“POEMS ABOUT DOOR HANDLES”, demanded a recent Google search that, happily, turned up this blog. Peter and The Hare are no stranger to Door-Handle promotion on an International scale, and when I thought at how few door [-] handle specific poems there must be out there, I pitied whomever conducted this search.

The Door Handle Poetry Enthusiast’s watering hole must be a very shallow unsatisfying one indeed – perhaps there is, if one is lucky, some kinda shoddily produced photocopied fanzine locally destributed in the village of Spittle-Upon-Wine, specifically for the publication Door Handle Verse, but I doubt it.

I now know my Purpose In Life. Here is a small chapbook’s worth of POEMS ABOUT DOOR HANDLES, for your reading pleasure.

 This poem appears at  Feathertale . First draft below:


What a curious door to open!
There is no other way to enter…
when you say “knob” it makes me giggle –
a British colloquial term for “Penis”.

silver door handle
why do you cry?
you cry metal filings
and I’m sorry you’re so functional.

When did rabbit holes get modern?
an automatic door
persuaded open by the mind.

An appendage for a door,
for forty dusty years,
the moment you went see-through,
the wrinkly man was impotent.

“How necessary are you?”
said the handle to the door,
“More important than you!”
They pushed and pulled and swore.

Five minutes to Lunch,
in the large dining room –

the door stole both my gloves,
forever worn upon
the handle.

The child in the playroom,
thinks of nothing but escape.

Fetch me the medicine,
it is in the cabinet.
Where is the door handle?
It is in the laundry basket.

The jammed door to the Study,
suggests I rest a while.

The Handle’s Messiah,
is perhaps a Man,
who will never think to enter,
because he has no hands.

Salvador Dalí
entered his bathroom
only to find himself
as usual.

Ring the doorbell;
I might not answer,
but you might just cure me
of my tinnitus.

An egg and spoon race,
runs the length of the hallway.

The living room’s for living in –
the door opens upon a zombie.


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