Prompt 427: Borrowed Poetry–Are You Too Good At Goodbyes?

There’s salt in your wound–
I know I know now you’re
hermetically sealed. Impervious.
Hanging onto tragedy,
quickly glancing away.

It’s that Sam Smith song–
the one about being too good
at goodbyes–ahh that was
a suggestion, something wrapped up
thrown out the window.

Does it require nerves of steel?
Always–Marilyn downing a spoonful of
handkerchief pasta, added for good
measure, there’s something else
going on, whichever’s the way
.

She arched her brow in that
preposterous way so we both
absolutely had to laugh.

Prompt: Hey poets, where do you get your inspiration? I give you a piece of music. It spins you into a mood. Then you sort of riff around it and come up with some lines you call a poem. It’s good practice if nothing else. At least you’re being a creator. Your life wants you to create. Create or you’re nothing. Even God was pushed to create. Well, okay, we’ll not speak for God. You’re just being asked to create. Submit here if you like.

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Prompt 426: Borrowed Poetry–Queen Anne’s Rabbits

There was an enormity of space
in the castle, an echoing in
the tapestries, a story in
the high windows and folds of
curtain, a cruel shaking.

There was a depravity, bungling
the soul’s aura in a travesty,
yet it’s yeast-like, a burgeoning
of allegiances but to who?
The queen of England?

Maybe the panning of the camera
in bold omniscient strokes meant
it was too much, much like
irreversible damage.
Like seventeen rabbits.

Or too little of surprising tenderness.
This is mad, you’re mad. Mad logic then–
Queen Anne crushes her stooge’s head
the way Abigail had pressed a heavy
foot over her precious!

Prompt:

Inspired by Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Favourite . If you like, you could write about this or any movie, then submit to our Fall 2019 issue. Read about it here.

For those who’ve not watched the movie the seventeen rabbits represent Queen Anne’s children all of whom have died.