Best Rent Poems
When gay meant happy and kwier meant odd
You didn't swear in public, right in front of God
You wore a suit to the World Series, a hat to work
If your team won, you didn't loot or go berserk
You cheered the President, shook hands with him too
You'd never think to avoid him, to jeer or to boo
When the Nation's Anthem played, you covered your heart
You sang along proudly, every word from the start
Now the nation's fabric is rent, we're so polarized
And what with the murder and mayhem ~ desensitized
The sign read
Apartment for rent
Within heritage building
I climbed steep steps to the third level
Big windows and hardwood floors
A nice cozy nest
To call home
_______________________
May 14, 2015
Poetry/Septet Verse/For Rent
Copyright Protected, ID 05-673-104-14
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Give Me A Sign
sponsor, Nette Onclaud, Judged 2015
Third Place
Here ye! Here ye! Here ye!
Starting a new business I am
“Rent A Poetry Man” I call it
I'll come to your house in a van
For a nominal fee of just a dollar
I will fashion a poem for you
To suit any happy occasion
So you'll remember the do
I will offer a cute little ditty
Even give it a tune if I must
But I expect as part of the deal
You will offer me cake I trust
So look me up, let's make a deal
I'm in the book under “P”
It stands for happy “Poetry Man”
It describes this bloke to a “T”
© Jack Ellison 2014
Live in my heart, rent-free
Now and forever more.
Don't stay out in the cold;
Make yourself feel at home,
For its as good as gold.
Live in my heart, rent-free.
Don't knock, just come right in
To a place very safe,
To a place you belong,
To a heart that's fail safe.
Live in my heart, rent-free.
Flow into me, my sweet,
Like most gentle of streams.
My heart is a refuge;
It's where love's bright light gleams.
Live in my heart, rent-free.
There's enough room for you;
Stay as long as you wish!
You possess the sole key;
There, our love shall flourish.
courtesy of management in general
and particularly Jackie Geiger
assistant property agent.
One benefit living social
at Highland Manor Apartments
until decrepit and bent...
constitutes qualifying for reimbursement
direct deposited into checking
as chump change event,
hence one generic grateful gent
feels self satisfied as Clark Kent.
After broken wing and prayer
granted courtesy The Flying Tigers
at long last located valuable information
issued December of each year
surprisingly enough exactly where
social security (2021) 1099 form
remained untouched, I swear,
yet earlier yesterday April 5th, 2022
at 1500 hours though very near,
and finally located necessary documentation
(think rental rebate) here
with unexpected discovery
birthed following poem aware
many if not all avid readers
will not care, nor give rat's a$$
regarding humdrum minor dilemma
involving one bonafide
*****sapiens merely
bruising himself – common Joe
garden variety generic biomass,
nonetheless, he fetes, lauds, tauts...
rental rebate tantamount
approximating financial reimbursement
without being unduly crass.
Thus reasonable rhyme
yours truly doth aire
without stut... stut...
stuttering, yet no guarantee
wordsworth their weight
in gold will ring clear
more likely receive
frosty reception everywhere
across world wide web,
perhaps with unwelcome glare,
yet profuse apology
if man with wit - me,
(i.e. Whitman) didst unwittingly interfere
with unwanted distraction
courtesy bobbing square
pants donned sponge
soaking up precious time (yours)
foolish longfellow rushing in where
one capricorn long since wed
not nsync, but alone,
cuz angels fear to tread
"quod erat demonstrandum"
forgotten Latin accessed
at least once year
when yours truly crafts poetry
more familiarly recognized as Q.E.D.
(shares close pronunciation
with ska quid word)
ditch costs extra nay saying
horse sense according to Ned,
whoop sorry, I meant mister Ed.
Frame is solid, some refurbishing needed; I have a room for rent
Only needs a few repairs and my patience has well been spent
Ready for immediate occupancy as soon as one can spare
Renovations commencing instantly; rent is somewhat fair
Equipped with all the essentials; a spacious room is what you’ll find
Needs an well organized individual; one able to dwell inside this mind
Today it’s clean and tidy as can be; tomorrow's a new day, I'll wait and see
© Stacy Lynn Stiles
If you're ever lost, forgotten, or misstep.
I'll traipse down the cobbles of your crash.
Hand in hand until you're back on track.
I'll surely spruce up a room for you.
It'll be on the mundane -humble side
but safe, warm, and welcoming.
Like in a child's sunlit dream.
I can cloak the well-worn floor
with a pattern of your choice.
There'll be no rent or rent of judgement.
Only a gray shoulder to stain
with the colors of your choice.
We'll whisper of the misty past.
Untangle the present and its jaggedness.
Pan the gold from the slag of tomorrow.
I'll gently lay a patch upon that blue chip in your heart.
For I love you immensely; you can stay forever if you wish, dear heart.
the keys stick when I type,
the ink smudges on cheap paper,
there’s an old man in the corner
laughing through his dentures at my words.
he knows, I know—
it’s all garbage,
all of it.
writing the same worn-out lines,
spinning circles around rent checks
that will barely clear.
this morning, the phone rang,
and I thought it was hope—
turned out to be another
rejection letter in a different voice.
I’m smoking old cigars
that burn the fingers but not the mind,
drinking coffee cold as winter in a can,
wondering how I ended up here,
writing just to keep the lights on.
and that goldfish,
it’s still there—
belly-up in its bowl,
not even a bubble left
to prove it ever lived.
