Best Lodgings Poems
The lamp outside my lodgings cut through fog of dirty grey,
I donned my coat and hat ready to start another day.
The sound of hooves on cobbles meant my transport was at hand
I stepped onto the pavement as it pulled up at the stand.
Quick turn of the brass handle, creaky door swung open wide,
a short leap to the footplate and I clambered up inside.
The bench seat buttoned velour, colours fading, rather frayed,
long scratches on the rosewood round the Marquetry inlaid.
We bounced and swung on straps and springs and galloped through the streets,
Side window broken in one corner, letting out the heat.
Outside the Quad I paid my fare and stepped into the cold,
and thought 'how many other Derby cabs are quite that old?'
Inspired by an article in today's local paper regarding the age
and appalling state of some of our local Taxi cabs.
Categories:
lodgings, car,
Form:
Rhyme
I spent a night in Somnia
which put me to the test
The lodgings were luxurious
but I could find no rest
They said it was a quiet town
I fell for all their ploys
And all the stupid sheep I tried to count
made too much noise
Minutes ticking into hours
All my dreams were lost
And like a stir-fry vegetable
is how I turned and tossed
That cheap motel in Somnia
was just a tourist trap
No matter how I tried
I couldn't even take a nap
So I had a cup of coffee
waiting for the sun to rise
The night was finally over
as I rubbed my bloodshot eyes
Now here I am in Sanity
the company where I work
I'm staring at computer screens
and feeling like a jerk
Too many nights in Somnia
have made me hit a wall
Oh great! Here comes my manager
The pink slip says it all!
Categories:
lodgings, humor, sleep, word play,
Form:
Rhyme
NB - familiarity with the pronunciation of the British place names in this poem is essential to comprehend some of the lines - and to ensure the tongue twisting effect in parts.
The Seven Siren Sisters of old Cirencester
Are more infamous now than the lechers of Leicester
While walking with linked arms in Lincoln one day
They saw six sailors sinking pints on the public highway
Their giggles could be heard way down in Biggleswade town
Where the cattle drovers were supping in ye olde Rose & Crown
When one time they rummaged in the markets of Kent
Even they were shocked at the brass they had spent
fourteen shillings had gone and a handful of pence.
nowt left in their purses to furnish the rent
so they came to the notion of trading themselves
for to pay the landlord and put food on their shelves
Soon with all their gay laughter and raucous loud shouts
some curtains at their lodgings were twitching about
and when out were seen tottering many men who were known
to be married to others that lived close by that home
there was such a commotion as wives came scurrying forth
one carried a bucket filled with fresh muck from a horse
A pitched fight then started with brooms and an odd frying pan
until the wives were left standing over each cowering man
while the Seven Siren Sisters of Old Cirencester
sneaked out the back door and ran off to Rochester
never again did they return there to work picking hops
but it wasn't the last time they'd spend too much in the shops
©Rhumour
October 10th 2008
Categories:
lodgings, funny, men, women,
Form:
Rhyme
-
Terence a Griffiths of Tyrone or Leitrim!
Did he know but later of 1820 he would be there born
A Flax Grower a renter from landlords of Lord Leitrim's domain
To thresh and sack and cloth and sow by wife and all but slavery go
A brother Bartholemew younger and two rented fields up
They toiled and cut their respective Dromahair tracks for family food and church
Imagined home of limestone scraw and thatch and little more
To Him and Mary had children born but died and died but - James a smile born at last
Year of 42 destined of birth and life much the same
With toil and despair like all the rest of this peopled land
A famine near but river trout and oats and eggs kept going without the potato plant
Blyte and desperation spared on none but those ready those prepared
Not prepared evicted on the lonely green lined road and board of works pittance
For those a fraction better or more a trip to port and bay to look across the sea
Without a family to meet or lodgings to lay
The night before a sorrowful wake of music and porter barrel there
With food and tears and pennies off never to see no more
Terence proud and sad James he sends America to go
And send some money home to mother to lowly sons
She creaks and breaks and steers the stomach
Up and down the drains of hungers pains
The deck to break of wave and sounds and New Amsterdam emerge
Better lands and money sent home to purchase 20 Acres and 2 roods no more
Never to return is not true. A loyal James to Landlord downed and to family too
He roots and spreads and family bear and atained a generation there
But cannot see to bear another ship for those he knows and hates the family split
A neighbour lined up at the poor house and green lane go. He can stand no more
And sacks the postman's bag with others and throws the notice to the ditch
The brutal notice of postman's summons blocks arrests the rabble and gaols the mob
I saw the picture of Limerick gaol a bowler hat not there but pride
Pride in a smile. - James a smile born at last.
