NaPoWriMo 16: Apple ’til Blackened Lager

Look! Blackened Lager is an actual thing!

This was really good fun: the prompt today was to find a poem in a language other than English – a language you don’t know – then to translate it by sound. So not to think about what the words mean, just what they sound like, in English.

It’s actually a wonderful way of showing musicality in poetry and one I might use in workshops or schools in future! So thanks for that, NaPoWriMo.

So on to my attempt, which either says something about Danish, or about me…It seems like it’s about booze, Satan, chocolate and has a lot of exclamations…

You can read the original here and decide whether it bears any resemblance to the Danish poem in sound-terms. And judge for yourself what it says about me as a poet!


Apple ‘Til Blackened Lager


Yet, pledged at Bruges, ordered Smarties:

some Norman caller. Come on, cockerel

vast: here or stooping hill.


Oh! Ever the arse lies set, far-fetched,

pah! Taller can earn her,

‘til, at lignin, gamble cosmetics.


Oh!  Man can litter husks, had Satan in heather,

on her repaired cooking-vase,

ordered no blackened lager

(ending welder’s singing).


Ha! Honed forest, tidy home – end, part-timer

or come here, at part-timer’s fur scent.

Oh Satan’s liver debt – still, after lithesome,

after all of the angered daggers,

man guards its boiled ravens.


Alone, or seen in film, man has gleamed

longer, for cooking masks in

gore. I stake her nest gang,

sew the gun, her cabbage and go home –

or linger vaguely in mourning.


Oh tanker – pah! All dead androids

man ogles must brutally Alt + Delete

the Kit-Kat: all of them.


Their forced hand, forky, did lick the

villa – varied, mad – so that

masks all in given error

did heed her smarter.

NaPoWriMo 7: The Pies of Awareness

The Pies of Awareness may or may not come from Gregg’s (who feature, by the way, as a Classical Allusion in another poem of mine by a pigeon)

Quickfire blog entries!

The prompt for NaPoWriMo Day 7 was to write a poem consisting solely of a series of declarative statements, with one question at the end.

So, based on some conversations I’ve had recently, here it is – the explanation is kind of involved, so I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

(By the way, days 8 and 9 – the eight-line verse form and the noir-inspired poem – will both be coming tomorrow! But  recently wrote a piece – Little Shadows – which uses a noir-inspired image to explore how bees see…So that can keep you going for now!)

You can listen to me reading The Pies of Awareness on SoundCloud, too, which may (or may not) add something to it:


The Pies of Awareness

or, I Don’t Know Anything


This is my shop and these are my pies.

Each has a price and some have a filling.

Don’t ask me what’s in them; I’ll tell you no lies.

Some cost a fortune and some cost a shilling.


This is my shop and these are my pies.

Many are deadly, but they all look the same:

Be advised that most are just space in disguise.

Enjoy it: the guessing is part of the game.


This is my shop and this is your pie.

I’ve taken the time to bake death in the crust.

You can’t have a receipt. You can’t leave in disgust.

For 20p I’ll heat it up, if you’re sure you’d like to try?