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

Spectrum

Oh how I hate this thing, this thing inside
This thing inside I can’t abide
This thing that consumes me form time to time
This thing that I feel that refuses to rhyme
But hate is the problem I feel it so strong
It covers my thought and drowns out the song

Even now it’s there lurking deep down inside
This thing inside that I can’t abide
It blinds me to reason, to thought of what’s wrong
I can’t even think of to those I belong

I’ll not dwell too long on that that is bad
For I just blub and I cry at that which is sad
I just can’t watch a film that is sad in woe
For my stiff upper lip takes a real body blow

Joy is there also it fills me to burst
It can be hard to think of what to do first
It comes from deep down that I try not to contain
Far from the other I cannot complain
I laugh till it hurts, its contagions imply
Though I’m not always quite really sure why

Love comes from joy and it also is there
Though most of the time I’m not quite sure where
Its strength is subdued as I write in my pain
But its needle is sharp and pricks me again

From one end to the other and a few in between
And some there are that are yet to be seen
I’m a slave to this spectrum of emotions of mine
From hatred to love and laughter sublime
It pains me to say that my anger is blind
Though most of the time I am mild and kind

nice one Bed and long time no see

Hello Prof!

Yeah it's been a while, I just thought I'd pop in and see what's afoot.

Just a .

I have no future
I have no past
I am of the here
but may not last
existence means nothing
because I have no soul
I have no equals
though many can be the same
I want nothing from life
because I do not breath
so don't expect much of me
after all! I'm only a full-stop dot

I have a cousin who's a comma
but he doesn't like poetry
so I'm not doing one for him
so I'll pause for now

Respect All..

Respect starts at the bottom..
Even a weed is a flower in its own right.
So respect all life and the world will become better.
Allow all life to bloom and cover the planet in wondrous colour.
Let peace be a lasting memory that those to be born will see. Not hatred..

A Stairway to Heaven..


I climbed a stairway to heaven,
not knowing where it went,
for hours and hours I climbed,
I thought it was time well spent!
Until I realised, I was climbing up, a down escalator.

Look to the skies...

I look to the stars as they seem so near, but yet so far away.
To embrace them in my hands, alas beyond my reach.
Tonight I sleep, with dreams of being amongst them.
Will they endow upon me worlds of pleasure.
Or only to continue the same existence I endue.
Hope in life equals hope in dreams!
Never stop dreaming, because tomorrow is another day!

Here's the beginning of "Santaic Verses, by paulh

Verse 1 of the epic poem of Notomla

He braves the north wind,
Impatient and icy.
Daggers of snow and sleet
Thrust at his craggy brow
And jab vainly at
the alabaster gentleness
Of his furry beardedness

he is Notomla,
But a billion Christmas-crazed
sleigh-bell-loving
Carol-singing
Dead tree worshippers
Know him as
Santa. The great Santa.
King of the North Pole Santa.
Santa with
the incongruous ruby-nosed reindeer
W=hose non-existence
Is refuted
Innumerable times each day
By the mellifluous voice
Of he who,
Disguised in cowboy hat and chaps,
Hoped to make
Each listener's Christmas season
A little merrier.
With a song.

Notomla sits by the fire
And remembers the past
As the whirling sparks
Crackle and dance
Like reveling stars
reflected in a maelstrom.

There is no band of caroling cherubs hers
To please the ear and tease the mind
With visions of holly,
Ivy, Hogsheads
And fig-infested glutinous puddings.
No sleighbells sing Notomla
To sleep as he nods by the hearthside,
Though, If truth be told,
A thousand well-intentioned solid citizens of the world
Have sent Notomla
String upon string
of the finest sleighbells
That the gnomes of Zurich
And the rice-loving denizens of Mount Fuji
Can manufacture
Using just-in-time technology.

Notomla dreams
Of a world
Where spirits of good will
Shine brighter
Than strings of ovoid luminescence
Wrapped around evergreen boughs.

Notomla wakes.
it is time to stir.
The burden that has rested on his
Shoulders for eons
Must be borne again.
The toys,
The trains,
The whirring, flashing thingamawhoozits
That young offshoots
Of the Santa cult dream of at this moment
In a million condos
And split-level ranch houses
And Colonial mansions
And hovels of sun-dried mud and adobe
In the twinkling metropolises to the south.

These toys must be crafted
With loving care
By Notomla,
Who braves the North Wind
And sits dreaming by the hearth.

---------------------------------------------------------------








Santaic verses: Verse 2, part 1

Two men through the inky darkness fell,
Silent save for involuntary gasps
In the thin air.
Above them,
Like a jeweled crucifix
Or an exfoliated Christmas tree
That hides its nakedness
With strings of blinking red and white lights, The airplane Continues on its route
From Chicago to Helsinki
Across the top of the world.

The savage Arctic cold,
Like the hug
Of a hungry, amorous cactus,
Pricks at their skin
Through seven layers of flannel and acryllic.
The cactus wishes to dance,
And the wind obliges
With an accompaniment
Of shrieks and moans
Interrupted only by the "FWAP!
Of two parachutes opening.