Categories:
lodgings, familyfamily, home, family, food,
Form:
Nestled deep in the tawny, drab woodland
Sedate cottage neither haughty nor grand
Sparse hovel of unassuming, itinerant brigand
Martial decor of detached highwayman starkly bland
The etched path sculpted by intemperate hand
No manicured garden on the scrubby strand
Briers and brambles errant straggler must withstand
Thatched clapboards stable his stallion firebrand
Unruly swine garnish acorns from scraggly wasteland
Buried deep in his cellar pilfered contraband
Per chance drifter did the terrain assay
And chose that toilsome, forsaken way
A spartan welcome hauteur did convey
No lodgings, accoutrements could sway
If for grace, mercy they did pray
Only a cold shoulder he did relay
If they tested his temperance and sued for trite parley
He reconnoitered their belongings through wordplay
If no net value they were beguiled to betray
Their worthless lives he did indignantly slay
Categories:
lodgings, adventure, courage, dark,
Form:
Rhyme
My heart refunding is the pay
the poet with her will, not stray
accost my Faith, but don't delay
God as my vestige meters stay!
To write it not, but think the day
goes on no fetish, fools would play
their happy notes, then strum parlay
this serious soul does cutting say ~
Without the song, a poem is prey
the verse upon some canting may
inflict duress, I kneel to pray
it is that action ~ nearness way!
Assimilate the motions gay
my heart, still caught to lodgings grey
this youth of time, goes on, a fray
addicting rhyme to one relay!
God's measure, I AM, answered weigh
is sacred, certain . . . . my Obey!
Categories:
lodgings, poetry, prayer,
Form:
Monorhyme
As March sets in people are eager to work in their rural gardens and fields,
The earth turns up fresh and mellow and there is beauty in its very blackness,
Flowers are fast springing in the boarders, delicate and beautifully poetic,
Familiar friends the alpine violet, the dog tooth violet, daffodils and squills.
The little snowdrop peaks out of the soil to see how many of his friends wait,
The snowdrop sees the Almond trees blossom beautiful while others are leafless,
Bends his little white head to the tacamahac, smiling he waves at the catkins,
He casts his eyes at the mezereon with clustered blooms, a China rose unfolds.
The trees in the woods feel the warmer weather and wild wood flowers sprout up,
The snowdrop nods to his friends the Coltsfoot and cardamine in older fallows,
And in this magical setting the star of Bethlehem beams across the grey trees,
A kingcup waves to the celandine showing off their fine deep and golden lustre.
Then who does the snowdrop see, can it be his friend the daisy growing on turf,
The crocus spreads like a purple flood that has beautified meadows for all time
But for today the violets, white or purple takes its lodgings under our hedges,
They move along the moist banks which is well remembered from a sweet childhood.
Categories:
lodgings, nature, daffodils,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I twist and turn, I grasp and grab.
Is there any foothold?
Any crevice or jutting edge
That my fingers may find lodgings?
The wind zips past me in cold blasts,
Sucking along what lil’ air my nostrils find.
I open my mouth to yell; …nothing.
Despite the wind’s fury and howling,
I feel perspiration break out on my face.
That is the cold sweat of fear.
The knowledge that all that I have ever done;
The good, the bad, and the, well, not so good
All boil down to this moment.
The space between the top of the ledge and the bottom.
Time fades away and loses import.
My life flashes before my eyes like distorted parts of many movies,
Not the sweet memories of Christmas,
Nor the sweet smell of beans and plantains
Wafting in from the kitchen…
No.
It’s the thought of all that I could have done,
The memories of all the things that I did wrong
And all the things I could and should have done right.
The things I did not do.
And as the bottom draws nearer,
And the end sweeps up with that feeling of inevitability,
I feel only one taste in my mouth;
Regret.
And then …nothingness………
Thud!
Categories:
lodgings, death, sweet, sweet,
Form:
Free verse
On Halloween, I heard of a guesthouse
advertising stays in a haunted house.
Spend one night, get a year's lodgings for free,
I was sure it was mere hyperbole.
Its decrepit looks failed to frighten me,
so I decided to ask for a key.
And upon opening a daunting door,
my footstep drew squeaks from a creaking floor.
There was no hydro, only an oil lamp,
and the furniture felt filthy and damp.
But I proceeded to explore the halls,
checking out smells seeping out of the walls.
I heard garbled whispers and muffled screams;
the kind of things one hears in nightmare dreams.
A stench was oozing from cracks in the floor,
as I searched the attic spattered with gore.
My heart jumped; when shadows started to shift,
causing reality to bend and drift.
And as fear fuels the panic, I feel,
I'm more and more convinced ghosts are real.
I soon concluded that this wasn't funny;
my life is worth much more than free money.
So I quickly hightailed it out of there;
if that makes me a coward, I don't care.
You can call me nuts, but that house has spooks,
those who've fled there, aren't just a bunch of kooks.
And you'd be a fool to stay past nightfall;
for I've seen things that would make your skin crawl.
