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

I sit alone on a mountain top.
The mountain, not amused, says "Stop!"

"But I *am* stopped," I reply.
"I have problems. Leave, or die!"

"Problems? Hard to believe."
"They're worse than you perceive."

"Describe them, and don't balk."
"Climbers who think mountains can talk."

I'm going round the bend
with my best friend
as we both try to spiritually ascend
by starting a new dance trend
wearing camouflage coloured clothes as we try to blend
within the background with a new look that transcends
anything seen on the catwalk as we hop and skip towards the bed
joined with Ted, Fred, Ned and Jed who want to wed in the garden shed
to themselves and celebrate by dinning on multi-seeded bread
which was made by a majestic looking horse who's a thoroughbred.

Talent's one thing. Another's time.
It takes work to make a rhyme,
One that others want to read.
Impenetrable verse we don't need.

Tick tock goes my pendulum clock
which causes a great deal of shock
to those wearing multi-coloured socks
or to shepherds herding their flocks
nearby the riverside docks
with graffiti drawn with bright pink chalk
making passersby wink and blink
and think that they are part of they psychic link.

Down behind the cushions
In the sofa in the den,
I found a hidden colony
Of little green alien men.

Drink next to the kitchen sink
makes your clothes stink
especially if they are coloured pink
and have been worn previously by a giant mink.

You don't talk to me any more
With your iphone, ipad, and Lord knows what for
You would not be seen without your small screen
The thoughts you are thinking they cannot be seen
Your phone is so smart you are breaking my heart
Should bring us together but drives us apart.

What squalid, blinkered lives we lead,
Repeating endless senseless actions.
No thoughts will break into our head,
For they would be distractions.

Went on a walk in the park with Mark
listening to larks in the dark
on the way to the ship named the Cutty Sark
where in the river there's a basking shark
who was quite a bright spark
making funny remarks about dogs who love to bark
up the wrong tree and shout whoopee to members of the bourgeoisie
who open secret passageways using a skeleton key.

Before you get to speak to the leader of our tribe
I must warn you, you'll need to offer me a bribe
I am the only man who can guarantee your fun
I have the rubber stamp, I am the man with the gun
I can check your papers and can issue you a permit
I can keep you out of prison, I can let you be a hermit
I can find you work, give you tickets for a meal
You have to come through me to beg, to borrow or to steal
Cross my palm with silver or I'll have to interrupt
Your simple life of freedom, in this country we're corrupt
We have the ways and means to make you do our will
And if you don't agree with me there's many others still
Languishing in dungeons forgotten for all time
Tortured for the fun of it, no reason and no rhyme
We don't deal here with Liberty, Democracy, or Rights
We only know of Power to supress the people's fights
In the street for something better, for the things that others hold
As normal: nothing's normal here but death and growing old.

Don't want to confuse you with logic that's too formal,
But where on earth is there a place where residents are "normal?"

Some place where a resident shows some respect for his President
Some place where they let me say what ever thought should come my way
Some place where the call to prayer can be ignored and they don't care
Some place where there's hopes and fears but a man can live for a hundred years.

There is something strange has been added to the water supply,
as it is making everyone feel very drowsy and very sleepy
and starting to cause a great deal of hue and cry
when people become very weepy when they are having a cup of tea
and when they are eating an apple pie giving them the urge to fly
or when they are shouting out whoopee when wailing under the willow tree
that's the size of a bonsai as they drink a glass of eau de vie
as they practise their repartee with the dancing potpourri devotees.

THE BORE OF THE GUN

They're getting ready for the Olympics!
A drip is getting ready for my head
A BIG Mistake will be to just miss the BIG RACE
After sleeping outside
For most of the night,
An idiot smile on my face.

But I'LL BE THERE!I was there! I WAS THERE!
Ready for hospital while the race is being run
I'll miss the race but will bore for ages about the BORE OF THE GUN
And About the sound of the gun, the actual gun, THE ACTUAL GUN!
NB to self: make sure the gun is not facing the wrong way!

Rejoin the silly club -
Not only the gun but other details like which way it'll point,
Will it point,
Will it point,
Will it point - so no-one's actually casing the joint.

Why do people run marathons anyway?
I'm not against racing, just ill at ease
About 26-mile races, which, they say,
Began with the death of Pheidippides.

Dying's not a great way to start
An athletic tradition. Take this to heart!

Feel I'm going mad when I'm trying to follow the latest fad
to furnish luxury penthouse pads and be glad in designer paisley plaid
and trying to keep with the latest fashion and live a life full of passion
which is not easy on rations but I've always got a lot of compassion
and when my face looks ashen when I have had dreams of alien abduction
where giant cats wearing spats and bowler hats
dressed like aristocrats eating bowls of kumquats supplied by terran muskrats.
And all are dancing to rock and roll music and telling jokes that are very droll
and giving me their latest hi-tech computer games console and a magic totem pole
which can take me to any time and place and any type of reality
where people have overcome banality with afternoon tea and picnics by the sea.

Now the polar bear is a wonderful sight
But he'll make a meal of a seal alright
And he'll eat you too in the middle of the night
To be fair to the bear he has every right.

my friend wears his left trousers on the right.
he reckons that makes him quite
invisible at night.

Perhaps logic has been left right out of the matter.
I won't ask if he's mad as a hatter.

There's a bear called Claire who dances like Fred Astaire
when going up and down the stairs wearing a long flowing gown
and has become a billionaire town mayor with very long hair
wearing a jeweled golden triple crown making passersby frown
especially when asked by the mayor to complete a council questionnaire
on their knowledge of types of nouns and is their favourite colour brown?