Best Doorknob Poems
I never saw your writing
against the silent wall
I never heard those footsteps
walking to the door
Like a sunset shadow
you faded in my dusk
Left upon my doorknob
just a venetian mask
A mask with many faces
and unforgotten past
A thousand million secrets
and questions never asked
No please,don't go reminding me
of a time before
Of those wistful moments
that now I don't recall
The stonehenged shrine of my heart
is over six feet tall
Cracks do let the light in
but the wall resists to fall
No please,don't go reminding me
of a time before
Of those wistful moments
that now I don't recall
Was there ever a vision
with the beauty of your eyes
Was there ever a fire
with the passion of our nights
Was there ever a sweet warmth
where velvets bled a rose
Was there ever a seashore
where my fingers brushed your toes
Was there ever a tree trunk
where stars have carved our dream
Was there ever a stream walk
where our starved lips weren't sealed
No please,don't go reminding me
of a time before
Of those wistful moments
that now I don't recall
The stonehenged shrine of my heart
is over six feet tall
I never saw your writing
against the silent wall
The Wall - Contest Sponsored by Anthony Slausen.
It is Christmas Eve, all preparations for the day are done,
My hand grabs the doorknob as I step out to take a stroll,
On this peaceful night the village is silent, and I see no one,
Walking under the warm glow of a decorated streetlight pole.
I stand and gaze at the windows of the house next door,
Where a tree glows with bubble lights and tinsel strands,
Three stockings holding wishes, await over the fire's roar,
A scene straight from a dream, so wonderful and grand.
Glancing upwards, as the clouds glide across the moon,
Silver stars are out mingling with the drifting snowflakes,
A sight to enjoy here and now, for morning will be here soon,
A beautiful Christmas memory, deep in my heart to take.
Only one car comes up the street, as I walk along our lane,
Just a friendly snowman is there to greet me with a hello,
I stop, adjust his top hat, and reposition his pipe and cane,
This cold-hearted man has made a child smile, I know.
My ears lead me to the street corner where carolers sing,
As those old familiar notes drift towards me on the air,
More sounds seem to awaken as the bells distantly ring,
I felt nothing but a warming glow as I was standing there.
Somehow in the late of nighttime,
a wooden door's front lantern brings
me to a table where strangers
from a distant tavern grow more animated
with a litany of stories
and ramblings inscribed on their life’s hinges.
Varied tones reminisce detailed inlays
of personal anthologies framing their eyes
with joy or regret, etched by languid memories
as I listen to orations of wise men and laborers
where intimacies are safe inside a door...
each one relating a brew of sentiments
over mugs of ale and wine.
Just then, I hear my own man’s language
reflected through the crowd’s noises,
piercing my flesh with a tinge of awareness...
while opening the doorknob, I begin to search
for him under a vault of moonbeam,
reminded now of the times I forget
to understand his longing to connect
with me ,to embrace his thoughts deeply
in silence...without question or restraint.
---------
6/21/2015
rob carmack's Screwed V
Theme: door
*This is another somewhat dark poem. I share my truth on this site because it helps me cope to write it out in poetry. I’ll shift to lighter things after this. This is my truth currently as I am working through bouts of P.T.S.D. God bless you.
