Best Basement Poems


Rock Bottom Has a Basement

I told them I was fine on Tuesday night.
I lied so smooth it barely felt like lying—
just breath shaped wrong, just practiced, and polished white,
A smile stitched tight enough to stop the crying.

They believed me. Hell, I would have too.
I’ve gotten good at looking like I’m whole.
Built rooms inside myself nobody knew,
then dug beneath them when I needed somewhere lower to go.

Rock bottom has a basement. I found mine.
No windows. Just the pipes and me still breathing.
I’d called “I’m fine” a thousand-dollar lifeline,
while every lie downstairs kept adding interest to the grieving.

I prayed until my prayers felt unemployed.
Asked God for something darkness couldn’t counterfeit.
But silence has a way of making noise
when you’re alone with everything you never dealt with.

I climbed those basement stairs with one bad thought
and enough rope to argue with the ceiling.
Then every reason I believed I’d lost
Came crashing through the cracks I’d sealed beneath my feelings.

The cruelest part? I never disappeared.
I went to work. Came home. Returned each call.
They saw me every day and never feared
that who they loved was barely there at all.

Some graves are dug while you are still alive—
No dirt, no headstone, no flowers where you’ve been.
Your body keeps convincing them you’re doing just fine
while something underneath you caves from within.

Rock bottom has a basement, and I’ve found mine—
I just live one floor above it, making “broken” look “fine.”

A Dirty Basement Room

A Dirty Basement Room

In a dirty basement room a baby cries
Weakened mother was defiled
Forced my law to birth a child
Upon a dirty pillow she lies
In a dirty room the mother dies
Mother and son soon reconciled
Victims of government gone wild
A time to live a time to die
Angry rapist walks streets free
Will they listen to her plea?

In a dirty basement room a baby cries
Angry rapist runs streets free
In a dirty basement room mother dies
Will they listen to her plea?
© Linda Barr  Create an image from this poem.

Deep In the Basement

Deep in the basement of the east wing
Lady Penelope keeps a Thing
    With big teeth and claws
    And horrible jaws
And feeds it her husband’s old flings.

While sister Edith keeps under covers
A creature that crawls and gibbers and mutters,
    That’s disgusting and spiny,
    Appalling and slimy,
And feeds it her old boyfriends and lovers.


In Abasement In a Basement

OH - nonny, NO - nonny
Nicholas Goalsworthy
Promised again to
Renounce alcohol.
Characteristically
Incomprehensible,
Muttering epithets,
Cursing the wall.

Premium Member Trolls In the Basement

Trolls are in our basement. My hubby invited them there.
Every night they wrestle…only for a little fun, they declare.
But I won’t let them have coffee or stay up late at night.
Believe me grumpy trolls stomping around your house can be a fright!

My Hubby goes to work each and every day.
And can you guess who baby-sits the trolls while he’s away?
They’ve played Xbox and Play Station through every foray and doomsday…
So I’ve taught them how to clean and mow, strictly to pay their way.

And now they’re reading children stories each and every morn.
Then they watch American Idol reruns, trying to sing along.
One is taking ballet lessons to improve his earthly charms.
But my favorite is serving at the Soup Kitchen daily, way down town.

I called my friend the Leprechaun to give me a little help.
To keep them from being bored, he lets them chase him through the park.
One he has been grooming to join the Boston Marathon next year.
Others, he’s getting ready to present Shakespeare in the park for a lark. 

I thought, that would surely go well, if they’ll leave their clubs at home.
They like the richness in how he writes, and think they can improvise some.
But adding more mayhem to Shakespeare isn’t what I had in mind.
It’ll be like the 3 stooges doing Shakespeare, and I’m afraid of what I’ll find…

When the Big day came… I had to close my eyes, and much to my surprise.
Halo, World of War Craft, and crude singing had added to their charm.
Movie agents began to swarm… as the teenagers burst out in applause.
Now they’ve signed for TV commercials to compete with Vikings selling credit cards. 

And don’t forget the movie they’re making that puts Shakespeare in a different light.
My hubby isn’t amused at losing his wrestling troll friends along the way.
But they gave him a lot of free passes to join them at various spots in their foray.
So I can finally say, everyone lived Happily Ever After… Hip…Hip…Hooray!
Now have a very pleasant and good day…

Whats In the Basement

Mommy told me never to go in the basement, but I wanted to see what was making that noise. It kind of sounded like a puppy, and I wanted to see the puppy, so I opened the basement door and tiptoed down a bit. I didn’t see a puppy, and then Mommy yanked me out of the basement and yelled at me. Mommy had never yelled at me before, and it made me sad and I cried. Then Mommy told me never to go into the basement again, and she gave me a cookie. That made me feel better, so I didn’t ask her why the boy in the basement was making noises like a puppy, or why he had no hands or feet.


