Long Realtor Poems
Long Realtor Poems. Below are the most popular long Realtor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Realtor poems by poem length and keyword.
The house came with ghosts.
Not the subtle kind, either—no
wistful sighs or cool drafts,
just full-blown poltergeist tantrums.
Cabinets slamming at 2 a.m.,
spectral remnants of old arguments
rattling the windows, the smell
of burnt toast no matter
how thoroughly they scrubbed.
Still, the buyer had insisted,
"It’s got good bones."
And it was true: the skeletons
were stable in their stasis.
Antique mahogany banisters
curved like ribcages cradling
the heart of the house. Windows
leaded with panes' frames
mettle enough to turn an afternoon
light into prayers. A fireplace
cozy enough to roast the marrow
of an ox into paralysis without
its animal sense even noticing.
But bones have a way of remembering.
She hadn’t counted on the ruinous
creaks of staircases groaning
as if mourning her descent into ruts.
Nor the basement walls whispering
stock tips from the 1920s—sell
steel; buy radium.
She certainly hadn’t considered
the attic, where—let’s just say
she never liked Victorian dolls,
and now she likes them even less.
Why buy? Why outbid?
Pride, mostly. The rollercoaster
of the auction, the plummet
into calamity sweetened by
elbowing the slick realtor
with his laminated grin. The thrill
of the gavel’s fall, the weight
of a binding contract. She didn’t care
about the dangers of yellow wallpaper
or the weeds growing through the parlor floor.
She didn’t even really need shelter.
But sometimes the juiciest deals
aren’t made with forethought,
only with hunger.
And what’s the value of hunger
without a little haunting to shatter
your comfortable sense of status?
Deception In Soup Creek
There once was a town called Soup Creek amiable and quaint
Filled with all these characters, a perfect picture they'd paint
It was founded to protect the innocent
Where one was welcome to come visit
A bold western saga exquisite
A Mayor, a Sheriff, a saloon proprietor
A bar owner, also a realtor
What comes next you can’t make it up, is true
A charlatan Sheriff who already knew
The saloon owner was a phony too
This is the tale what we thought a young fem,
Claimed she was being stalked by men
who used different user names
All the while she was doing the same
Many here feel used by her deception
Manipulated for her own protection
Even I was dragged in
To keep the adventure going
I was a bit overzealous
Got a vibe she was jealous
Cause I added a twist
And then there’s this…
Whose face is it?
Someone off the internet
Identity theft is what I saw
Or is madam above the law
I uncovered a foul devious charade
Just ego and hubris on parade
Meanwhile she had
Told a few folks who also were played
Madam’s her old self, and is back
With fists ready to attack
Writing about the value of friends
Pshaw, a victim again, it never ends
I don’t have the time for this
I’ll give it to you quick, Ma`am, Miss
What were you thinking, is it mental illness?
Tell the saloon owner, who invites us in for a drink
What in heavens name would Milton think?
I know I should move on gracefully
But it just didn't settle right with me
If lies and deception are your lot
At least you can try better not to get caught
absence was noticeable like the wood yet blessed with nails of plenty
hellfire snuffed out gossiping walls abandoned
vacancy in one's upper regions merely invites painful issues
focus compliments across the forsaken
propped-stand sits Vellums of ex-calf-hides that's flat-parched-rolled
of late scrolled deeds tied scarlet ribbon like a pious girl's hair ditty
furnishing and wall hangings the whole household
all except the mirror mirror on the wall
widow-black then Sister Golden Hair America
methinks it's the wind howling reshuffling some untruths
how does one tease battleship grey adrift weigh anchor
realtor waits parched deed to house and land sits for a signing encore
am I adding that one-size-fits-most-everyone to the bill of sale
again he picked golden she picked Beethoven
that night if truth is not in the heart you'll find it here
back of the mirrored wall bed case Emperors Concerto no America
exacting soul of equal heartbeat climbs a facial grin decent suave farewell
behold a view bears true of song close to his heart forever buried
