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

For then the void is filled and the guilt and fear runs deep,
the liquid calls it out to play and taunts you as you weep.
Clutching at your being the watchers they despise,
so the bottle fills itself again, returns to drink upon your cries.
Shadows take on form and dance across your tongue,
releasing all your anguish like the bullet leaves the gun.
No emotional tournique with which to help you stem,
With sunrise comes another day. Why not do it all again?

Paul Giddy

Hi Paolo, I really liked it. I thought that

[Releasing all your anguish like the bullet leaves the gun.]

Was a particularly skillful maladroit mixed image, akin to those you get in genuine bad poetry

His anguish is being released! Better duck!

Jabs

Impromptu Poem- By: Zugszwang (me!)

Where the washing machines clang
In the grungy laundromat
I found it an awful shame
In the wash I've drowned the cat

Fearing cops would come to pass
I put the damp cat in my coat
And feeling like a stupid ass
I wondered if the cat could float

Running to the harbor fast
I saw a tramp so drunk and gay
And when his cardboard house did pass
He took my deceased cat away

I fought him hard and fought him well
But futile was my valiant try
For in the gutter of the street
Poor pussy's dead and so am I.

Theres a fairy at work tonight
Is saw it past at last light
with a sack over its slender wings
wearing an ill fit floppy cap
Thats covering its shiney golden hair
I felt angry at the sight
my eyes searched out the garden
Its not fairies work to be lugging sacks
God help that gnome when he comes back

The fairies dine at night.
The good ones eat ladyfingers.
The bad ones stay out of sight,
But from their meals the odor lingers

Of dead roasted cats, stuffed with a pullet,
Which was mowed down by an anguished bullet.

I guess what one considers tasty
Another thinks is mean and nasty!

Zugszwang, Lofts annd Paul H too
My former praise applies to you three two
And el D - praise also goes to you butt not quite the same -
Thanks for making it short, thus lestening the pain


Jabs

Eagle high, watch barren ground
Owl on fence, intense on sound
Bat with sonar pick prey so near
Swallow and swift million flies do fear

Fisherman on bank with rod
Trawler in chase of cod
Partridge has gun in sight
Dog gives rabbit an awful fright

Man and world in harmony
Protestor is chained to huge oak tree
Babe on breast where told its best
IL finish now I need a rest.

The waters ripple toward the far infinity
As he Sir Young Whippersnapper
Hangs oysters on the clothesline. The vicinity
Waits to see him look dapper.

cheers Jabs.

He leapt and gave three lusty cheers,
Arriving safely 'cross the street.
Fifth Avenue he greatly fears,
But now he's conquered. Life is sweet!

Jack had a knack of always getting the sack.
He was always late, and would not take the slack.
He was a hack, and always wore a mac.
Jack came back, with a mighty whack.
He became head of the pack and is well on track.

Jack would work at a cracking rate.
He was always punctual and hated to be late.
He is now very popular and is a great mate.
Jack loved to debate and he could relate.
At winter at break time he would go out in the cold.
He would skate on the lake with great flare and was very bold.

Jack knows a medic called Frederic who is a bit of a quack.
Everyone laughed when he got the medic a brass plaque.
But Jack said he was much better now and true to the letter.
Frederic was a typesetter but now he is a successful bonesetter.
He has now become very successful and now is a jetsetter.

If brevity be the soul of wit...

I'm taking the liberty of posting here some poems I wrote for the "New poetry game" thread. I figure, the more people I inflict them on, the better.

Where have my brown trousers gone?
I need them--I'm mowing my lawn.
When I wear them you see,
I look just like a tree,
But I'll have to mow nude, pale and wan

On a really bad day, everything goes wrong.
The toast gets burned, 'cause I left it in too long.
The coffee spills on my most expensive shirt,
And then my overcoat falls into the dirt.
I run red lights, 'cause I'm really late for work,
And get a ticket (now I'm feeling like a jerk).
I get to work, and I'm worried 'bout a layoff,
But then find out that it should have been my day off

All hail the Autumn of the year
(at least we're talking hail, not snow),
When days are often crisp and clear,
With roadside pumpkins in a row

Global warming meets financial meltdown:
Some well may think it crudity,
But a preview of fashions for next summer's season
Shows the only affordable fashion is nudity.

If brevity be the soul of wit...

Quick thought on above

Different begora, I think not
Humour give it a tiny slot
Disambiguation does it make sense
Cultural reference could make it more tense

Better you make it into a cartoon
Or carve in stone under winter’s full moon
Expression is neither good nor bad
Turning cold shoulder is certainly sad.

Winternights and Paul:

Thanks, Amelia and el D.

Here's a rather silly poem about a president, but it's an imagimnary one, not the current or prospective one.

"I've looked at the economy," announced the President.
"We're going under if we don't rescind retirement.
The elders aren't productive, but there's something they can do:
Teach courses on frugality. Let's use the things they knew.

"Little boys love digging. They can help by shovelling snow.
The ones in warmer climates? To the coal mines they can go.
We must not overwork them, but the best we shall reward
With candy and computer games. Let's hope they'll not get bored.

Dad worked designing pubs where he was a draughtsman.
He had a colleague and friend at work called Stan.
Dad ran the projects abroad and he was the manager.

He was the overseer and when he was resting had a lager.
Dad was always eager to get the work done on time.
He had a strict regime that the stuck to and he was always at his prime.

Dad worked mainly in pubs and inns in Switzerland.
He was the one that planned everything and it was all grand.
Dad always gave a helping hand to the workers of the band.

When Dad came back, he always brought fine delicacies.
This caused great excitement to our festivities.
Sometimes he used to be abroad when it was my birthday.
Dad would never forget it, even though he was away.

Every year Dad would take us on holiday on the Essex coast.
Jock the family dog would come too, and it was great on the sea coast.
We stayed at a holiday bungalow and we had our own beach hut.
We even saw a bit of wild life and a few cormorauts.

So I'm feeling quite poetic
Though my words aren't quite noetic
So I feel quite safe in writing here.

I'd like to feel real bardy
But my head feels fat and lardy
And in fact I think I'll stop, I feel quite queer.