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

Good morning, good evening, whatever
Nice day for it, How 'bout this weather
The sun is a shining
For outside I'm pining
Can I take the day off? No, no, not ever.

Midnight here - the weather's like ice
Days still are sunny, so that's really nice
No w*rk tomorrow - oh what a joy
All day will be just me and my toy
Too tired now to say more - hit button - post twice

Midnight here - the weather's like ice
Days still are sunny, so that's really nice
No w*rk tomorrow - oh what a joy
All day will be just me and my toy
Too tired now to say more - hit button - post twice

Last night we had lightning and thunder.
"When will it be over?" we'd wonder.
There wasn't much rain,
Just trouble and pain.
Just a big meteorological blunder!

I'm dining Al Fresco tonight
I hope that the weather's alright
There's no greater clanger
Than a burnt and drowned banger
I'll keep you aware of my plight.

The limerick thread is wearing rather thin
And lacks the freshness it first had, so I
Propose to throw this doggerel in the bin
And to the sonnet now my wits apply.
This noble form, this poets' past delight,
Pleasure of Petrarch, Shakespeare's greatest strength,
Hitch-hiking hacks and rhymesters doth invite
To treat upon their tortured themes at length
Not granted in a limerick. Come, my friends,
Forsake the five lines of the lesser rhyme.
Seek in longwindedness to reach your ends
And greater wasting of your readers' time.
So let us let our bees out of our bonnets
And sting eachother senseless with our sonnets.

This thread it is fraying a bit
Which doesn't concern me one wit
Limericks you see
are easier for me
than the nobler long winded sonnet

I agree Ekki Ekki F'tang
I'll stick with the rest of the gang
I really can't ryhme
Fourteen lines at a time
So in limerick form I will hang

Pellia, I'd write sonnets now and then,
But not a whole darn thread. I'm much too thick.
The sonnet last was popular back when
Bill Shakespeare reigned. Let's keep the limerick.
(I must confess some curiosity
About your name--it is extraordinary.
The final "a" is clear, I do agree,
But "Pelli-"? In what Latin dictionary?)
My Latin studies stopped in '65;
My skills lie buried under lots of dust.
My sonnet-writing skills may not soon thrive,
Although they will recover if they must.
In short, a sonnet thread would not enthrall us,
But might be welcome elsewhere (?) Good luck. Paulus.

I'm a scientist really you know,
we don't learn how sonnets should go.
Is it ABBA or BABA
or abracadabra.
We'd best keep the standards quite low

If I seek to find words so sublime
As to transcend mere metre and rhyme
Do I need something smelly?
(I hear Byron and Shelley
were ripped to the t*ts at the time)

I suppose I could rise to th'occasion
(At risk that my brain gets abrasion).
No sonnets this time,
Nor hardly much rhyme,
As I try a poetic form Asian:

Sunlit arbor rose
With peaceful harbor in view.
Enjoy your haiku.

Limericks? Sonnets? Haiku!
Throw all things poetic in the stew.
I'm not sure what more
I can give that won't bore
I know! I'll go play my kazoo!





Well that wasn't quite a success,
In fact my kazoo skill's a mess.
If 'twere a guitar,
I'd be better by far,
Kazooist I'm not - I confess!

I think the kazoo's really cool
I'm much better at playing the fool
But words I can rhyme
Well most of the time
The metre as well - as a rule

Being able to play the kazoo
Is not something I hanker to do
To play the sitar
Would be better a far
But sadly I haven't a clue

Would that not also require a beard
That takes almost a decade to be reared
Like that George Harrison
Just for comparison
But would one get respect or be feared?

The harp's what I'd like to play
I'd sit and I'd strum all the day
But it's heavy to tote
A harp in my coat
So I'll put THAT idea right away.

In my youth the accordian I studied.
I emerged from those lessons quite bloodied.
My very next plan, oh,
Was to pick up the piano;
***OUCH!***
My chiropodist's name is Fred Zudede.

The accordion's an interesting toy
Only to be played by a boy
The pushing and squeezing
Is not quite so pleasing
To a big-breasted lady who's coy

To play on the old glockenspiel
Is something, I'm sure you all feel,
that should not be derided
abused, indeed chided,
Put partaken with relish and zeal