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© Liza Marry  Create an image from this poem.


Premium Member Bargain Basement Poetry

You've come to the right place for a bargain today
Poetry at a discount with this coupon I display
A weekend special
I'm on the level
Two for one Longfellows plus an Poe giveaway

Hipster Dance Party- Basement Style

Leave your woes behind
In the heart of New Brunswick
Red cup beer games
Walls flashing, people sweating

Bring out the hipsters
Sundried blue jeans with attitude
Dancing around
Like fairies in the wind
Cigarette one cheek
Talking smack bout the system!

Basement

Stillborn static cry
Smothered screeching granite knife
Crimson chalk demise

Basement, House, Attic and Roof

3/21/17


A stagnant
Fragment
Beside a magnet

Found placed in an outdated
Basement
Sitting adjacent
To something ancient
And makeshift

An area with stuffy air
Was here then there
Going up the stairs
Some of which needed repairs
Went past several chairs
And a kitchen table with a bowl full of pears
Then was put into a box with wares
Left there with little thought or care
 In a box that was square

Was out, and now inside the house
In a room directly across from a couch
There was no company, not even a mouse
Just sat there collecting dust, in large amounts

Years later, was cleaned with disinfectant
And inspected
Passed the test, and was still kept with other treasures and relics
Anything else that was defective
Went where the trash was to be collected
As the light rays shone, other objects became silhouetted

Then got carried up toward the attic
Surrounded by other items, some of which were ceramics
The rest was mostly fabrics and plastic
Here life was less than climactic

Eventually broke through the roof
Faster than a dog breaking loose
Near and far from any spruce and newts
Intended to always stay in touch with ancestors and roots
While in pursuit of the absolute truth
By looking for more than proof

By: Dalton Ogletree

Basement

I fear to be Here 
You make me feel spooky 
Your greyed hue laid me in cist and
Chaos of headlights gore the peace
they reminisced, 
How he dumped me like a trash
I repel to feel bygones allures,
What tasted like Himalayas.
When you painted me in blood and prised,
Like a god of devour. 
And that one night, it purloined my
drape, frilly and virginity 
Here in this basement,
inside his car with mirth!

Plastered Basement

Randy Hoards Brandy
Locks his stash secretly
Basement waterloggs
His animals go fuzz fuzz
Singing Glory to the keeper
© Zoe Life  Create an image from this poem.

Into the Basement

The knock knock should have told me
there are demons at the door
but I never would have listened
I was taking that trip
I bought a one way tickets
and wasn't looking back

What too good  
now falls with my spirit 
as high as i soared

& so in the basement i go

Who would have thought this end  by this cause ?
Who could have anticipated the shallows?

Not only was I dropt from the highest high
I was tossed & am am now crasht'
crackt' with the rats
& dark seeking creatures for comfort
no more a love one 
than a tissue
to wipe ones boots with

Wow
so this is what it is like....
hiding with the hot hoards
the nocturnal beasts
Deep in the dirt
down in the dank dark bottom
caving & communing
with the earthen sounds

with all of it's weight upon me

I see the whole house clearly
collapsing

I cannot run
I won't

I welcome its falling

I want to climb out of my rubble
Out of 9/11
draw from the dark ashes
Into the sift that will find gold

But For now I keep land sliding
back in the frigid catacombs
Like Lazarus not yet risen
An ancient cartographer
mapping some home for my soul
some refuge
from the dark dank sank
from this no sleep zone
from the utter  panic

For I know not breathing
i know wanting
I know wanting forgetting

Hoping someday I will dream
a way to see through to the clouds
that I know
must be above me
© Meghan G  Create an image from this poem.

In the Basement of the Citadel Hotel

“There,” said he,
“Observe the rat —
It makes its nest within the shell
of this, the ancient Citadel.
“Note that many greater souls
who once did walk these gath’ring grounds
have died, and are again born, and
that very rat now hears their sounds!”
I asked “What sounds?”
He cackled, “These:
On the rat, a thousand fleas.”

(Dedicated to Edgar A. Poe)

Premium Member Bargain Basement Shopping Diva

5 and 10, a quarter to nine
                            The shops opening up at downtown, Man
                                   Must hurry up and hurry out
                    Get out of Woolworth, Brandis, Richman Gormans
         With a dollar, I would by twenty dollars of merchandise in them days
                      And with 45 cents I would by at Safeway a pound rice
                                           That was so nice
                Goodwill's second hand stores so much so buy and believes in,
                                  I would so much be achieving
                                          Because I AM a...
                             BARGAIN BASEMENT SHOPPING DIVA



written by James Edward Lee Sr

From Celebrate: a Collection of Writings about Women

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