iron gates

Written for:  The Twiglets #174 – “through iron gates”

What will I find
on the other side
of iron gates?

Cold to the touch
like the bars
on cages in the zoo

weeds twist on brown grass
neglect shows sorry face through
rusted iron gate

There once was a young girl named Kate
who played alone behind an iron gate
Her vicious old aunt
kept her in like a plant
’til Kate escaped. Her aunt withered away from hate.


About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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2 Responses to iron gates

  1. Jules says:

    oooh…. iron can be so cold.
    I was watching a reno show and this particular set of folks liked to take off iron decorations that didn’t belong on the style of homes where it was seemingly haphazardly added.

    Your Limerick reminds me of the horror flick “Red Rose” … just a tad anyway. Or the Winchester house where the ‘spirits’ kept the woman building additions all of her live long days.


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