Write a poem about entering, or trying to enter, a door.
I read an article about the multi-functional importance of doors in video games which, as a gamer, I had not truly considered before. In “And Ode to the Humble Door,” Andreas Inderwildi writes:
It’s easy to underestimate the humble door. You open it, you go through… And yet, the fundamental nature of doors that makes them seem so mundane also imbues them with a kind of magic. How do I open it? And what could be behind it? A good door is a locus of challenge and mystery; mystery that could give way to delight, wonder, or even a good scare. A good door is a teasing paradox that does everything in its power to entice and invite, but also puts up a decent effort to keep you out, at least long enough to intrigue and fire up your imagination.
Although Inderwildi is writing about the function of video game doors, it’s startling how easily he could be writing about any door that is new to us. We can’t know what waits beyond until we’ve walked through. Will it be surprising? Threatening? Are the pipes leaking? Is the sunlight streaking through the curtains? Is someone there we weren’t expecting? Is the class assembled, the one we’re late to, and we have to find a seat?
Today, write a poem about entering, or trying to enter, a door. You could be outside or inside. The door could be brand new to you or one you’ve opened and closed a thousand times. It could be an imagined door or a real one you’ve used or still use. What do you feel as you contemplate that door? Is it locked? Do you need permission to enter? What is on the other side? Do you know? What do hope for or dread?
“Doors” by Carl Sandburg, the Poetry Foundation Web Site
An open door says, “Come in.”
A shut door says, “Who are you?”
Shadows and ghosts go through shut doors.
If a door is shut and you want it shut,
why open it?
If a door is open and you want it open,
why shut it?
Doors forget but only doors know what it is
doors forget.
