Stood behind this barricade,
where old hinges produce ancient sounds
and slivers of warmth burn my toes
as they battle with drafts,
I was the knight,
the blush that turned yellow
as a single stroke of your painted nails
peeled me from my armour.
Author notes
Edits : 1
A contest entry
- in the dialect of doors by Nicolette.
1050 points, ended August 27, 2008, 28 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Critique Requested
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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i really like that last line best of luck in the contest
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Tend to agree the 'old' is not necessary twice but the rest of the piece works well on images level.
C
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I liked the voice here... it's open as the door and allows the reader so many ways of interpretation. I too found the repetition of old in the 2nd line unnecessary, but then it does emphasize the quality of the hinges and the sound. This is lovely poetry and a creative take on the contest theme. Thank you for this entry.
~ Nicolette
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I love that you began in the thick of things. Stood is good word to start with.
I didn't much care for the repetition of old in the second line, but felt that it worked. It is just my style preference. I would have said 'rusty' or 'ancient' hinges, but then again, I would have been cliche.
'I was the night
the blush that turned yellow'
THAT is one amazing metaphor. It flows nicely into your ending. Marvelous. -
I love that you began in the thick of things. Stood is good word to start with.
I didn't much care for the repetition of old in the second line, but felt that it worked. It is just my style preference. I would have said 'rusty' or 'ancient' hinges, but then again, I would have been cliche.
'I was the night
the blush that turned yellow'
THAT is one amazing metaphor. It flows nicely into your ending. Marvelous.
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Soft but reflective. I think this piece grips something new and strange from you - well, at least for me. It's pure and welcomes more than interpretation.
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