I have a huge fascination with doors.  It started in Florence years ago.  When everything is shut the doors we see are amazing, and this is saying a lot when you consider the beauty of Italian shop fronts.  The doors come in brilliant colours both dangerously dark and almost peacefully plain if such a thing is possible in a Florentine piazza. Some wear intricately fine details carved with love to display their bold and bloodthirsty history, or the romantic foibles of bygone ages. They are often splendid choices of timber that beg a soft caress from your fingertips, or stunningly rich in modern colours creating a feast (or nightmare) for the eyes.

You will note, at least I hope you will, that I make some sort of reference to doors in all my books.  I can’t help it.  I love them and what can be so fiercely represented by them.  They are symbols of the unknown, of things waiting to be discovered and like this writer they are story tellers, each and everyone, and begging for the opportunity to have you stop, open and listen.

Hope you enjoy this short poem entitled Don’t Shut the Door.  I have also provided a link to my pintrest “doors” story board where doors in all shapes and sizes, and from all over the world, are worshipped with glee.

I tried so hard

I tried so long

I turned each card

I heard each song.

Every single time

I sought the rhyme.

You know the one,

It begins the fun.

I ran towards the road

Breaking every traffic code.

I ran towards the church steeple

Praying for less elusive people.

I ran back home

Too tired now to roam,

Too many answers yet to find

Too many faces so unkind.

Yet I still had hope

And the ability to cope,

Until I slammed

Into the door.

You know the one

It lands you on the

Floor

And stops the fun.

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Ciao

Barb