The Door

I discovered a poem today called The Door, by Miroslav Holub. It's the type of poem I like... an invitation.

Doorway at art gallery Port Macquarie with a dear little visitor.

The Door

Go and open the door.
Maybe outside there’s
a tree, or a wood,
a garden,
or a magic city.

Go and open the door.
Maybe a dog’s rummaging.
Maybe you’ll see a face,
or an eye,
or the picture
of a picture.

Go and open the door.
If there’s a fog
it will clear.

Go and open the door.
Even if there’s only
the darkness ticking,
even if there’s only
the hollow wind,
even if
nothing
is there,
go and open the door.

At least
there’ll be
a draught.
Miroslav Holub

Photo taken on Sydney's Northern Beaches
(I want one just like it)

I invite you to open the door today, and create a poem of your own, about what you see, will you join me? Here's mine...

I Opened The Door.

I opened the door
today and I saw,
soft rain falling,
and my mother's dog Emma,
as always,
eager to have her breakfast.

I opened the door
today and I saw,
tiny frangipani flowers on the lawn,
the last of the blooms.
Orange bush orchids bright
contrasting this dull day.

I opened the door
today and I saw,
the ocean in all it's glory,
and a swimming pool of deepest blue.
A horse and a kitchen counter,
shaped like a cue.

I opened the door today. Did you?

Emma