Anthropomorphize a particular type of food: that’s the optional prompt for NaPoWriMo Day 30. What fun I had going back to my Scottish roots to write a poem about a bowl of porridge that fancied himself as a kind of gustatory Rabbie Burns.
Just a word of warning though; if you use a Doric dialect translator, as I did, do not I repeat not, share your work of genius publicly without meticulous proof reading first. These online translators are apt to be rather too literal; if it hadn’t been for another NaPoWriMo participant spotting a let’s, say ’colloquial ’ blooper, my reputation could have been forever besmirched!
Porritch Power! Ah don t hiv chocolate’s reputation, bein associated mair wi penance nor pleasure. “Please Sir, can ah hiv some mair?” Bit on chilly winter mornings, aire s naething like a big bowl o steaming oats. Chocolate might get ye atween those sheets bit a guid aul bellyful O Scotts or Quakers, preferably hawn rowd wi biggit in grit gets ye steaming forrit inta fittiver the day has tae hurl aat ye. Ah ve staying power, nae like aat calorie-laden chocolate aut melts in yer mooie. Ah ll nae milt in yer haun; ah ll grab ye bi the …. take yi bi the haun an lead ye on a 20 mile gangrel afore braakfist! Porritch Power! Scotland the Brave! Eh? fit s aat? Ah AH’M braakfist! Fit div ye mean? Aat s nae exactly romantic?! " Ma lo’e i s like a reid, reid rose.”(Weel, mebbe mair like a reid, reid neb wi oor westher). Bit guid aul Rabbie Burns; he didn t div too badly, did he? Ah m Porritch, flee me!