Frettled Gruntbuggly, thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gobbleblotchits on a lurgid lee
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiosly drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles
Lest I rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurgle-cruncheon
See if I don't.
A sympathetic, some might say fawning critique of the above poem was given jointly by Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect after a reading by Prostecnic Vogon Jeltz, Recounted below it didn't stop them from being thown out of the airlock.
'I liked it, Oh yes, I thought that some of the metaphysical imagery was particularly effective, Oh, and err.. interesting rythmic devices which seemed to counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor of the Vogonity of the poets compassionate soul, which stresses through the verse structure to sublimate this, and transcend that, and come to terms with the fundamental dichotomies of the other. And one is left with a profound and visual insight into whatever the poem was about.
AND A RECENTLY FOUND SECOND VERSE...
Gashee morphousite, thou expungiest quoopisk !
Bleem miserable venchit !
Bleem forever mestinglish asunder frapt,
Fipping lyshus wimbgunts awhilst moongrovenly kormzibs,
Gerunt withoutitude form into formless bloit,
Why not then ?
The second worst poetry in the Universe is attributed to the AZGOTHS of KRIA who's leading poet was Grunthos the Flatulent. Two examples are given below..
ZEN AND THE ART OF GOING TO THE LAVATORY
Do not fall over
You are a cloud
You are raining
Do not rain whilst
train is standing at a station
Move with the wind
Apologise where necessary
ODE TO A SMALL LUMP OF GREEN PUTTY I FOUND UNDER MY ARMPIT ONE MIDSUMMER MORNING
Putty, Putty, Putty,
Green putty.. Grutty peen
Grarmpitotty.. Morning !
Pridsummer... Grorning utty !
Discovery.. Oh !
Putty ? Armpit ?
Not even a particularly nice shade of green
Grunthos the Flatulent
The accolade for the absolute worst poetry in in the Universe however goes to...
Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings
37 Wasp Villas
Essex GB10 LL
who's untitled poem to a dead swan is unparalled..
The dead swans lay in the stagnant pool
They lay, they rotted, they turned
Bits of flesh dropped off them from time to time
and sank to the pools mire
They also smelt a great deal
Other candidates for Worlds Worst are the Pre Raphaelite poet, Mr Theophile Marzial whose poem 'A Tragedy' is a strong contender, it begins...
The barges down in the river flop.
To the oozy waters that lounge and flop
On the black scrag piles, where the loose cords plop,
As the raw wind whines in the thin tree top.
At the water that oozes up,plop and plop,
On the barges that flop
And dizzy me dead.
I might reel and drop.
(We will spare you the further pages in much the same vein and bring you to the poems climax...
Ugh, and I knew!
So what do I care,
and my head is as empty as air,
I can do,
I can dare
Plop, plop,the barges flop, Drip drop,
I can dare, I can dare!
and let myself all run away with my head,
This poem was recited at a soiree before Dante Gabriel Rossetti the poet and painter who commented during the following stunned silence that it was 'written on a plan absolutely inadmissable'
Another contender is Mrs Amanda Malvina Fitzalan Anna Margaret McLelland McKittrick Ros whose volumes contain the immortal verse..
'The Engineer Divine'
The current of faith from the battery of prayer
can act on the magnet of love
With movements produced by a motor divine
Which matchless perfection displays,
The engine of truth as it runs up the line
The train of Salvation conveys.
...And of course where would we be without The Great McGonniggal whose poem to The Tay Bridge is a masterpiece of Victorian poetry..