Garret Poems | Examples

Everyone Liked Garret

Everyone liked Garret.
The girls wanted to be his friend.
The boys wanted to be him.
Garret was like a charming epidemic
Mimicked by his appreciative peers.
Adored by his teachers.
His smile was dazzling.
His reputation widespread.

Oh! My Allien Star

Oh! My Allien Star,alone in sky at night 
Has played a sweet monochord,
Beside my garret.

Onset of evening, someone calls your name,
Having hidden your face; to whom 
Do you tell your story?

O my awaken star; your home is so far away,
My frightened face; as I am
A little bit foolish .

Kite in the sky which has been seen;
With some false encounters,
Oh light please tie my eyes 
And give your calm soothing touch 
You are as good as my mother,
I walk alone on the path

Oh! My rogue star;
You are deaf to any word,
Why are you in so hurry,
Please cross your path gently.

No dust on your body, and my attitude 
If you keep your hand on it,
And with your wet hands.
Please close my eyes,as I sleep 
During my sleepless nights.

Oh! My awaken star, you are awake 
You have a skyscraper;
I can't touch you at all,
And I feel very lonely.

IT STARTED WITH A BLANK CANVAS

IT STARTED WITH A BLANK CANVAS

Come lay your paint on me, it pleaded
I’m here in this garret, naked and cold
So what could I as a sensitive artist, do
Except comply, dabbing shades of blue
Reaching for indigo, as if I’d been told
Then pausing, to hear what it needed

Canvas relieved it was no longer blank
Stood there proud, and eager for more
As if formally bloodied in its first hunt
And so pleased, I almost heard it grunt
To win this creative battle, if not a war
For every new daub, the muse to thank

Coloured layers, streaks and a smudge
To which even a rainbow might defer
But now an abstract image has its day
It now had a life of its own on display
And for myself, expression is the spur
Unpainted areas still bearing a grudge

Both the brushes and I played our part
The canvas with a coat of many colours
With a final flourish, it is finally signed
And now it seems to have its own mind
It’s access for all, with raised portcullis
Now a painting, perhaps a work of art

Thank You for the Gift

Perched here within my writer’s garret,
among all my dusty books and notes.
I'll bare my soul and try to share it,
all my stories, poems, quips, and quotes.

Sometimes inspiration guides my hand,
but other times nothing to be heard.
It's hard for people to understand,
the struggle to find that perfect word.

Though my attempts might fail, I won’t quit,
like the Phoenix, I will rise again.
If my heart still beats, I know that it,
will have me write and never give in.

Thank you, God, for the gift of story,
I have strained to pen them full and well.
In hopes the world will know your glory,
with my humble words, I've tried to tell.

Slang Footles for Male Names: Part 3

Always Prepared

Ready 
Freddy

The Untamed

Feral
Ferril

What’s in Frankie’s Pockets?

Frankie’s
hankies

Patriotic Guy

Yankee
Frankie

Of the highest Quality

Fraser’s
razors

Small Eater

Grazer
Frazer

The Warlock

Pagan
Fagin

The Brilliant One

Star Glow
Fargo

Something’s About to Happen to Him

Herald
Gerald

Poet

The bard
Gerard

The Mimic

Parrot
Garret

Who Needs Pudding and Pie

Georgie 
Porgie

Good Grief!

Lordy,
Gordy!

Best Things in his Garden

Gerrett’s
carrots

The Stoic

Steely
Greeley

What People Always Say to Him

Really,
Greeley?

The Generous One

Sharin’
Garen

Thrill Seeker

Gnarly
Harley

So Angry

Snarly
Harley

Embittered

Soured
Howard

Not Brave at All

Coward
Howard

What’s in Henny’s pocket

Henny’s
Pennies

The Pest

Vermin
Herman

What Herman Gives Each Sunday

Herman’s
sermons

Why Can’t He Just Stay Home?

Roamer
Homer

Better Than Ice Cream
 
Sherbet
Herbert

Get Him Band-aids

Howie’s
Owies

Nonsensical

Phooey
Huey

Always Amazed

Wowie
Howie

The Overly Sentimental One

Gooey
Huey

Chain Garretty Blonald Rubber Bluck

change garret 
chained up garette 
change up grade 
rubber
blonald bluck

Aimlessness-04

Nineteen ninety one, at the age of six saw the frenzied dance of the cyclone
In the atrocious dark of the night, we were out of sleep, fighting with wild storm
We heard the scream of people, lost our tin shed whole roof with the garret zone
On the waist of uncle I cried out for safe shelter but everyone was in unsafe mourn
In the light of next day I forgot the night and was busy to pick up fallen mangoes in lorn

©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
24/10/2022

Regret

Decisions sometime results in failure;
we start analyzing our behavior.
Many times it is really painful.
Regret comes as natural emotion
can't decide what next, completely broken.

With failure we reflect, ponder defects,
know flaws, look for the ways to solve complex
situation to think of steps special;
Helps to be empathic to others' needs,
aware of what's going on to heed leads.

Yet, with failure no need to be ashamed;
Successful people in the world have failed
the most times, but learned lesson from it, scaled
great heights. Let's not regret, success be aimed.
~X~X~X~
Rosarian Sonnet ::

The elements  are:
-A quatorzain made up of 2 quintains followed by a quatrain.
-Preferably iambic pentameter.
-Rhymed, rhyme scheme aabcc ddbee followed by fggf or bbaa or ffbb etc.
-Pivot or volta L10 or after.

