PROMPTuesday #56: Touched by An Angel

The below song was inspired by a poem that Stevie Nicks wrote about an…


…Well, I’m not going to tell you yet. I don’t want to put premptive ideas in your head.


I don’t know about you, but I love imagining a writer at work. Often I picture a silent back bent over paper or a keyboard and white birds overhead and light halos and fingertip fires. I think about that when I listen to this song and see Stevie Nicks at a piano in a room full of angel muses.


SO to bring the creativity loop full circle, I’m now asking you to listen to the song that was begun by a poem and write your own poem inspired by the song. (Got that?)


This exercise is a bit of a double entendre if you believe that creativity comes from the divine.


Which, I believe it does. (How you define divine is entirely up to you.)



First time to PROMPTuesday? Welcome! Read a bit about this weekly writing exercise here.

Want to see what’s been written in the past? Catch up on the PROMPTuesdays archive here.


8 Responses to “PROMPTuesday #56: Touched by An Angel”

  1. kate says:

    poems are hard. but i will write a poem. inspired by the song. because i’m nice like that. and you? make me a better writer.

  2. kate says:

    but i’m not good at understanding poetry. like, what if i totally miss the point? oy.

  3. […] Deb chose one Stevie Nicks angel tune, I immediately thought of another, from the Tusk album, simply called […]

  4. Da Goddess says:

    I broke the rules, I think. Okay, I know I did. But I went all stream of consciousness with it, so it’s still Stevie and still in poem form. That’s cool, right?

  5. San Diego Momma says:

    Call to me a gut-filled chortle

    not light, no billows


    Swallow sobs with dark sponge

    not geyser nor prism


    There’s drawn faces, two lies

    not choices, no dice


    Peck and dry, invert its pockets

    to receive not buffet nor plume


    So grey night abides

    all starboard and aft

  6. Da Goddess says:

    Wow, Deb. Just…WOW!

    The imagery alone is fantastic. Goosebumpy stuff.

  7. Deb: Your poem is beautiful.

    Here’s mine:

    The Only Secret

    the truck driver
    who calls his wife
    every night
    just before seven.

    he knows.

    the girl who waited
    by the swings for a turn
    that never came,
    who buries her face
    in her mother’s lap
    and wishes she could
    be there forever.

    she knows.

    and the gentleman
    out on a walk
    with his collie
    who gasps as the dog
    runs out into traffic,
    who hears the thud and runs
    headlong into the street,
    who strokes the dying pet —
    whose tears consecrate her
    as she leaves him.

    he knows, too.

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