Best Hoarder Poems
I collect tins and bags
of coffee, Hector brings
me, for future
barter.
Some unknown calamity,
I will have all the
coffee.
Tins and bags of
gold, a hoard to
protect.
Safe passage, ammo, maybe a
scarf for a loved
one, my mind creates endless
outcomes.
I' m hoping coffee is in
short
supply.
11/16/13
someone called 911
a neighbor or someone just walking by
they told the operator
the person who lived there
had not been seen in days
someone else called
telling the operator
a foul scent was emitting
from the house across the street
when an officer got there
from what he smelled
the situation looked bleak
when he tried to get in
the front door wouldn't open
looking in dark windows
he knew in there were no tokens
he had to call for back-up
the situation looked and smelled
of horror
homicide was called
and told don't wait until tomorrow
an officer
with a gas mask
got inside the home
there lay a dead woman
and her dog
surrounded by
boxes and boxes of
snippets of paper
upon which
she had written poems
then several months later
upon bookstore shelves
were her poems
in a neat book
carrying the title
i wrote these by myself
After the marriage
It started real slow
Collecting so much
I didn’t even know
I have always lived
A very organized life
So I thought I could
Live as a hoarder’s wife
Since my top quality
Is good organization
It shouldn’t be difficult
To organize the situation
Well I was sure fooled
Until I became trapped
With clutter all around
Covering every little gap
The man I was with
I didn’t actually know
Had been a hoarder
From childhood years ago
I’m from another background
A loving family - lots of kin
With many years on my own
Raising all of my children
It felt like quicksand
As I began to slowly seep
I tried to climb out
Before I sunk too deep
I discovered a hoarder
Holds other issues too
More than I could handle
Or even really cared to
I think one icebreaker
Might probably be
When the hoarding extended
To him hoarding me
There was no room for visitors
Nor family or friends
But the icing on the cake
Was not seeing my grandchildren
I had to make an escape
And I tried to be nice and kind
I’d prefer to be distant friends
To free my heart and mind
I prayed every moment
For strength to pull through
Leaving it in God’s hands
Is what I always do
My family and friends
Were always there for me
Standing by my decision
And ensuring my certainty
As I started to climb out
Of this bad situation
Holding my head above
A possible suffocation
God sent a ray of sunshine
With a warm gentle touch
One felt a few times before
And always did so much
Releasing my inner joy
With a drop of golden sun
Is such a wonderful gift
For the new journey I’ve begun
Florence McMillian (Flo)
My mind has become a hoarder’s paradise
As I have gotten older, fat and lazy.
All that I gather collects
Along the halls, across table tops
On every available surface.
Eventually only narrow pathways remain
Through the labyrinth,
Pathways I traverse daily
As I shuffle back and forth
On my habitual ways.
This is the anatomy of a mind calcifying,
Layers and layers of thought and memory
Cemented accretions which then erode
Into the walls of my labyrinth.
Somewhere at the center
I know there is a garden still untouched
By the clutter of this life,
Complete with eye bright centaur
Chiron on his grassy knoll.
Knowing it’s always there
Is all the solace I need.
(9/7/25)
Hoarder holds her hostage, heaps heavy history hysterics.
Her husband, horrific. Harried hugs humiliate. Hops, hits
hags — harmed honeymoon. Hiss harkened hellbound Harris.
Hysterical Helena hinted hate, harbinger hackles heightened, hot.
How? Hagfish homicide? Herbs? Homer helps Helena hack!
12/18/2020
Alliteration Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Afraid that a slip
May render me maimed
I’ll likely lose grip
Of all that I’ve tamed
I’ll wind up behind
With weights on my shoes
Handicapped and blind
There’s too much to lose
I’ll never get back
To being afloat
Once knocked off the track
I’m doomed to demote
I haven’t the strength
When I’m overwhelmed
To go to the length
And be homeward bound
I move in circles
Repeat and repeat
I look like a fool
With worn and sore feet
I fake normalcy
But know I’m a fraud
Hiding my crazy
Promoting my odd
I am in my beautifully decorated office where I have dragged overflow
A baby gift that should have been given over to the new mama long ago,
Reams of paper that are not going to walk themselves to the printer.
Notebooks and pencils that could be put on a shelf for the winter.
It is weird that my office was gorgeous for a month or so
Then I started dragging and dumping when I should have said whoa.
Sure in three weeks I discarded seven truckloads of junk
But to think I am a neatnick is a complete load of bunk.
The real problem is that I started five projects at the same time.