lunch graveside Filipino traditions his song copied pivotal choice trends
mirror to luster pure strand of gold for an emperor is now placed on hold
INFILTRATION OF MY SEVEN YEAR OLD SON BY THESE BLACK FEMALE PALMETTO BUGS VICIOUS TAINTED DISEAE THESE JAMAICAN CARTEL LATCHED ONTO MY SEVEN YEAR OLD SON FOR YEARS NOW AFTER HIS FATHER WAS BLACKMAILED TO HELP THEM SMUGGLE THIER CARTEL THEY ACTUAL BEGAN TARGETING HIM UNTIL HE WAS NOW OWNED BY THE CARTEL AS THEY CONTROLLED PROBATION AND PAROLE MORE TROUBLE HE GOT INTO THIS ABUSE OF POWER WOULD GIVE HIM ULTIMATUMS TO ACTUALLY HELP THEM ACCESS HIS FAMILY UNTIL THEY ARRIVED DESPERATE ENOUGH TO STAY IN THIS COUNTRY MARRYING HIS KIDS GRANDMOTHER FOR A GREEN CARD I PRAY FOR MY GRANDCHILDREN EXPOSED TO AN ORGY OF SORTS JUST FOR A GREEN CARD JHORE TONI JOHNSON HE STILL HAVE NIGHTMARES SEVERE PTSD I AM AMAZED THAT EVEN THOUGH HE'S GROWN HE TOO IS NOW CONTROLLED BY JAMAICAN FEMALES PERPUTRATING FRAUD UPON HIM MOTHER HERE IN AMERICA BLACKMAILED HIGH SPEED CHASE 123 MILES AND HOUR IN MINNESOTA BY GODS GRACE HE SURVIVED THESE JAMAICAN FEMALES NOW CONTROL MY GRANDCHILDREN THROUGH A FAKE MARRIAGE TWO GRANNY NANNIES EXPOSED TO MY GRANDCHILDREN FOR A GREEN CARD MY PRAYERS ARE WITH MY FAMILY DEAR GOD PLEASE SEND THESE JAMAICAN ILLEGAL IMMIGRANT MULES BACK TO THE MARTHA BREA RIVER STOP IDENTITY FRAUD UPON MY FAMILY JHORE JOHNSON BLACKMAILED MY SON JUST LIKE SHE DID MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND TO ASSIST HER IN HER SCAMMING SHE USED HIS BIRTH CERIFICATE SHE PERPUTRATED FRAUD UPON ME EXCEPT FOR MY MIDDLE NAME SHE USED YOLANDA E KING ODDLY A REALTOR IN WEST PALM BEACH PERPUTRATED FRAUD UPON ME AND MY VETERAN SPOUSE ATTEMPTING TO PURCHASE PROPERTIES FRAUDULENTLY HERE IN FLORIDA SEVERE FRAUD ALERT MY HUSBAND AND I NEVER SIGNED FOR ANY PROPERTY OUTSIDE OF OUR HOME HERE IN FLORIDA JAMAICAN SCAMMERS MULES IDENTITY FRAUD SHAME ON YOU MANIPULATING MY SON SINCE AGE SEVEN WITH THE MURDER OF RASTA YAGA ANDREW HICKS PALMETTO BUG DOWN SANT JAMES PLACE I WILL NEVER EVER FEAR YOUR ROOT VOODOO UPON MY SON AND GRANDCHILDREN IN BONDAGE BY THE RED DREADLOCKS YOUR FEET MOVING SWIFTLY BREAKING INTO MY HOME FLEA FROM MY FAMILY JAY JHORE JOHNSON I REBUKE YOU YOUR MOTHER TONI JOHNSON AND ALL OF YOUR WORK GOD BLESS AMERICA
* Just a note to mention that I posted a blog regarding the final results of testing for toxins from the Ohio Train Derailment that I have been writing about.
They found numerous chemicals including up to 20 dioxins in the soil here and matches to the chemicals that were on the train in the Ohio Derailment. More analysis is being done before it may be included in their news updates on the news.
I knew it had sickened me here with the snow March 1st and all the wildlife changes etc, but the amount of chemicals is shocking.
A lot to figure out now. Dioxins are the worst you can find and cannot be broken down or removed. My old realtor says the property cannot be sold as usual due to all the serious toxins.
The phenol benzene that was detected on my tree also causes stomach and esophagus issues, low red cell count, all that I have now.
The dioxins cause skin lesions and I am dealing with those with infection now too. The health issues go fast and what is happening in nature with the trees lately is so fast too.
I am working hard at lots of leads for this situation. Thank you to those bearing with it and supporting my poetry even when my muse is gone.
Most local folk lore is intended to unnerve but
I think there's validity to the Haunted horse shoe curve.
The building of our nations rails took a terrible toll
on the Irish, the Chinese, and many other souls..
This was once a very thriving railroad town,
now the population dwindles yet some ghosts
still stick around..
Three years ago I bought my condo in a bit of haste.
I never asked my realtor for a ghost reading of the place..
It's a building designed for seniors so obviously some passed on.
Apparently there's one who is not completely gone,
it's small like a child, might be a leprechaun?
This is factual and not some kind of joke,
in our non-smoking building there's a faint cigar smoke.
Drawers and doors will open where there's no other folks.
Some times out of the corner of one eye, a shorter fleeting
person quickly passes by..
