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

Here is the magic flute from the Isle of Bute.
Played at all Freemason lodges with their salute,
to their wonderful brother composer Mozart,
who composed the opera 'The Magic Flute' in a cart.
Wearing a suit covered in imitation bird feathers,
with a leather belt that is tethered with heather.
All the freemasons now do the same,
and have a competition to write operas as part of their game.
But it is not to win fame but to proclaim Mozart's name.
Princess Pamina will come and she will become your flame,
and become an opera dame and a diva, by reading the works of Boehm.

Why does the window eat its greens?
Never make love to a door, it's sore
Go quietly, like bad rain
'n just like a singing goldfish, don't bore, don't snore.

I've never been to Heaven, and I hope it's not too late
To hope I can get in there when the Reaper sets a date.
Suppose they're overcrowded there, and don't have any beds?
And maybe they have boats, not cars? I'll ride in Eric the Red's.

My mame is Kate and I have been on a date,
where I ate a bowful of date, with very best mate.
Taken from a crate, which weighed an atomic weight,
won at the village summer fete.
Then finished off with a plate of skate,
freshly caught from the sea.
Fried in garlicky ghee and brie,
and served with a fresh pot of tea.

I'm the captain of the good ship Sinking.
My friends exclaim, "What were you thinking?"
The hull is a sieve,
And as long as I live,
Its loss makes me do lots of drinking.

I tread carefully on the sea bed,
as I try to get ahead of Fred and Ted.
Who are to wed the lead bedspread,
instead of marrying the zed bed.
We will all make an high-five,
as we arrive in our car the C-5.
To meet up with Clive,
along with the rest of the borg hive.
To jive and learn how to dive,
which will make us all thrive.
Knowing that we are all alive,
to survive driving down the M25.

Down went McGinty to the bottom of the sea,
And he must be awfully wet,
'Cause they haven't found him yet.
Maybe he dropped in on the Little Mermaid for tea?

I walked along the shore and cursed,
And said, "Oh ocean, you're depraved."
I tried to get it to reply,
But Mr. Ocean merely waved.

Tommy had a fright in the middle of the night.
As he turned into a tumbling sprite, full of light.
Making his hair turn a ghastly white as became infected with blight.
Turned around and saw a knight wearing purple tights,
holding a sparkling kite that was a source of the Tommy's plight.
Made Tommy want to have a fight with the knight,
so he climbed up a height to sample the knight's delights.
And took the knight's Turkish delight to incite the knight.
But made the knight very sad, so Tommy asked forgiveness as he felt very contrite.
Both made up and Tomnmy learned that the knights name is Dwight.
So they sat down and ate a box of chocolate truffles,
wearing shirts with deep pink ruffles.

I am going to survive the borg hive,
with the very serious Clive.
As we go ducking and diving,
jiving and contrving.
Finding ways of destroying the Borg,
who's part of the org;
that come from the Swedish town of Goeteborg.
Watched as the Borg eat salads made of chives,
that made them break out in hives.
Celebrated their victory over the borg by doing a swan dive,
with a high-five as they danced the jive.

Pelléas et Mélisande

Don't get cut up about it. My car runneth over.
Angels in red socks yellow stripes, Debussy's only opera
Kittens on the keys mittens on the table
Bye to the door. What's it all mean? What's it all for?
Dimples on her knees keys on the table
By the door buy the door bite the door nuit d'étoilettes
Mabel. Do fish have life in the sense?
Save your breath. There isn't any.
Alison Hagley beautifully lit by Jean Smith
Blacksmith. You may be asked to show evidence.
A sympathetic rather than a long red nose, who knows?
It shows. It grows. It's long as a garden hose. She
Sings as pretty as a rose.

That's wonderfully nonsensical, Jabs. Or silly. Or both.

Coincidentally, two of my daughters have been practising their duet of The Rose, and we've listened to several different versions of it on Youtube tonight.

Songs about roses waft through the air--
Last rose of summer, My wild Irish rose,
Perhaps even Rose of Washington Square--
Piano notes tinkling, then pleasant echoes.

That seems to make sense - maybe I've had one too many.

Every so often I suffer--sadly--
A brief, fleeting moment of sanity.

Thanks, WFAT! All praise and flattery much appreciated. Money too.

Jabs

PS in spite of Paul's lovely little verse, it really is nonsense or silly or both - high praise indeed!)

Is up the right way down
Is sadness fit for a clown
Are clouds truly miserable things
Hit thumb with hammer , oh what sings

Can night stop approaching day
Or is this the month of May
Can I continue in this vain
No that would be a awful pain

Who knows what hides behind a smile
Treachery,the need to beguile
The very first lesson in sin
Anything can be hidden with a grin
We get sick of seeing fake tears
Some people milk them for years
Verity can be found via a dirty mouth
From North,East,West or south
Yet sometimes we fail to recognise
Truth when it's right before our eyes

"PS in spite of Paul's lovely little verse, it really is nonsense or silly or both - high praise indeed"

Thank you, Jabs, for I know you understand
That writing things better is what I have planned,
And helping my friends do likewise, I confess.
I'm trying (though it's hard) to do more with less.

I have a friend who always watches the trends,
of the latests fashions that she comprehends.
Wore killer heels, fell and twisted her foot,
Wrapped her foot in bandage and rested it.
Sitting down on a chair and smoking a cheroot.
Told stories about how she tried to learn to knit.
But failied because she could not commit.
Looked at a pair of boots that were filled with soot,
emptied them and tried on her daisy roots.
Talked to her colleagues about her neighbours who are full of wit.
How the Schmidts wrote musicals that were all great hits.