h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Socrates caused a ripple
By saying "One sip'll
Allow my poor soul to get out
So keep all your and
Now hemlock's my tipple"

Andy Pandy
Feeling Randy
Decided to smoke Little Weed.
Bill and Ben both preferred speed
Or Columbian nose-candy.


Joseph Haydn
Had trouble decidin'
If he should travel abroad,
Or his symphony'd have to be scored
Not for London but Leiden.

"Some drugs
"Are thugs
"And cause one to get nose bleeds,
"Which is why I keep to flavorful weeds,"
Said Bugs.

This
Is
Not quite the way I think a a properly proportioned rimickle should appear
I feel somewhat protective of its unique and delicate form, do I make that clear,
Chris?

A war starts then,
For Four and Ten
Could/should/would become the new usual,
Though one's brain might become contusional;
Ah, then what then?

A syllable count
Should give the amount
Six, six, nine, nine, six, line by line
A small variation is fine
But in-or-around

Or RR RR RRR RRR RR in Morse code where R is .-.

Claude Renoir
Got a lad from the choir
To bring, as a model, his sister.
She said C.R. grabbed her and kissed her!
He called her a liar.

Syllables are less
Important than stress.*
Re. rhythm then, let us be terse -
The line/stress in Rimickle verse
Two two three, three two yes?

* as in emphasis, not misery!

In six-eight time place
A seven-bar phrase:
One bar (with its upbeat), repeated;
A bar and a half, twice; completed
With one bar, I says

Now some smart Alicks
Will point out "that's six"
But twice you will need to hold steady
For half a bar's rest. When that's ready
The rimickle clicks

I work with four,
And then no more
Than ten sylables in a rimicle.
That is the best way for a clericle
For Miss Gabore.

Enough of this stuff
A poem that's rough
And ready will make its point better
Than one that abides by the letter --
They're best off the cuff

So you're saying
No more braying,
And as for the rules of a rimickle,
That any way done it is gimickel
And for playing.

When dancing the tango
Do not let your hand go
Too far south of your partner's waist
It's tempting, but very poor taste
According to Django

At twenty-six paces
I can't tell the faces
Of friends from my deadliest rival
Which doesn't bode well for survival
In desperate cases

Think me not cruel
If I ask, "So why fuel
An argument so heated that
Although you're near blind as a bat
You'll happily duel?"

If anyone goes up
Sufficiently close up
And slanders me where I can see
He'll get a rude answer from me
I'll soften his nose up

If someone should go up
And suddenly blow up
Right then in your face,
Then back up a pace
And say, "Oh, grow up!"

This talk of fighting,
Far from delighting
Me, seems as grimly unpleasant
As finding the sauce on one's pheasant
Is lime-wash whiting!

What's sauce for the goose
Will surely produce
Enhancement alike in the gander
Theough one might prefer something blander
To go with couscous

Couscous is so bland
You will understand
If I say it needs spices and sauces.
As a theme for ancillary courses
Have garlic on hand.