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

It's back up now, anyway. And very nice too.

In a restaurant with tropical decor

'Twas in a restaurant some years ago,
With palms and coconuts on shelves for show,
I met a youthful lady - she was waiting,
For her gentleman with breath a-bated,
She wore a yellow hat and scarf so blue,
And was as lovely as summer's days new,
Her gentleman arrived in gleaming hat,
And bright shiny boots, with coat and cravatte,
They were so happy there in total view,
Of those who dined near the pool - built anew,
To enhance the feeling of the tropics,
And add some splendour to the clever mix,
Of dark and light, of green and blue, with hints,
Of herbs, flowers and a smell of green mint.

Next topic: On holiday in the Bahamas.

OOPS! Shoulda checked to see how many pages there were. Sorry Emily!

wish I could holiday in Bahamas
I would clearly not wear my pyjamas?
But just think of the sun, sand sea and S**
Maybe H2G2 should meet out there?

But seriously I guess its warm and hot
good enough excuess for me to drink loads
And into the sea plunge all of my toes
But this is a dream of holiday bliss
I settle for another RL meet
But surely company not the location
Fasinates me with lack of creation
And so I dream on not nearly as good
Silver clear seas in my canoe of wood
My dreams I think have never been so good


Next topic; Cooking a nice meal for someone you love.

Cooking a nice meal for someone you love

A pair of greenish eyes with puzzled mien
looks up. A swishing tail goes forth and back.
I rinse a can of tuna, super lean,
and take a mixing bowl from off the rack.

Some stalks of celery finely do I mince.
My blender takes sliced bread and gives me crumbs.
The cat says "Meow," and makes a few paw-prints.
I add some crabmeat . Now the onion comes.

Some mayonnaise, some Worcestershire, and then
A mixing spoon to stir till all is thick.
A baking pan accepts the mix. Now, when
Will it be cooked? An hour's time, not quick!

Oh, birthday cat, you eat your food with zeal,
as if the finest caviar were your meal!

Next topic: The unanswered question
(extra points if you work the Druids into it )

Been a bit quiet on here recently so I'll launch in once more

"To be or not to be?" was Shakespeare's take,
To go gently or rage against the night?
Some say to rage 'gainst nature's final course
As Thomas urged his father yet to fight,
And Hamlet in his father's name did force,
His killer into unforgiving light.
And yet the Wessex native loses sight,
As Hardy's moor stands changeless to life's blight.
And so the question stands unsettled yet,
Except the ancients who may have a view
the Druids worked with nature's changing hue.
But perhaps Lao Tzu unasked the question best,
His words dismissing this unanswered plight,
"The eternal Tao does nothing (wu-wei)
But there is nothing that remains undone."

Any extra points for Druids AND Taoist philosophy?

How about 'early morning dew on a bright Spring morning'?

Oops! Teach me for posting on a Friday night. Too many lines! (and at no extra cost to you too!)

Ah well, leave it to the editors to sort out
(Otherwise, feel free to ditch "His words dismissing this unanswered plight," )

Impressive. I'm glad you've restarted the thread - save me the trouble! As for the new topic - is that meant to be the first line, because there's one too many syllables.

Sorry.

Just being picky.

Em

I've been meaning to tackle that topic,
but I don't feel very dewy or springlike
lately. Dew is not very durable, at any rate...

Doesn't have to be the first line, I just like the freshness you feel when seeing dew on a Spring morn. Almost makes it worth being up that early in the morning!

I wouldn't know. I never *am* up that early in the morning.

Well, not out of choice, anyway.

Early morning dew...

A lark now calls and to the morning brings,
Sleepy joy to the waking whose heart sings.
A crisp young smell tells the world spring has sprung,
Life shall come: a new season is begun.

Stepping out of bed and into my kilt,
I sing along to the wondrous fine lilt.
Goose bumps break out for it is yet damn cold,
I run through the door and gasp to behold:

A silver blanket of purity lies,
Frozen on my grass droplets of fine dew,
A myriad beauty feast for my eyes,
Yet my humble sight has the least to do:

Stepping out bare foot it crunches under,
The sensuous touch fills me with wonder.


nt: (hang on whilst I think of one )

nt: To be away from home, which is where the heart is.

Oh, to be in Luton in the summer
Watching the smoke rise gently in the sky
To settle in a pall on upturned faces
Of workers seeking lunchtime lullabies.
Oh, to wade grimly to work each morning
Through streets piled high with bottles and tin cans
To pass high school children spitting weakly
On the floor as they make their days' dark plans.
Oh, my heart is gently, gently aching
Its been too long since i last saw my home
But lutons' stench and gently foul aroma
Will surely follow me where'er i roam
And when at last I fetch up on her deep
proverbial beaches i will be alone.

I ANDROKTONE

was that OK? Theres one line wiht 11 syllables but i liked 'aroma' so much i left it in.

NT: Watching the sky on a cloudy day?

(I can stretch my topic to fit the sky
on a cloudy day, though the sky was clear at
first, and the "clouds" are ashes.)

Sonnet: Blizzard of Ash

They were not loved when first to Heav'n they rose
("World's tallest tombstones" someone dubbed them then),
But gained respect from many of their foes,
Though not enough. Before the clock struck ten

That sunny morn, a glinting silver dart
One tower's side with cruel hatred struck.
A ball of fire sprang from out its heart,
And thousands felt the building sway and buck.

A second dart the other tower hit,
Another puff of flame, and from on high
The bodies fell, as droplets from a spit.
The towers crumbled. Thousands, doomed would die.

Like tiny snowflakes, ashes tint with gray
The air, where no more light will shine today.


(What poetry really exists for is to express
deeply felt passions that more ordinary prose
cannot. So, the events of Sepot. 11 in New York
and Washington have been crying out--sometimes literally--
for poetic expression. I will be posting the above
sonnet elsewhere, but I think it fits here as well.
Peace)

Next topic: Lost innocence

That was very god yes - you could always just ditch the But...

Thanks, Vogonpoet

I have more ideas in mind on the same tragedy.
The latest issue of "The New Yorker" is almost
all devoted to the Twin Towers atrocity, and
what I had really wanted to write a sonnet
about was a photo of desolate gray background,
against which was contrasted the face of a
young fireman (more boy than man), his cherubic
face frozen in a look of utter shock. In the
entire remaining years of his life, there may
never be another moment like this. A friend of
mine who happens to be a fireman in a Boston
suburb, says that he feels as if all firemen
have somehow been drafted.....)