Comments on: Invitation to Poetry: Hidden Rooms

By: Simone's Butterfly

Simone's Butterfly — Mon, 19 Nov 2007 15:17:10 +0000

Stunning images. Love the colour.

By: Anne Sims

Anne Sims — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 17:08:32 +0000

I missed this last week! What wonderful poems. I don’t have one to share, but just a quick thought:
I am reminded of Pixel the cat, from Robert Heinlein’s stories. Pixel was The Cat Who Walks Through Walls, who was too young to know that he couldn’t. Also Aslan, calling us further on and further in…

By: LutheranChik

LutheranChik — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 20:58:16 +0000

What a great idea! My own Friday Poetry Bloggery went on hiatus, so maybe I’ll try this for awhile.

By: Karla MG (Kmamommy)

Karla MG (Kmamommy) — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 18:59:51 +0000

Hi Catherine! Neat, neat idea! Here is a piece I wrote about doors…

The hallway is dim.
The doors are varied,
Though always closed
And windowless.
The path ends here.

But , wait!
I see a ledge.
There’s a fringe hanging down
With a key tied on.

I look more closely.
Yes!
There are strings of light
Faintly gleaming from keyholes.

The path must not end here.
There is a way out of this hall.
But like a young wizard seeking to save his friend,
I must find the right door.

There is only one key.
Patiently, I must try,
For old keys and locks sometimes “stick.”
They must be handled gently.
Turned with a firm, but easy hand.

And so, I search
With hope,
With dreams intact.
Believing that the next room,
Will add to my story.
And believing that
For many closed doors,
God leaves keyholes!

–Karla Grauberger
11/07

By: Waking | Abbey of the Arts

Waking | Abbey of the Arts — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 16:00:46 +0000

[...] ***Make sure you go visit this week’s Poetry Party*** [...]

By: Bobbie

Bobbie — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 07:38:51 +0000

kitty
learned quickly
how to come in his door
without a key

we want to walk through doors the same way
no lock
just pushing it open
and walking through

but humankind has want of a lock
to keep out and in
how strange
open wide the door
to house and heart
come in friend-come in

(my cousin once made up a name she wanted to be Key Lockwood. I thought it was the beet name ever!)

By: Leah

Leah — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 03:43:56 +0000

a long introductory explanation followed by a short piece of prose:

http://thisfarbyfaith.blogspot.com/2007/11/poetry-party-7-hidden-rooms.html

By: Kievas Fargo

Kievas Fargo — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 03:12:17 +0000

The Burning Door
The door conceals the terror, yet leaks
An eerie glow. John Bosco waits
and hears the screams of boys
being tortured. They are trapped
by their humanity, betrayed
by their flesh.

He wants to save them from
the wrath of God. He sees the devil
ensnaring them. They are swallowed whole
by the ravenous mouth in which
fire burns eternal. This is God’s
will, he thinks.

He reaches out to touch the door
and heat singes flesh. He cries out
in pain, and wakes to find himself
in bed. His hand still burns. Is this the
reality of hell? Or is it just a dream
for Catholic boys?

(Read more about John Bosco for the context.)

By: Bette

Bette — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 22:52:36 +0000

Thank you so much Christine. This poem would not exist if it weren’t for your presence and your inspirations.

Scents of life
whispering through a keyhole–
the ancient door . . .
hinged between the harvesting
of seedlings and memories.

b’oki.

By: Pam

Pam — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 16:54:03 +0000

I think this poem must have come in through the door on the right.

Resting its bones

I heard the gentle knocking
and slowly opened the door.

Boldly, the poem marched right in,
laid down and stretched itself out
across my paper.

Black ink draped across whiteness
that I was saving
for other thoughts and dreams.

Despite my surprise,
this poem has come to stay,
resting its bones after a long journey.

Although it entered as a stranger,
I recognize it now as an old friend
as it lays snoozing on the page.