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

But I've seen "great" poetry worse by far
Than most of what I read here.
A sigh, a tear, a grand "Har! Har!"
For more of that I plead here.

Dance to the beat of my drum
and it will stop you feeling glum.
So stick out your thumb
and pull out a plum
as you do your complicated algebra sums
or when your making breadcrumbs
to use as a topping for mackerel fish ;
as you get your acoustic guitar to strum
when eating your tasty dish and making a wish
and pouring out a glass of your favourite navy rum
which you also use to pour over your favourite dish of yum yums.

Not up to scratch my teacher would say
Unacceptable you have to better
Inferior, substandard you’re a buffoon you will pay
Shoddy, amateurish and careless he wrote in a letter

Laughable he chuckled whilst marking my work
Diabolical I think that’s what he said
I felt such a berk
But now
I write bad poetry before I jump in my bed
Hope others now will smile at my errors
And possibly laugh at what they’ve just read

[..in which agreement is vouchsafed....]


Your teacher didn't know it all,
Should've practiced life's humilities.
At an early age it's too soon to call
A child's innate abilities.

The internet has freed us all,
From doleful scholastic predictions.
We cheerfully create, free from the thrall
Of grammatical restrictions.

Your teacher's alphabet is ABC,
Continuing G to H on through.
But you arrived in a perfect world,
Where it goes H to G, too.

Chirp chirp chirp goes a demented blackbird
Roar is the noise thrust out by a passing jet
Screech screams a loose fan belt
Whoosh is a subdued wave emitted by a wind swept ring road
Still the black bird goes on
Passing clouds pass quietly by
Off into the sky go more holiday makers
Now the hoot from murky train as it nears a tunnel
Slam goes a car door as driver departs with hands full
Black bird no more
Seems magpie has got its way
Yet there’s still more noise left to un-silence the day

We're told that to kill a mockingbird is a sin.
Another is fornicating with the neighbor's wife.
Throwing Momma from the train has never been in,
But worst is the taking of another person's life.

I have written a letter to a red setter
about ways of freeing one's self from the metaphorical fetter
and becoming a go-getter who wears designer sweaters
and of becoming better than their betters.

So consult a mystic about how to become artistic
when putting on make up on, especially lipstick
which will make one more altruistic
and more willing to give help to those who are idealistic.

Beware the man who seeks your company
When you are with your wife
And then seeks her out for further company
Seeking to destroy your life
Beware such a cuckoo in your nest
Who calls when you are not there
Then makes love to the one you love the best
He'll defile her and they will not care.

Better your friend should take your live
Than creep into your bed and ravish your wife.

Bu6t if your wife is urging him on,
Might you be better off with her gone?

Driven snow is pure
Until, someone stamps on it

Purity is a noble quality,
But not sufficient unto itself.
Impure thoughts prove your humanity,
And help get you off the shelf.

Snowdrops do fight to see daylight
Yet what a hardened landscape they do emerge to
Their struggle makes our shortest days so bright
A pretty moment I hope you stop and hopefully share too

Snow would be welcome now, my pet.
I sit here, sweating, soaking wet.

Tell to Dan that he needs to travel to Tel-Dan
where they sell food enriched with bran
and where they sell divan beds that are coloured in cyan
to people who drive sedan cars to go and see their gran
where they are fed their favourite scran of raspberry flan
which they share with their friends and members of their clan.

Gone she was in 1974
The likes of her we'll see no more.

I was feeling lost watching my salad being tossed
looking out of the kitchen window at the ground frost
thinking should I repair my car's exhaust
or put up my fancy wallpaper that's embossed?

Felt alone when I played my trombone
feeling like I want to escape the Twilight Zone
and go and have a moan with my friend called Joan
about Sharon causing cyclones by wearing expensive cologne.

Everyone calls the place I live Outer Mongolia
where everyone paints the homes in magnolia
and have holidays in Turkey at Anatolia
who watch TV soaps causing them to be overcome with melancholia.

Other people call it the Back-of-Beyond
where bad puns are advertising jingles are spawned
causing people to go out to sit and meditate by their garden pond
wishing that they could do magic and that they had their own wand.

Stalin loved to torture people
And to have them shot
So hard he tried
That when he died
They loved the guy a lot.

Ever since times medieval
Folks have loved a man who is down right evil
Now Robin Hood
He tried to do good
But The Sherrif thought that he was a weavel

Now if you really want to impress
You need to be a Baron of The Press
Like a mountain you erupt
Like Satan your corrupt
A bigger monster than the one at Ness.

It's just no good you trying to be nice
Be nasty folks, that's my best advice
Of God He brought The Word
But they crucified Our Lord
The Disciples now, they warned Him once or twice.

Stalin was crazy as a loon,
Readily forgotten soon
After his demise. No role model he.
More of us would like Gandhi be.

Dave said behave to the Knave kneeling by the cave
practising dancing for the town's rave
where only those who are brave
attend and those who work at the lathe
when working with wood for the church nave
who are rewarded with the gift of endless brain waves
and a brass plaque engraved with 'for the amazing football saves'.

Saturday night must have been alright
They all got tight then they had a big fight
Fireworks bright oh boy what a sight
They got one thing right; have you got a light
Try as I might I'll not forget tonight
Flying my kite on the Isle of Wight.