Can You Actually Make Rent Writing Poetry?
Maybe, If You're Invisible
Let’s get the romantic delusion out of the way first. You picture the poet: starving, soulful, subsisting on cheap wine and critical acclaim (mostly unpaid), occasionally publishing a slim volume that sells roughly 37 copies, half to their mom. The idea of making a stable living solely from crafting verse that bears your own name? It sits somewhere between finding a unicorn and achieving cold fusion in your bathtub on the probability scale. The numbers, the market, the sheer cultural drift – it all screams hobby, maybe passion project, but rarely paying gig.
But then, data points, or in this case, people, pop up that complicate the story. Take the curious case of the poet who does pay the bills with meter and rhyme. How? Not by gracing the pages of The New Yorker under their own banner, or by winning prestigious (but often modestly remunerated) prizes. No, this poet makes a living doing something far less glamorous, yet arguably more pragmatic: ghostwriting.
Yeah, ghostwritten poetry. Let that sink in.
It sounds almost absurd. We think of ghostwriters penning CEO memoirs or celebrity tell-alls. But poetry? That most personal, most voice-driven of art forms? Turns out, there’s a surprisingly varied, if decidedly niche, market for verse-for-hire, provided you’re willing to be the invisible hand behind the stanzas.
Consider the client list this particular poet navigates. It’s less "literary journals" and more "functional necessity."
Schools and Universities: Need a pithy couplet for the alumni newsletter? An inspiring verse for a graduation ceremony? A rhyming motto for the new science building? Someone’s gotta write it, and it needs to sound… well, vaguely poetic and appropriately institutional.
Poetry Forums: This one’s intriguing. Perhaps crafting engaging prompts, sample verses, or even critiques under an administrative or generic handle to keep online communities buzzing? It speaks to the labor behind even seemingly organic creative spaces.
Undertakers and Humanist Societies: Here lies a core emotional need. Families grieving, celebrants searching for the right words for a eulogy or memorial – they often want something unique, personal, resonant. A well-crafted, sensitive verse can offer profound comfort, and people will pay for that solace when they can't summon the words themselves. It's poetry as emotional service work.
Travel Writers/Blogs: Need a short, evocative verse to capture the je ne sais quoi of a sunset over Santorini for a travel blog post or Instagram caption? A ghostwritten snippet adds a touch of literary flair without the travel writer needing to be a Keats scholar.
This isn't about crafting the next great epic. It’s about function, utility, and emotional resonance, tailored tightly to a client’s specific need and context. The poet here isn't necessarily pouring their own soul onto the page; they're a chameleon, adopting the required tone, sentiment, and style. They’re the poetic equivalent of a jobbing graphic designer creating logos or a session musician laying down a bassline – skilled craftspeople fulfilling a brief.
The challenges are obvious. Forget name recognition; your best work vanishes under someone else’s byline or none at all. You’re writing to order, which might mean churning out verse that makes your artistic sensibilities cringe. The hustle is constant – finding clients, negotiating rates, invoicing. It requires not just poetic skill but also business acumen, client management, and a hefty dose of ego-suppression.
So, is it possible to make a living writing poetry? This specific example suggests: yes, conditionally. It’s possible if you redefine "writing poetry" away from the auteur model and towards a service-based craft. It’s possible if you find enough disparate clients who need concise, emotionally-tuned language for specific purposes. It’s possible if you’re willing to be the unsung wordsmith, the versatile technician of verse operating in the background noise of commerce, ceremony, and digital content.
It’s not the dream sold in MFA programs. It lacks the tortured glamour of the garret. But for some, it might just be a way to make the meter pay the meter reader. It’s a weird, specific data point that proves, once again, that how people actually make things work often looks nothing like the popular myth.
And that poet, dear readers, is yours truly. I make a very lucrative penny from ghostwriting poetry for these diverse clients. Is it easy? Well, once you suss out the needs of the customer and if you have a modicum of writing talent, then you’re in.
Funeral Communicants, for example, don’t want cheesy rhyming cliches! Here, even a few words that can be recited during a memorial service can become an evergreen.
Here is one I wrote in 2016 that still rakes in steady bucks each month:
The Last Word There is a stillness in this final air, too fragile to bear the weight of words. Silence melds with fragmented memories that linger, then fade like crisp Autumn mists in the glancing rays of early dawn. Snapshots of earlier times, the laughter of children, summer sun on bare arms, a mother’s tenderness. All of these, and more, are now drifting crystals that glister in the closing light. As satin smoothness welcomes the weary traveler whose journey has ended, the story is finished, and this dust is the final reward.