Similar experiences have been reported from coast to coast but are
they actually signs of a visiting ghost?
Initially I read up on ghosts and did a bit of learning,
promptly I bought some sage and had my first burning..
Now I just play tambourines and ring a loud bells to chase
away any stuck energy that dwells.
Living with this ghost has not been a big deal.
Some times I just interrupt it's energy field..
If per chance I should get stuck before I'm safe and heavenly.
I pray that some one out there will do the same for me..
There’s a basement flat at Central Presbyterian.
However, you’ll have to share with two other women.
The followed pattern here is living in harmony.
Living outside fellowship is contradictory.
She replied, “I don’t want to share. I live on my own.
I have my life. I don’t care about what you condone.
Mr. Phillips responded, “Why? What purpose is there?
Everyone has their domiciles willing to share.
Cecelia answered, “What does the word ‘purpose’ mean?
Do you have places for an individual’s scene?
With a bit of reluctance, he said he had a few.
Then Mr. Phillips expressed the town’s common value:
“Prester differs from other communities a lot.
The Network News described us in a four-minute spot.
We live for and love God in everything that we do.
Also, please tell me, what denomination are you?”
Cecelia maintained reticence on this one thing.
She would not show her denomination as nothing.
Mr. Phillips repeated his question. She would say:
“I can dream about whatever I want any day.
If I want to go to Paris, or other city;
dreams are my own. They’re my individuality.”
The realtor asked her, expressing curiosity:
“What do you dream about mostly?” He listened closely.
Unafraid of him, she said “Sexual things, mostly!”
He would look away when hearing those words she would say.
Responding, “Prester is not that kind of town today.”
To be continued
*Image of The Old Shed by Pixabay.
Still Here
He was the tourist trade foremost embellisher,
his Aloha shirts receptive then, and
now respecting a closet.
Regale lava-covered isles, swathed in white flags,
succumbed to skyscrapers,
and tremendous crowds.
His chord, an isolated tool, tranced the sways,
encased uke leans on clutter,
a harmonica tags the bestilled.
A kid drilled, backs out a Chevy, to looks of relief.
Rusty toolbox by a heap,
chanced ferns sprouting rights.
On a mat with a bloody nose head back, learns to block,
gloves on a wall...glad to know how to defend,
and glad to have the seldom use of it.
Handheld twirling blade lawnmower, a sickle, and rake.
An old tool shed, shelved three wood handles
minus their mettle, as well as their mentor.
You paid a buck for our house...realtor extraordinaire,
and mom's limited knowledge about land, you
left her the trust and deeds~you both left me.
It has been beyond years, young that you were, a period
I furthered. Gone too soon, yet there's so much
of you still here, that it dawns~you've never left.
*For my dad, Joe; 1931-1989.
2023 January 20
*HM*
You Select
~Brian Strand: Judged 2023 January 21
What Dad Did
Friends from the nearby projects bike over e'er since we had hit-it-off
and dad atop his makeshift throne, food aplenty, points to the nearby ladder.
Time is October 1973, it was on a Sunday and this day was to be the best-of-seven playoffs of the World Series.
Home from church, mom out with the sisters while dad says, "No
shame, just serve yourselves," as we began to watch our Oakland A's
engage the NY Mets.
None of us had known that our dad would have made the rooftop into makeshift bleachers with our TV propped on scaffolds from our neighbor, the painter, who was sitting next to dad.
I need to point out a fact and that is, our homes are basically in the shadows of the Oakland Stadium.
Dad, a realtor, was also a part-time stadium worker and had moved us to Oakland, getting us in the 1972 World Series when they played at home, as it was Oakland A's 1st win since 1930.
He had subbed our rooftop, that being his day off, as A's won again.
Fireworks blast the last evening air for the World Series to conclude in daylight. It will not return to evening hours until 2020.
Dad was the best for I had realized what he did and why he did it.
They were my friends, and though they were ashamed of the projects where they lived, we all knew from the start that we were never ashamed of our colors.
2021 May 16
From a loud-mouth, world’s cease-fire arranger
To desperate man as if in manger,
Who when naught was rendered,
Panned, having surrendered,
And what is worse than that,
For a rival to bat,
Dubbed as salesman and Putin’s messenger!
_____________________________
Happenings | 37.08.2025 | USA, humour
Note: Meeting between Trump and Putin in Alaska. Boasts galore and no more boats to reach the coast across! Putin conceded little, trump ceded his boasts, reduced from being a realtor president to a salesman and messenger to relay Russian terms to EU and Ukraine. But the deal maker that he is, Trump might still get Russian oil to flow in the world easing prices, access rare earths from Ukraine, and his coveted Nobel peace prize.