Day 12’s optional prompt, was to write a descriptive prose… to describe in great detail your favorite room, place, meal, day, or person. You could do this in paragraph form. The site advised you could cut unnecessary words like articles and determiners (a, the, that) and anything that isn’t really necessary for content; leave mainly nouns, verbs, a few adjectives and/ or cut the lines where you see fit and, VOILA! A poem! ~ via The NaPoWriMo Website
So with “Day 12’s Prompt” I have chosen a poem from “PoemHunter.com” by French Poet, Charles Baudelaire, and after that is my interpretation to the Challenge!
Happy reading and hope you all enjoy!
You have to be always drunk. That’s all there is to it–it’s the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again, drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you: “It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, becontinually drunk!
On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.”
By Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)
MY GRANDMA’S KITCHEN
The memories etched from my one and only visit, aged six: are still alive and strong.
Back to the place where my mother was raised in County Kerry, Ireland;
And where my grandma spent most of her daily life.
I recall entering this lively place full of action,
The smells hitting my senses and making my stomach grumble,
As my grandma and mom were cooking breakfast there…
The oven was different to our electrical one back at home in Australia,
It was three times the size with a fire burning and was called Aga.
After breakfast was completed in my grandma’s kitchen,
My sister and I were allowed to help with baking morning tea for the farm helpers,
We made ginger bread men and apple pies like I’ve never tasted before,
Simply delicious delights, that I can still recall their taste upon my tongue!
© debradml (2015)