple fish.
Forty times or more I’ve been left; then re-inhabited.
Several times I’ve been overhauled: my carpet torn out, a new one laid;
my doors and my fixtures changed for modern ones;
my furnace and my pipes (even once a ceiling) - all replaced.
But lately, I’ve felt so weary, and even renovated, I’m feeling out of place.
Just last month as I was emptied and cleaned for the umpteenth time,
I heard the newest landlord tell his wife:
We won’t have to put up with this crap anymore -
not after we get the offer from those guys who want to build a mall.
I wonder what he meant. My heat and water both have been cut off for so long.
Usually a couple is here by now. But only silence echoes through my halls,
and I’m growing so very cold.
High above the quiet, darkened streets of January, the night wind begins to whisper secrets through my apartment window casements. Far below me lie four cafes, all in sync as they awaken from daytime hibernation to begin an evening ritual of turning on lights, welcoming thirsty patrons, discouraging lost polar bears, trying to survive.
Light bulbs hang in lazy swags, dripping evenly from the edge of each identical awning. Predictably, their glow travels as fast as the light itself creating a sudden and uninvited interruption of the Arctic desert landscape.
Sitting apart on their respective corners below, the cafes squeeze into a single pane near the bottom of my window. Leaning closer, I blow a hot and intoxicated breath onto the glass in defiance or retaliation, an attempt at immolation perhaps. Instead, my unused air lies wasted across the cafes on the other side of the window, in an irregular oval of futility.
I use a balled-up fist to wipe away the misty scene before it has a chance to evaporate and leave me alone, a desperate and inevitable disappearing act in the face of my curated isolation.
The last box, packed and labeled
Had been put into the truck.
The keys were to be left on the counter
And the door locked behind us.
One last look around the empty apartment
To be sure nothing had been left behind.
I ran my hand over the mark on the wall
That her favourite painting had covered for years.
All the small holes had been puttied over
Covering the wall that had held so many memories.
All her pictures had been there.
The constant reminder of her family so loved.
If I closed my eyes I could see her
Standing by the window watching the birds.
One last deep breath,
The scent of lavender still hung in the air.....
I laid down the keys
And left for the last time.
for Matt Caliri's "Empty Apartment" contest
Come back dear,
my empty apartment
longs for you
with its door wide open;
bring with you
those candles of love
and light up
every corner of it,
drive the frigidity away
with your warm smile,
bring some rain, a
handful of sunshine
and few poetry;
paint the rooms
with the rain
so that you can
drench in it
whenever the heat
of life touches you,
let the sunshine glow
whenever you need
to keep the pain away,
and decorate it
with your beloved poetry
so that you can talk,
listen to them
every now and then.
Come back dear
into my heart
my empty apartment!
====================
Contest: Empty Apartment
By:kashinath karmakar(11th Dec.2010)
Bed
Shakes and slumber alike
Float upon me
Wet emotion
Soaks through and stains
For her smiles
And his furrowed brow
Imprint
The laughter and pain
Mirror
Me, the shine and prism
Of her hatred
Endless hours of
Not good enough
And his reassurance
Of loveliness
That will never
Be understood
Carpet
Pounding thrashing
Of their two loves
Upon me at two am
Smiling after the
Sound of play
Echo the hallway
And wake the neighbors
Laughingly unashamed
Television
One no two
No three
Grabbing at differences
In perception and
Personality
Rolling eyes
Grinning heart
Oh just take it
Closet
I contain both of
Their many faces
Of characterization
For each other
And the outside
The demons and
Faults swept in me
Obsession and Impulse
Curtain
Shades of truth
Hidden delights
And detriments
Behind my mask of
Sunshine shrouded
Cotton obscurity
Enough peaks through
If you really look
Lamp
Groans and sighs
She adores me
Perhaps his consciousness
And her fear of darkness
Will come to terms
And leave me at peace
One day
Till then I never rest
Shower
Pearly suds cling to my walls
When they are happy
Songs penetrate steam
But oh how I am neglected
Dry sadness
For the majority
I take too much energy
From helpless souls
Couch
Sore and abused
An alibi for each
His quiet savior
Her supportive friend
My popularity increases
As creativity disappears
And common ground
Is rarely evident
Fridge
He frowns
As she stuffs me
With poor choices
Reflecting regret
With life all around
But I feel empty
When they are joyous
For they are no where to be found
Damp winter cold pervades
The emptiness
White painted walls
Clean sanded floors
All signs of occupation
Gone -
A stained teacup sits sadly in the sink
Ashes of a past fire grey the hearth
An unread newspaper, old man's spectacles
A packet of mints lay on the scratched surface
Of a beeswaxed table
Waiting for Thomas Ryan to return
The
Door
Was closed
Forever
Leaving behind all
The memories gathered through the
Pass of time for decades in the flouted and forced bond
That shattered in the floor as a glass bottle jilting evermore a flawed alliance
1-29-2016
"Man, I love that Dire Straits song "Brothers In Arms" ", he said in the kitchen
"That Hammond organ just takes me drifting..."