Suffer the Night
By: Meghan C. Hutchings
One teardrop falls heavily, my optic release
A nightly reminder of my loss of peace…
I write down these words to offer me hope
Support from kind hearts and freedom to cope…
‘Twas not long ago, I shadowed a queen
Décor adorned walls, a sight to be seen…
A dream place to rent, a job from my room
A view from the top, no omens of doom…
Gradually, oxygen bled out and I cried
My asthma flared badly, gasping…I tried…
Cloudy, my home filled with second-hand pot
The origin unknown, I yelled out a lot…
I slept on my balcony, a queen nevermore
I begged the office, police, no one cared to explore…
To tell on another, to the weak is a crime
No names did I give; I’d still serve my time…
Banging on walls, picking my door lock, I heard
Frozen in terror, more threats came in words…
Chunks thrown at my windows, three stories high
Grateful my screen saved a hit in the eye…
I knew at that point I had to get out
I shuddered at nothing; the wind made me shout…
Noises and banging, voices all night
Smoke and my doorknob heightened my fright…
After I moved, I thought I’d find peace
Honestly, though, my fears didn’t cease…
To this very date, when darkness paints light
I tremble, hear voices, then suffer the night…
in a dusty old Amsterdam attic
Anne Frank finds refuge
outside the menacing Gestapo
seeks wordsmiths to persecute
Anne adds another page to her diary
memories of Frankfurt
blurred by pains of hunger and fear
her pursuits tempt Gestapo
if Anne played an instrument or sang opera
She’d be saved merely to entertain
fear makes her a prisoner of the pen
starving artists in hiding leaning on each other
seeking strength to continue
but Anne is alone
are more souls needed for the death camps
must writers trade pens for weapons
late is the hour as Anne's eyes strain to stay open
as she drifts off, the attic’s doorknob turns
~One key
Two keys
Three keys~
B R E A K my walls of passion as we turn doorknob number o n e,
young love started a romantic destiny meant for only you and I.
So many months turning into years of traveling and creating fun,
for the vows we swore released a lifelong commitment...
...we do sanctify.
“Sneak in quietly the babe's asleep…” as we turn doorknob number t w o,
our family has begun and life is hectic with the cooing and the crying.
Although it seems chaotic at times deep down we always knew,
this was the dream we always hoped for without hesitant denying.
“Welcome son! Please walk right in!” as we turn doorknob number t h r e e,
“oh get over here sweet Ella and tell me all about your school day!
I’m so delighted to catch up and laugh, and see your beautiful family,
there’s nothing like being grandparents, oh how I wish you could stay.”
So many keys are made to fit so many doors into our adoring futures,
from youth grown into a loving marriage, and now grandparents are we.
Our souls connected the first time we glanced; became sewn on sutures,
to think this life was born behind closed doors using three simple k e y s.
Date Written: July 15, 2016
Rhyme Scheme: ABAB-CDCD-EFEF-GHGH
Original Contest Entered: Three Keys Contest
Date Judged: July 20, 2016
For Contest: I Got Zero, Nothing, Nada- 2 - Poetry Contest
Sponsor, Broken Wings
Memories, Long Sad Journey,
Bitter cold that Saturday morning, late in November 1969, I could see my breath parading before me. No breakfast as I had quietly left the house and started my slow walking trek back to our old home.
Memories flooded my brain with each new turn along that dusty road. Along with questions about why I was now so rebellious. Quicker, walk quicker my heart and soul demanded. Do you not want to touch the bedroom door where you father slept? Slept before that long dark sleep. Slept in such pain and sorrow? Yes, bellowed back my invisible friend.
frosty morning dew
loose pebbles crunched beneath feet
earth, morning sky paled
Halfway there, with my heart racing and anticipation heightened
I could almost imagine a real touch. A real touch, of he now lost, to all eternity!
What wild thoughts come to a teenage soul and mind in its greatest of pains and sorrows. Can death be denied? Can one bring back even for the briefest moment a loved one.. A father, a beloved father!
blackbirds silent view...
light ahead, welcomed beacon
wrapped in winter's sheen
Walking up the short drive and onto the front porch. Only gone away half a year and such change found! Silence, silence engulfed my thoughts. Struck numb as I entered our vacated home. Home were my father had exhaled his last breath. Hand shaking as I reach for that doorknob..
What would I see? His ghost? Would I dare touch his ghost? I walked into cold, lonely room,nothing!
No smile, no hug, no long awaited touch! Only tears, tears by the bucketful.
