The lock is stiff, the heavy wooden door
On rusted hinges creaks as I walk in.
Tonight I am to sleep here in this lighthouse.
It’s twenty years since last its scything beam
...
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Peter, I loved this night of sharpened senses and a glimpse into the world of the invisible. Julia
Caught myself looking over my shoulder even tho' I don't believe in ghosts, and I could hear the low of the foghorn. How still and eerie the night, and how vivid your memory of things like brass buttons and mutton chop whiskers. Fantastic mind pictures. Linda
Fantastic imagery in this poem Peter. I particularly enjoyed the alliterated words sprinkled throughout. Well done. I shall read more of your work. Regards, Sherry Pedersen
You did well in creating a mood. We were there with you all the way. Good poem. Raynette
Well, no matter what everyone would like to call it..........it's beautiful. You really transport the reader to the lighthouse with you and that's hard to do. Great job. Sincerely, Mary
How nostalgic for you...yes, this is full of memories and atmosphere, but I think you do it injustice not to work at it more and get some rhythm and meter going. Maybe shorter lines and more meter? I loved it. I wouldn't be content to sleep on it.
Hey..K, those who can't do.....CRITICIZE. :) , By the way cool poem Pete, One of my favourites.
Well to tell u the truth i wouldn't call that a poem it is a kind of short story written in a poem FORMAT BUT KEEP IN MIND THAT I AM NOT A POET but it is coollllllll!
Such a mystery. Thanks for sharing this night with us.