They overwhelmed me, shut me down, and gave me walls I wanted to climb.
I have not seen my relatives or my friends although three weeks I have been home.
I am sorting and throwing, every pencil box, toothbrush, and comb.
When I get finished, it will be such a welcome sigh of relief.
Packrat people should move every year or two is my honest belief.
Being a dragon hoarder is now work at all
I collect tidbits of aluminum foil, rolled and tall
I have boxes and bags full of things from the mall
Items also I have found in a bathroom stall
Being a dragon hoarder is what I do best.
I bring stuff home, and plunk it down in my nest.
I collect wings, feathers, animals, especially little mice.
Who grow up and reproduce, so isn’t that nice?
She’s still a long way away from here,
Even though I’m holding her hand,
She’s still running fast, alone in her head,
Even though, together, we stand,
And she stares through the things that she could’ve seen,
Blind to the world she’d have known,
Blind to the happy and vibrant and free,
Instead, in her mind all alone,
She lives with her phobia, her P.T.S.D.,
She lives with her panic disorder,
She lives with every form of unease,
She’s a nervous wreck sort of a hoarder,
But, she manages, with wine, her sweats and her dizzy,
She manages the pain in her chest,
She manages, with a pack of smokes every day,
And her mind runs away when depressed.
accumulation
choking the room bitterly
an embarrassment
carefully tromping through it
side-stepping junk gingerly
My pack rack eye-tis
surrounds me untidily
disturbing eyesore
jumping over largest pile
not inviting company
Everybody has secrets they don't want anyone to know
Everyone has a facade that they put on to show
Nobodys life is troublefree only varying degrees
Its so easy to smile for a while and just say cheese
Through veneers its all cheers, mouths deceive, no surprise
We can hide what's inside, so please realize
No one's better than another
Though your disguise fools your brother
When Halloween is over
We will all be uncovered
The Hoarder
By Elton Camp
The clutter in her house grows every day
For Agnes can’t throw anything away
Cardboard boxes, plastic bags, junk mail
All of them are stored away by the bale
Stuff that Agnes picked up on the street
She can’t discard because it is too neat
These items and many thousands more
In house, porch and garage does store
A winding path between piles she must take
The pitiful sight makes one’s heart ache
An odious stench her collection does emit
It causes even her relatives to have a fit
“Aunt Agnes, please let us help clean up”
“I might need this,” she says with a gulp
No amount of reasoning will succeed
Their repeated urgings she won’t heed
Her massive collection continued to grow
Until to a nursing home she had to go
When her savings were finally gone,
Her Certificates of Deposit withdrawn
The house for sale had to be cleaned out
Of compulsive hoarding there was no doubt
The material that had given Agnes a thrill
Sadly, was then buried in the landfill
Jiggety jig, my ex. is a pig.
It's much worse since I've been gone..
One could clean every day.
He won't put things away and he even
throws trash on his lawn..
When I go there I shutter at his ability to clutter
and wonder what could he pawn..
He's not yet a hoarder but there's
no sense of order.
I just might throw things in his pond..
I deep-sixed toys, games, a bed and a picture book
Our font porch now has a much more organized look
In May I kept hundreds of junk I did not need
Crayolas, pinwheels, and blue petunia seed
Weirdly thinking I might someday need this or that
bent clarinet, torn photo and stuffed bat
knife broken in two, huge bag of red clover
a lesson this hoarder learns over and over
I have seen hoarders. I need a refresher though.
Today.
Right now.
As I decide to give up because this
bedroom is too much for me.
There has been a possible raccoon
den in the corner for six or eight years.
Today was the day I decided to tackle it,
hoping not to find a beaver dam or a
tiger den.
One tiny corner that turned into a mammoth mountain
of stuff that I have spent years throwing into a taller pile.
There are bags, boxes, purses, backpacks, and some hidden
plastic containers in there somewhere. Last week I threw
about one eight of it on the bed, so I would be forced
to take action, to get started.
I did not though because the bed pile overwhelmed me,
took all my energy. Depleted me so hard and fast, I promptly got
physically sick. Maybe as an excuse to not do it? This morning
it was grinning at me wickedly from the bed. Sapping my energy,
and my strength.
It is weird that when I lug this stuff home I have high aspirations for it.
But just dragging it in usurps all my energy. It has sat here glaring at
me for years. I start going through it rapidly the first few hours.
Then I decide to try to nap, but I cannot rest. The only solution is to
take it all back to the resale store and give it back. A pattern I know well.