Categories:
lodgings, 10th grade, angst, anxiety,
Form:
Rhyme
I was a wayward traveler on Interstate 15 (I-15) near Mexico
Traveling at night–Creepy,spooky, eerie on US border in San Diego County
Tired and sleepy I looked for lodgings, shelter didn't know where to go
Passing motels and hotels stop at this gray and gloomy mansion bounty
Looked abandoned and lifeless looked gray and gloomy
Lot of spaces looked real roomy, traveling at night–Creepy,spooky
One Night In A Haunted Manor,
Scared but needed a place to rest so it didn't matter;
Caretaker looked like an undertaker said the manor was haunted
Nestled within sunny San Diego's “Old Town”
One of the world's most enduring haunted house legends around
Built in 1857 by Thomas Whaley Manor, the brick house occupies haunted
Gray gloomy mansion windows all boarded up AS if what was inside was too terrible to see
Looked as if someone had tried to stop something horrible from getting out ooh wee!
One Night In A Haunted Manor,
Scared but needed a place to rest so it didn't matter;
Looked abandoned and lifeless looked gray and gloomy
Lot of spaces looked real roomy, traveling at night–Creepy,spooky
A spot where Yankee Jim Robinson was publicly hanged years earlier
By a man who died there hung on a chandelier
I heard whispers of the long-dead children echoed with the sound of footsteps That were coming from nowhere I am weary nervous, upset
Red liquid substance coming from the faucet spouts
Screaming windows screeching doors shouts
1/22/19
One Night In A Haunted Manor Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Rhyme poetry form only.
Categories:
lodgings, adventure, allusion, analogy, engagement,
Form:
Rhyme
As March sets in people are eager to work in their rural gardens and fields,
The earth turns up fresh and mellow and there is beauty in its very blackness,
Flowers are fast springing in the boarders, delicate and beautifully poetic,
Familiar friends the alpine violet, the dog tooth violet, daffodils and squills.
The little snowdrop peaks out of the soil to see how many of his friends wait,
The snowdrop sees the Almond trees blossom beautiful while others are leafless,
Bends his little white head to the tacamahac, smiling he waves at the catkins,
He casts his eyes at the mezereon with clustered blooms, a China rose unfolds.
The trees in the woods feel the warmer weather and wild wood flowers sprout up,
The snowdrop nods to his friends the Coltsfoot and cardamine in older fallows,
And in this magical setting the star of Bethlehem beams across the grey trees,
A kingcup waves to the celandine showing off their fine deep and golden lustre.
Then who does the snowdrop see, can it be his friend the daisy growing on turf,
The crocus spreads like a purple flood that has beautified meadows for all time
But for today the violets, white or purple takes its lodgings under our hedges,
They move along the moist banks which is well remembered from a sweet childhood.
Categories:
lodgings, nature, daffodils,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I
Summer has moved out
Of temporary lodgings
Fall's lease begins
II
Harvest moon, frosty
Nights, leaves changing hues to show
Autumn's here again
Categories:
lodgings, autumn,
Form:
Haiku
The desert holds a certain beauty rare.
A little rain will make the flowers grow.
For sleeping seeds that lay there dormant bare
can rise up showing wondrous colors so.
For ever changing dunes that wild wind blows
against the lodgings made of clay and stone.
Men hide in homes from screaming sirok woes,
their beasts cringe low in fright and softly moan.
A lonesome place of spikes and cactus kinds,
where rattlesnakes do seek for pry at night,
where dry and sandy gully plays and winds
a steep path going nowhere toward the right.
To stay on beaten tried path seems the way.
Another by your side if we do stray.
Categories:
lodgings, nature,
Form:
Sonnet
Mind; that nebulous cloud,
is not what we suppose it to be.
It is not between our ears or eyes,
that is merely a rented room.
Its lodgings are everywhere.
Mind may reside in a starry hotel
circling a solar plexus,
but even that place
is only a transitory tent.
Mind is not gray brain-matter,
not a constant twitching of neurons
rooted to a branching spinal cord.
When Mind leaves its borrowed homes
it overwhelms any thought of size or shape,
just as the notion
of a man-made image of God
comically underwhelms.
The keeper of this drunken tavern of Mind
serves love in thimblefuls
but each one is deep enough
for any brain to drown within.
Categories:
lodgings, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
The rough sleepers
keeping diaries of
near misses and
misadventures
staying alone and alive
living on their wits
eschewing assistance
except
from the social and
the occasional good
Samaritan.
Jesus plays his part,
free tea in the park
meals at the mission
seems god is fishing
for converts,
but
It's hard to believe
in a better life
when you have no life
and you gave your last smoke
to someone poorer than you.
I imagine me
outside
the British library
reading Burns
and who's to say
We
could be that rough sleeper
you passed today
reading
Burns
taking turns
to write in the diary.
Categories:
lodgings, care, god, poverty,
Form:
Rhyme