I haven’t flushed it.
I’ll keep it as a reminder,
that we all float for a while
before sinking.
the landlord knocks again,
the ashtray overflows.
Too small,
for two of us.
Wanting to run away,
I was reluctant to stay here.
Our pay checks did not reach far in those days,
I had a place to rest my head.
Needed more rent money,
please rain dollars.
Too small.
Jack put his ol body out for rent
His wife got mad and did vent
Threw him out of the house
Now he lives with a mouse
In a 1940's pup tent
I am the old woman who lives in a shoe
I have so many children telling me what to do
Some are twenty, thirty, forty and fifty too
but to hear them all screaming you'd think they were two
Tattling and fighting, yelling, squawking, all through the night
arguing the same thing over and over until it's daylight
Demanding, exclaiming that they are always right
always blaming the other no matter their plight
Spinning in circles, no resolution to be found
the chaos unfolding just keeps me homebound
Enlarging their problems, keeping others spellbound
They can't seem to focus, it goes round and round
Lying and stealing, and cheating, they all accuse
The one whose accusing always has an excuse
Pointing the finger at others, a tactic they use
Sick of the tantrums, you become a recluse
They can't see the problem, it's all one big game
to see how much more they can milk from the old dame
They all want control of the shoe, it's so lame
Tying the shoelace is driving me insane
Teaching these children, each eyelet has a price
You can't skip one over, it isn't deemed nice
Each hole you lace through is another bill to be paid
to lace through each one means more money must be made
Thoughts can't be gathered, the frenzy causing delays
Old Mother, those children are too old to relate
That they are responsible for divining their own fate
Promises are broken, they can't really correlate
Old woman's not their mother and wants a clean slate
The banshees are furious, they don't want to pay
No understanding without old woman paving the way
the shoe will soon crumble and to dust, it will fade
So come on spoiled brats, scream your lives away
Yell louder this is a cycle that's hard to escape
The shoe is the prison their own minds did create
Stop blaming and pay the house a fair rate
Listen before the old woman gets up and runs away
Kick rocks, she tells them now to pay their own way
They scream louder when she turns the other way
Took her for granted, but she was first not second rate
The years fall to the side as she leaves you to your fate
the vision of youth returning will soon resonate
Old Woman kicks her shoes off without delay
Now a young woman, she turns her back and walks away
Written October 13, 2016
Your love is a fortress
But I can't afford it
The price has been driven too high
By gentrification and the likes of some guy
Who's labeled it "rustic" and "chic"
All this rent is too steep
So I walk around town
Just to find a place to sleep
Be it yard, bridge, or overpass
I find a way to pass the time
Looking for some love on a dime
If that's that then what's this?
If it's guilt trip,
I don't have time for it,
if it's fake bliss,
why can't I return even to miss?
If that's that,
and this aint' this,
take my brain,
take my prince,
and princess,
and eagerness-
take what it is the world started,
but you entangled with prints...
'You saved something that didn't live!'
How am I so important as it,
if you preach life liberty,
but death to it's kids?
How can you not go first,
if you've never even been?
You try it,
You even buy it,
You don't get it,
You claim it,
You disclaim it,
It works,
It doesn't,
Again, you denied it,
You pay, your stay: monthly, annually
You gain, sustain,
You barter, charter,
You bargain, you bust
it stays a must.
You cry,
You cuss,
You fuss,
Sign on the line
It pays
betrays
Rent -- it stays.
Small Summer Cabins for Rent on Lovegrove Lake
by Barbara C. Agarwal
I left my chance when
A chance I did not take
When I saw you long, long ago
At Lovegrove Lake.
Do you remember per chance also,
Me perched on the wee porch there?
Me, dangling my silver sandal?
And sipping my white wine with care?
The blue chiffon band of my straw hat
Blowing in the river-lake air?
Me, sitting on a pink-coral rocking chair?
Me, focused and scratching out a poem to share?
You stood tall and out on the river dock
Of the lake. You stood wide-shouldered, as I recall:
A happy stranger, fishing, leaning against
The railing of the driftwood-grey quay.
I could hear you whistling, though afar.
I can hear you whistling still, by the song
I was won: “once there were valleys,
Kissed by the sun....”
Then—after some secret bless-ed
Moments of wonderful watching
I saddened to hear The Four Brothers'
Notes and your whistling cease.
But then you drew yourself together
With a sigh, to return
To your cabin, near and yet far:
Up the hill from mine,
Drew near enough you did
On the brown graveled path,
Near enough that I could see
The smiling creases aside
Both your boyish brimming
Brown eyes, barely shaded by
Your beaten tan angler's hat,
And you were coming my way
In that plaid musky-looking fishing shirt,
(Your rod used like a shepherd's staff,
With the metal lure clanking --ting-tinging--
Against your pail) you were coming my way
Near enough to me that I
Might smell that primal scent
Some sensuous men emit
After their hard days' work.
About to pass me by,
You slowed your step.
You paused.
Perhaps just for breath?
Or was it just long enough to wink
That well-and-wanting wink at me?
I smiled but put my eyes back to page.
You then continued up the way
To your cabin
More far away than hope.
It was then I think
That I stopped living
Or began dying from lost delights:
Reveries of what-might-have-beens,
There by Lovegrove Lake
On that Tuesday afternoon.
“Gone are the greenfields.../
Where rivers used to run.”