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Check it out!

https://www.chch.ox.ac.uk/research-and-academia/enter-tower-poetry-competition

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The Key,
Cold and smooth,
Smooth and dark,
Dark as night

The Key,
Ready to discover,
Ready to display,
The truths of the past

The Key,
That changes lives,
For the worse,
Or better

The Key,
That is looking,
Longing,
For truth

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I tried to do a shape poem:

Keys come in

all shapes and sizes.

It                               may

be                                  a

rusty                      key to

a pirates      chest or

a fragile key

to a

heart.

For
you

see, it

doesn’t

matter

what shape it is, all that

matters is that

it unlocks something beautiful.

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Smile.
It's the
key that fits
the locks on
everyone's
bitter hearts.
melting the darkness away.

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The key

A key,

So special,

Can hold so much,

In just a few cm of metal,

Opens the locks,

Of everything,

It’s called a key.

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I felt locked
The key to my sanity had vanished.
Frozen, like a bolted door
Purposeless unless unlocked
Inadequate without its partner
Only the key could replenish my senses.

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The Key
What is it?
Now people may think it’s,
A piece of metal scrap,
But really, are you sure about that?

Now a key is a funny thing,
Yes, it opens doors,
But doors can lead to your fate.
Or it could be a metaphor?
But how you perceive it,
The key,
I am not sure.
Because you find your own key,
And unlock your own door.

(By Zahra Choudhury 7T)

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It opens, it locks

It can open something new,

Something forgotten, something lost

Something unseen, something hidden.

A secret, treasure

A whole new adventure.

It can lock away history.

A key holds mystery and power.

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A.k.a. “Call to the Birds”

Call to the birds on the lilac wind.

Call them, and don’t be afraid.

Ask them the key to their flying,

Ask them how that key is made.

Gaze down to the blooms of the summer nights;

Look down to the petals so small.

Petals, the keys to their beauty,

And yet keys that, one day, have to fall.

Ask the artists, each painting a world

Of the picturesque key to their crafts.

The writers, twisting the could-have-beens —

What ‘key’ keeps them writing their drafts?

Look to the world all around you,

So full of its pathways to give.

And within all its things, even offbeat and small,

Are the keys that allow us to live.

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(It’s a haiku)

A key, not normal
Three letters long, one vowel
Not normal at all

A key can be weird
Physical, to open houses
Metaphorical

A key to your heart
Weird, wonderful and deadly
Strange and yet unique

Opening some things
And shutting others away
Good, bad or useful?

Not everyone has
A key, not you and not me.
Only some people.

They have the power
To share possibilities
And lock things away

It can be any shape
Big or small, fat or thin, even
Hokey or complete

Helpful or not, round
Or long. A piece of yourself.
Stolen from someone.