Through wormholes and lunar craters in a UFO.
Friends, nuclear waste, pain, insomnia, vacuum salesmen, all disappear in a single tone.
"Rosie!!!...bring me a Listerine soaked tissue for my cold sore...Ahh! That's the medicine!"
She struts by in a pair of Spandex boxer shorts, like a groupie at a gig.
So far from the Sci-fi convention where they first met
Not the old "wine and dine" for them, no sir!
He set the trap and baited her with Tid-Bits of his inner self, painfully bare.
From humble beginnings, a love, long and true, exists in quiet majesty.
No more icy showers,
No rats, no roaches,
I’ll never trek reluctantly,
Up your five flights again.
No more neighbors’ yelling,
No slumlords, no supers,
No longer will I freeze,
In your dark bitter space.
Though I’m cautious and weary,
Of the next empty apartment,
I’ll never look back,
Once I step out of your door.
No, no, don’t you worry,
There will always be another,
To suffer inside the hell,
Of your suffocating walls.
Where you will try to break them,
Confine and oppress them,
Until they are empty,
Just like you. Just like me.
*For Matt Caliri's "Empty Apartment" Contest
The New Apartment
By Elton Camp
The apartment looked pretty good to old Mrs. Pike
The area was a bit run-down, so that she didn’t like
The place unexpectedly became available for lease
When the former tenant was taken away by police
The landlord’s cleaning crew, thorough sure were not
Some of the other tenant’s personal things they forgot
Mrs. Pike was forced to complete the job by herself
So out went his clothes, food, and trinkets on the shelf
But out in the back, setting on the apartment’s patio
There was a potted plant that she didn’t feel had to go
Its scalloped leaves were of a type to her unknown
Very soon, Mrs. Pike was amazed at how it’d grown
Two men came by and announced they were from DEA
“We need to check out what your neighbors had to say.”
And that how Granny Pike really got put on the spot
The newspaper came to read, “Woman growing pot.”
Mom’s Tree House Apartment
Step inside, warm feelings greet you…
On the entryway wall, President Kennedy signed a condolence letter
from 1962, addressed to my Grandma, thanking her for Grandpa’s service in WW1.
Below, perched on an old credenza, the Milk Glass Chicken still delights her
grandchildren with a treat hidden in the Baby Chick alongside!
Glancing to the right, Dad’s Rosary collection (much used) hangs majestically,
a reminder of long-gone family members from cloistered communities, Mom
and Dad revered.
In the living room, above the expansive soft couch that always finds a family member
dozing peacefully after a long-journey home, a massive burl wood frame cradles
A fox -hunting lodge scene, with participants positioned around a blazing hearth,
regaling the hunt, while enjoying a pint.
Consuming Dad’s last days, I joined him for countless hours deciphering every person
In the painting, assigning rank and position to each, with intense minor details,
Joyously discovered, as if for the first time! A memory Dad possessed from his youth,
fox-hunting with his Dad.
In her bedroom, along the wall, Dad’s English Saddle, gallantly laden with his favorite
things, settles the atmosphere.
I pick up his favorite red hoody, and still inhale his courage.
Hot summers
Crushes numbers
Seeing the moonlight lit
Dancing cuz we felt like it
Staying up all night
Having occasional fights
Blue and orange kitchens
Nobody would get it
I miss you now
I'm happy
I don't want it back
But I wish you missed me
Car crash
Outside
Heard the bust
You ran fast
We both thought it was us
Runs a little too late
Sure we'd get raped
Laughing at piper
When she was too hyper
Maybe a little like her mother
And grey was queen bee
Cuz she ate all the others
We'd have sleep overs
In one of our rooms
People who lived down
Way too loud
We tried to drown them out
And dreamed of when
We'd find our guys
Anytime was too early.
It just happened to me
Happened to be me first
I miss you now
I don't want it back
I'm happy
But I wish you missed me
You really knew me
I really knew you
You really knew me
I wish you missed me
she's known him for some years gone by. he's been a constant in her life. hating
him one week and loving him the next,yelling her wrath at him for leaving the milk
out all night. then hugging him to say thank you for checking the mail. if you'd asked
their mutual friends and neighbors,you would've been told all about the reluctant
room-mates living in apartment B. they yell in the morning and turn on the silent
treatment at night. some even wonder why they don't just shake hands, pack up
their treasures and amicably walk away. this my friends is why: years of being
friends turned into something they never saw coming. the love the two had been
looking for,most of their lives-had been there all along.