Pasted from http://www.poetrymagnumopus.com/topic/4685-forms-unique-to-poets-garret/#goethe
Thanks to Judi Van Gorder for the resource at Poetry Magnum Opus Site.

Inside His Gloomy Garret

Inside his gloomy garret he thought of each old dream.
How miserably he’d failed with each crazy half-baked scheme.
Embittered he had grown from his every circumstance.
How he loathed his wife, whose only longing was romance!
She had loved him (rich or poor) and that had been no help.
She lay dead near him. In his ears echoed her last yelp.
His final thoughts of anyone were quite uncontrite.
Just one bullet left. A single gunshot sliced the night!

Oct. 28, 2020 for Tania Kitchin's 8 Lines Of Spooky Rhyme Poetry Contest

Searching For Venus

He was weary of prostitutes.
The young ones were vacuous,
their bodies unleavened bread.
The mature models scored
by the violence of disappointment.
Both the naive and the bitter
were dull molds.
He had dissected women, both old and girlish.

On moonless nights carried their corpses,
on muffled barrows to his garret.
By the light of a hundred candles
he had eased flesh apart,
nose swathed in verbena drenched rags,
hands tweaking tissue, tracing
sensuous shapes under dead curves.

He hired women of every class.
The rich were flattered, vain,
the poor always eager to earn.
None made the stone blossom.
It was a matter of timing,
catching her as she emerged
from her littoral crest.
It seemed his models
were always coming to, or moving away
from that conjunction.
yet he kept opening shells
until death took him.

At his funeral
his straight-backed widow,
adorned in darkest weeds,
hid her anger well.
Despising those cold hands
that never knew
how to reveal her.

College

College

Study in your little garret.
Try, in your earnest youth,
To learn the ins/outs
Of mice and men, stars and storms,
The ways of your own future heart.
Fear and Motivation
Await just beyond the ivy covered walls;
So take this time,
Go to underground movies,
Heckle the Bible Thumpers come to save you from your mind.
A little learning can be dangerous, yes
But never so bad as none.
So you play Devil's Advocate over bad coffee,
Worse food 
In featureless halls 
While you bankrupt yourself and your parents.

This is the time of sex experiments upon yourself,
Neurons firing wildly under the influence of chemicals and sleeplessness,
Until one day you wake up,
Pad into some bland communal lavatory,
Splash water on your face to clear the clouds,
Look up into your young impassive face 
And at last begin to study,
REALLY study.

Then somewhere a gate swings softly open,
And a true thinker stumbles forth
Into the growing light 
Of the rest of their life.

Poetic Moments

I live in a garret on 59th street
  above a bookstore and an Irish bar.
  I listen to Classical music on a cheap
  radio and smoke Parliament cigarettes.

  I compose poetry. I feed my creativity
  with whiskey through my afternoons and
  write until my thoughts become mundane.
  There are brief moments of brilliance.

Sick Old Bird: Collaboration

There once was a cranky old parrot
who had all the charms of a ferret.
She went to great ends
to get rid of friends
and now lives in a draft-y garret.

The draft made her sicker and sicker
which caused her to bicker and bicker.
She tried writing verse
which made matters worse
so that she would bicker much quicker!

She couldn't stop coughing and wheezing.
Her vanity there was no pleasing.
The truth of her curse
was no gift for verse
which she blamed on all of the breezing.

This made her get tougher and tougher.
Her verses got rougher and rougher.
She wouldn't stop writing,
but kept on delighting
in making the whole country suffer.

BY DALE GREGORY COZART

The parrot soon dropped off her high perch
From the top of an old silver birch
Now she’s no longer squawking
And her husband is walking
To see the old bird buried in church!

BY JAN ALLISON

Ancient Olga and Her Snoop

Our house has a garret
I never went up to until I retired.
Now I’m up there almost every day 
unless I have to stay in bed
until another spell passes.

When I feel all right 
I’m at the keyboard 
in the garret writing 
looking out the window
one eye on the neighbors.

They’re all doing well 
except for ancient Olga 
who’s on crutches now 
and has a difficult time
getting to her Buick  
especially when it snows.

She knows I’m usually 
in the garret watching
and if she falls I’ll call 911.
But on days when I’m in bed 
with another spell, Olga 
has to be extra careful.
She thanked me once  
for being the only snoop.


Donal Mahoney

I Used To Be a Prefect

I Used to be a Prefect
By Robert (Bob) Moore © 2016
               
I used to be a Prefect, 
when I went to Spurley Hey
I’d be standing at the front gate every day

With my note pad and my pen
I’d see who turned up late
and take their name, and this is what I’d say

If you’re late again this week
your name goes in the book
on Friday, I will come and get you from your class

I’ll take you to Mr. Walmsley
who’ll try to show to you
the being late is not the smartest thing

He wields a real mean strap
and he won’t take no crap
and when it hits, you’ll really feel it sting

There were some I would not book
or after school for you they’d look
Peter Hesketh, and Charlie Garret too

The two best fighters in the school
my mother didn’t raise a fool
so I was always busy, just as they walked through

It seems just like yesterday
they were good times at Spurley Hey
I hope your school days, were just as good for you

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