What had I come to find? Was I crazy to want to see, talk, touch one more time?
one old shoe, lonely
broken window, dusty mounds
bleak abandoned walls
I knew, knew with certainty that this was it. Life gave no overs and no going back to happier times. Terror of that reality, would it ever leave. Would it?
Father is dead and my life is over. I walked out into this dark world ready to fight. Fighting to be left alone, with my never ending sorrow and its sweet cuts. Cuts embraced to keep my rage, to yet again feel something, defeat the icy numbness in a rebellious teenager's aching heart.
Robert J. Lindley, August 5th, 2017
I’ve been here many times before
The door still wears the same coat of paint
The gold colored doorknob
Have only few patches of gold left
The years of wear and tear evident
Sliding it open that old familiar smell
Wafts pass me, as if in a rush to escape…
The emptiness screams at me
In a fight to jolt my memory
Alas it’s not necessary
I use to spend days here
Recollection comes naturally
Days of lying on the couch
Soaking up the fresh sea breeze,
When the day was almost done
You sitting in your favorite chair
We would talk for hours at a time
Now all that’s left are memories
Laughter is gone and with it the sun
Too many open spaces
In this place where love use to dwell…
My trembling started as a small shudder, but quickly grew.
What’s happening?
A look of confusion and helplessness on my face,
I had no idea of what was about to pass.
The mix of worry filled me with fearfulness,
while my stomach only grew too nauseated
by the thought of his touch I hated.
He covered my mouth and said, “Don’t make a sound.”
My terrifying silent screams echoing in my mind,
as my body moved with the impact of his hips, I find
it engulfed in tearing at my soul being ripped apart.
“Please,” I begged hoarsely, my eyes beseeching him to stop,
but his gazed lust ignored my pleas.
No matter how much I pleaded with my tormented eyes.
It's dark; once again,
fear of emotion penetrated through all my muscles
all the way to my bones,
as I hear his footstep outside my room while my mother sleeps.
The doorknob slowly turned, opening the door.
Stepping in, he slowly approaches pushing back the covers
and crawls next to me in bed.
Ten years have passed since I left home.
The scars reappeared in my mind,
when I saw the evil start walking toward me.
Why? I asked myself,
as I clench my fist and anger raged through me.
His image brought back the nightmares of fear and distress.
Tortured scream that use to make me jerk from out of bed,
making my whole body shake.
Wishing to slap him for the torture I went through,
instead a cold glaring look,
and turned and walked away wishing him dead.
7/31/2017
Under her blanket of protection,
she lies still to escape detection.
As shadows gather in the moonlight,
anxiety grows during the night.
Her heart's pounding in a rush of fear,
apprehensive that he may be near.
And she waits for the doorknob to turn,
igniting hate's indelible burn.
The door creeks open, her eyes snap shut,
and panic ties a knot in her gut.
As her panties get slowly pulled down,
tears flow, and he counters with a frown.
She is in shock, and the games begin
as fingers stroke her shivering skin.
And alone at night, he breaks her heart,
innocence dies, and trust falls apart.
A father molests his precious pearl,
numb to the pain of his little girl.
And her mother, blind to his deceit,
makes her daughter's suffering complete.
Silence filled the room
The clock goes tick-tock
tick-tock
No life is breathing
slowly, slowly
The horror fills the silence
glaring, glaring
It's too late now
shattering. shattering.
The silence that fills us all
walking, walking
High heels clicking
The click on the doorknob
Shaking, shaking
The foor opens, in comes
a person, a head
The eyes are staring
Silence, Silence.
How to Find the Shop
A whispered map for the bold, the broken, and the slightly curious.
--A cryptic guide for those who seek the odd, the magical, and the mildly cursed.
Read at your own risk.
Side effects may include wonder, confusion, and spontaneous teleportation.
It won't be there when you're looking.
But it might be
when you're lost.
Look for a door between bookstores--
one that blinks
and breathes.
