Friday
On a Facebook poetry page we do a lot of picture challenges. It's great fun. This one I posted just few days ago on Facebook. Comments were varied. Most people did say that I had a different point of view than the other writers. See what you think.
Doors
There are too many doors inside my head.
Big doors, thick in varnished mahogany,
Shy doors too, cracked and muddied,
bloody handprints dripping from the frames,
their hinges browned in rust and decay.
For far too long have those doors been closed,
and yet, I always try the handle, listen to the rattle
of their locks . . . they never let me in.
And the creature dressed in black,
a heavy collar (boney white) around
its turkey neck, he tells me tales
of a magical place where the door’s always ajar,
always inviting, holy and just as white and stiff
as that cardboard noose that chokes his throat.
rrw 11-24-14
On a Facebook poetry page we do a lot of picture challenges. It's great fun. This one I posted just few days ago on Facebook. Comments were varied. Most people did say that I had a different point of view than the other writers. See what you think.
Doors
There are too many doors inside my head.
Big doors, thick in varnished mahogany,
shiny
doors with gold inlay knobs,
and
knockers the size of a gardener’s fist.Shy doors too, cracked and muddied,
bloody handprints dripping from the frames,
their hinges browned in rust and decay.
For far too long have those doors been closed,
and yet, I always try the handle, listen to the rattle
of their locks . . . they never let me in.
And the creature dressed in black,
a heavy collar (boney white) around
its turkey neck, he tells me tales
of a magical place where the door’s always ajar,
always inviting, holy and just as white and stiff
as that cardboard noose that chokes his throat.
rrw 11-24-14
No comments:
Post a Comment