Of the exiled sun
There is no trace,
But another type of sun -- Edisun --
Beckons from below.

"We are here to see Santa Claus,"
The first man says
To the flannel-bound gnome
At the door.
"We are reporters,"
The second man explains,
"Santa knows we are coming."

Notomla sits by the fire,
Saying nothing as the men
Are seated,
One on each side of him.
"There is no Santa Claus,"
Notomla tells them,
"And never has been.
I merely do the work
That he would do
If he existed."

The reporters glance
At each other
And begin to write
As Notomla crosses
His long, lanky legs
And places another blanket
Across his gaunt frame.

"We received a hearty welcome
From Santa Claus,:
The reporter on the left writes.
Santa is every bit as short
And plump as we expected,"
The other reporter records.

"Now that I am 100 years old,"
Notomla continues,
"My only wish
Is that my story gets told."

"Tell us about your sleigh,"
The reporters say,
"And you reindeer, especially Rudolph."

"I feed hungry reindeer,
That is true,"
Notomla says,
"But I have no sleigh
And would not use reindeer to pull it
If I had one.
I have never seen a red-nosed reindeer,
And I don't know of any
hone else who has."

"Santa's sleigh has been
Reconditioned for this year's flight,"
One reporter writes.
"The reindeer have never been better,
Especially Rudolph,"
Writes the other.

---------------------------------------

Paul and thanks!
This thread gets more enhanced by every home grown poem/verse that's added.

Better reading than any poem/verse book printed

That's about a quarter of the whole poem.

Here's more of the poem:

Santaic verses, Verse 2 Part 2

“I make a few toys for children
Who have no families,
Or whose parents can't afford
To give them presents.”
Notomla continues,
But mostly my company
Is a consulting service
For parents who want
Advice on gift-giving.
Parents and grandparents
And uncles and aunts
Are the true Santa Clauses of the world.
Without them there would be no Christmas.”

“Santa and his elves
Are very busy right now
Making toys
For all the children in the world,”
The first reporter writes.
“Santa assures the parents of the world
That there will be toys
For all the world's children
On Christmas morning,”
The other reporter reports.

“I won't live much longer, I fear,”
Notomla says weakly,
“But my son does most
Of the work anyway,
“And he has an MBA
From Harvard.
The company will do fine without me.”

“Santa is more than 1,000 years old,”
The first reporter writes,
“But he's a youthful1,000.
We expect him to still be around
Many centuries hence.”

“Don't believe a word he says,”
The doorkeeper tells the men
As she leads them
To the helicopter.
“He really is Santa,
And he still delivers presents
With a flying sleigh
And reindeer
On Christmas Eve.”

“We suspected as much,”
The first reporter says with a smile.
“How do you explain his thinness?”
The other reporter wonders.

“Well, that part's true,”
The doorkeeper allows.
You know how the press exaggerates.”

Who cares about how long a poem/verse is - no one!

They are home grown and not copiedThat's all that counts here...

Take my hand and I will guide you down a lane
to a place where all you dreams will come true.
It's a where you can travel there by steam train
and all the village houses have a mountain view.

Walk down the lane towards the mountainside loch
by the village connected to hundred portal gateways.
You will be able to see eagles and hawks
as the portals are activated by the sun's rays.

No, no, no, no, there's no limit.
No, no, no, no, there's no gimit.
No, no, no, no, there's no remit.
No, no, no, no, there's no dimit.

We'll reach for the sky
as we sigh for more pie.
Put on a bow tie
when putting out our laundry to dry.

There's no valley to deep
where we can go and leap.
We'll drive in our jeep
and say hello to the sheep.

No mountain too high
where we can learn to fly.
But nobody knows why
I cannot tie my bow tie.

Pardon Don and Ron you've said you met a talking to a swan.
Par-dan Dan and Fran were you dancing the cancan with a pan?
Pardon John and Juan did you see a deer fawn yawn on the lawn?
Par-dan did you say that you shared scran with the fruit bran flan clan?

I was out with Mark in the county's national coastal park.
We were both having a lark when we saw a sunbathing basking shark.
There were a couple of men shouting,"I am an aardvark, I am an aardvark."
The began singing the arias from the operas composed by J S Bach.
Then they all said, "We want to go dancing and hiking in Denmark,
and we will be singing and prancing around the Little Mermaid landmark."

I talk to the trees!
But they don't answer me ?
Am I phoning the wrong branch ?
Or could the ROOT of my problem be
I'm not a vegetarian and beef - pork - chicken etc ?
Don't grow in greenhouses...
But' Science is trying to...
Why manipulate the foods I used to like as a kid ??????

Does BC mean before cows? If so, why bother?

Or maybe Beverly Cleary. She lived to be 104, so she must have jknown something by the time she left us.

Or maybe Bristol County. It includes Fall River, New Bedford, and Easton (where some friends live). Also Taunton, which has a VA hospital that I used to sing outreach concerts at.

BC is a comic strip. Great zot! Clams got legs!

Or British Columbia, which is too far North to have palm trees, but you'd be surprised

Poem/Verse thread...

Poem verse would be PV, not BC. I don't understand.