This post answers to Eugi’s weekly prompt which is “Midnight”:
“Bonsoir, mes cheres,” said Beatrice, the French host of this weeks poetry club meeting, when all four middle-aged ladies were assembled in her garden room. Marjory sat as usual on the thick wooden plant shelf with her back towards the windows into Beatrice’s impeccable garden. Beatrice smiled as she remembered Marjory entering the room for their first meeting of the MuPAG short for “multi-lingual poetry appreciation group”. Marjory just looked outside in disgust, moved a flower pot to the side and sat down facing the room. She never said a word about Beatrice’s garden but all ladies knew what she thought. There was a tiny french white table in the middle of the round room with four equally tiny chairs at which the other two already sat. Gertrud sat upright and looked at the paper in her hand to review her poem for today’s meeting while Marijke simply relaxed and took a sip of the coffee in the beautiful thin porcelain cup with intricate flowers in all colours. The sun stood low and gave the room a warm soft light. It smelled of coffee, tea and apple tart.
Beatrice sat down a little away from the table so Marjory was more included in their circle on her perch. Marijke sighed. “Your apple tart is just so delicious. How do you do it?” Beatrice smiled as the others agreed with Marijke. “Family recipe and baking it for nearly 30 years. Ma mere made me bake it from age 12. But let’s not digress. Today’s poetry prompt was “Midnight”, was it not?” “Yes, it was!” said Gertrud with her still heavy German accent. Marjory grinned at Gertrud:” Well, done, no “th” to embarrass you!” Gertrud huffed: “I wished you took our meetings a bit more serious!” the others laughed though and so she fell in with them.
“Alors, mes amies, let’s start.” “Your turn, as our host,” said Marjory so Beatrice stood up and recited by heart: “La mer est bleu nuit dans mon âme. Mes rêves suivent ses douces vagues à la maison (The sea lies midnight blue in my soul. My dreams follow it’s gentle waves home)”. She sat down again. “Oh, that is beautiful” burst out Marijke “You all know, I have a thing for the sea!” Beatrice took a sip from her coffee and looked at the other two in turn. “Well…” said Gertrud “it is certainly deep.” “You don’t like it?” Marijke looked perplexed. “No, dat is not what I wanted to say. It is just not my thing.” “Ah, ok,” answered Marijke. “Marjory?” she went on. “I like it. Do you want to hear mine?” “Of course…” all four giggled. “Let’s hear what craziness you brought to us this time” Marjory laughed. “I can’t let you down, can I?” “Non”, “Nee” and “Nein” came from the other three friends.
Marjory stayed seated and got a deep blue bottle out of her bag on which she showed the word:” Mingling Identities Denounce Nothing ~ I Go Home Tonight”. Gertrud scrunched her nose: “Not really a poem!” she said. Marjory laughed: “Oh, mistress, from the land of thinkers and poets, poetry is more than rhyme or metrics.” she said leaning forward and patting Gertrud on the shoulder. She handed her the bottle and Gertrud placed it in the middle of plates, cups, sugar and milk. “The table will break soon!” thought Marijke but said:” You should sell these things. I bet they go for a little fortune”
“Does that mean you like it?” asked Marjory. Marijke cocked her head: “It’s ok but I wouldn’t pay for it!” They all laughed. “Alors, lets hear Gertrud’s poem.” Beatrice smiled to Gertrud who reluctantly stood up: ” Mitternacht ist der Punkt, wenn alle Geister tanzen. Ich spiele mit den Hexen auf dem Accordeon! (Midnight is the point when all ghosts dance. I play the accordeon with the witches). Uhm, it’s not good. Doesn’t rhyme and I couldn’t find any proper metric for what I wanted to say.” Marjory said: “I like it. Some fantasy in there. Not your usual lovey-dovey crap.” Gertrud sat down and motioned to Marijke. “She wants to avoid more attention,” thought Beatrice and then said to Marjory: “Language Madame! You know we are not rude in our circle!” But Gertrud just waved and shook her head. She mouthed: “Don’t bother!”. Beatrice sighed and looked at Marijke who had stood up while she was telling off Marjory. Marijke also spoke her poem by heart: “Middernacht Middernacht de maan wacht op je.
Middernacht Middernacht laat hem niet wachten. Middernacht Middernacht we hebben je wijsheid nodig
(Midnight Midnight the moon awaits you. Midnight Midnight don’t let him wait. Midnight Midnight
we need your wisdom)”
She sat down again and shook her long brown hair out of her face. “Dat is beautiful!” sighed Gertrud. “Dutch is such a quirky language. I hope to be better at it soon!” Marijke put her hand on Gertruds. “You are doing well. Just go to the Netherlands more often and use it.” Gertrud just nodded. Marijke looked at the other two women. “It’s a fine poem,” said Marjory and Beatrice said nothing. Marijke raised an eyebrow. “Je suis desole” said Beatrice “but I find it a bit boring!” Marijke giggled. “That’s fine. I shall find a more exciting topic next time.”
“Where are we next time anyway and who checks out Eugi’s prompt?” asked Gertrud. “It’s your turn, I think” answered Marijke. “Ah, well, I will send you an email with the prompt.” All nodded and for a short while dedicated themselves to the coffee, tea and cake.
Please feel free to check out more creative posts about Eugi’s prompt. You can find them in this post in the comments.