This post was first posted in June 2014. I was doing a poetry project from June 2014 to May 2015. I asked my readers to give me a prompt and I wrote a poem about it. It was working rather well in the beginning but very soon I ran out of readers and prompts. However, I was not giving up and changing it into posting a poem a day and finding an interesting prompt myself. I look fondly back to that time and even have started to write a poem a day at the end of last year. But most of them won’t see any publishing. But here number four of the old “A Prompt A Day for Bee”:
“The Secret in the Snuff Box” again a prompt from Lauren. It appealed to me directly even though no words appeared. It makes me think about old-fashioned men sitting in a salon taking out wonderfully decorated boxes to get a good sneeze. But what secrets could be in there?! Then James Herbert came into my mind. He wrote horror stories and I thought a good old horror in a snuff box would certainly be a secret. I wonder if he ever wrote about one.
Anyway, how to get it in a poem? I need to ponder this… and maybe get my snuff-box out 😉 .
The Snuff Box
High up on grannies shelf the snuff box
tempted me as long as I can think of it,
but granny did warn me:
Don’t touch the thing
because it’s cursed
since granddad went away.
You know he never did come back
from those silly jaunts of his.
The only thing left of him
this cursed box up there.
So, never touch it,
lest you want to fade away like him.
The box it called and called again,
no matter what I did.
I hid, I stared I even dared to hide it in the bin.
Futile all attempts of mine to stay away from it.
At last, I opened it’s dark lid t’was never seen again.
My soul cries out in this dark cage as granddad hushes me:
Be quiet child you do not want another one like me.
It’s our cries that lure the weak and curious souls away
from loved ones and happy lives to enter misery.
I called and called to be released from this ancient curse,
but all it did was cage you in and not deliver me.
So, here we are in solitude, quiet, sad and lost
in this snuff box’s gloomy space hiding its mystery.
Ok, another long one. Hmmm, does that count as a ballad? No, idea. Granny came into the poem because the picture up there is the snuff-box of Keith Williamson’s grandmother. He took the picture.
Was fun though to write it and I hope you love reading it. I am still looking for more challenging prompts from you guys. Jump right in leave a message after the beep 😉 lol