Its doorknob may feel like bone
or a melted spoon,
depending on your mood.
Ignore the “Closed Forever” sign.
It's just for the faint of heart.
Step inside.
Yes, it will smell like burnt sugar, wet moss, and something
you loved in a past life.
That’s normal.
The walls shift. Don’t panic.
They’re just shy.
The shopkeeper will appear eventually--
a shadow with a crooked grin
and a name you’ve almost remembered once in a dream.
Do not ask for discounts.
Do not touch the orb labeled “Oops.”
Do not feed the candle.
But do browse.
Take your time.
The items may choose you.
When you leave,
you won’t know how you found it--
only that it found you.
And the catalog in your pocket
now has a new page
you don’t remember writing.
Gives that “you just found the secret code” energy.
MysticMisfits Product Line™
Coming soon to a dimension near you…
or already hiding in your junk drawer.
Rain beats against the window,
As my little boy leans his brow
And little hands against the cool glass,
Staring, longing to go out.
His eyes light up with joyous excitement;
Grinning from ear to ear,
For down the hall by the door
He sees his sister's red and white polka-dot umbrella.
Glimpsing around to make sure no one is looking,
With quick steps across the floor he goes to the door.
He rises on his tiptoes,
Reaching and wrapping his little fingers
Around the doorknob.
Slowly opening the door ajar,
He seizes his sister's umbrella.
Pushing the button he pops it open
And slips away unnoticed.
The pitter-patter of rain strikes the umbrella
He holds high above his head,
As he runs across the yard
To the old wooden bench in the pouring rain.
Jumping he grabs a wooden slat
And struggles to climb on the wet slippery bench,
Springing high his little feet finally makes it up.
Bouncing up and down,
Screeching with enthusiasm giggles
watching the colorful rainbow,
Soaking wet,
He holds on to the back of the bench.
6/19/2020
Click
In the dimming light of her bedroom,
a child sits facing the wall in her bad chair.
She has to go potty, but she doesn’t dare.
So she stares at the wall in the gathering gloom.
Click
Her mind is swirling with fear as the curtains billow in the wind,
lightning streaks the night sky like a strobe light out of sync,
clipped exposures of the little girl shaking on her chair,
waiting for what’s coming with the thunder.
Click
The doorknob turns . . .
A wedge of light blinds her.
The witch stands outlined in shadow on the wall before her.
The child is no longer there, gone in the wisp of a blown out candle.
The wind and wickedness pursue her into a vileness she cannot bear.
Click
Circling in the broiling sky
is the nightmare that haunts her dreams,
Her little legs move as though caught in an undertow, dragging her back . . .
Screams choke in her throat.
The evil comes,
riding its burning broom on the thunder - screeching her name like a banshee.
Click
Screams pierce the night.
She promised herself she wouldn’t this time,
but the knife embedded in her back –
it’s the same every damned time.
Click. Flash.
Thirty years have passed and she has beaten the dream.
The spectre has left her and she is no longer afraid to sleep. . .
. . . except when the curtains billow in the wind
and lightning streaks the night sky
screams pierce the night.
the bottle bounced,
said shatterproof.
kids have to do it
more than once.
mom’s countenance
shatterproof -
probably laughed
behind the scenes.
more likely created
creases, mad lines.
when our kids
don’t show up
on time -
when the watch
ticks slowly
fear growing…
anger ticking,
if relieved
by the doorknob
jiggling…
shatterproof,
no explosion,
just quiet,
sheer silence,
no glance,
no hello
when ya know
you’ve completely
screwed up
shatterproof
at remembrance,
when your kids
likewise
turn the key
recklessly
if they’ve made it
home, you sigh
with relief,
with epitome,
with resignation,
knowing they’re stepping
into the whole wide world
…have you made them
shatterproof?
tears at times
…when ticketed
…heartbroken
…pregnant
We survive
We are alive
S H A T T E R P R O OF
6/24/2023