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

One fine day,
In the middle of the night,
Two dead men got up to fight,
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other.


By Joe Noone

Nothing really could be worse,
Than two versions of the same bad verse.

Red fire glistens like a greasy cough drop stuck on the coffee table of boudincarna,
so as to begin the starting of life,
anned orange T-shirts sparkle in the wash.

-David Vaughn

Prince Charlie's?

That was my answer to the question in Post 180, by the way. First chance I've had of answering it.

Jab

William Topaz McGonagall is widely held to be the world's worst poet. You can find plenty of excruciatingly bad poetry at http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/ if that's what you really want.

I wish you joy.

But is that really so?
Thousands would cry out with one voice 'No!'
For one day fine citizens in good taste and sobriety
Founded the William Topaz McGonagall Appreciation Society
( You'll find out with some difficulty
That www.taynet.co.uk/users/mcgon on the electrical internet is where they can be seen visibly)
They founded it for to appreciate the gems of William Topaz McGonagall
Who many do think an inspiration to us all
And would have been Laureate if the Queen had been in when he came to call.
Many a man, perhaps thousands, appreciate this poet and tragedian
Who had many gifts that do astound us all
Yet in disrespect you treat this writer of gems as some sort of a comedian.

For who can forget The Railway Bridge Over The Silvery Tay,
The Tay Bridge Disaster, or The Inauguration of the Hill o' Balgay?

His feats with the pen and on the boards
Though moored to life would send folks heavenwards
Unless there was someone about not just quaint
But who knew what to do when so many people, especially susceptible ladies, faint
At the sight and the magical skill of this poet so handsome, so wise,
Who sometimes in the midst of a Shakespeare tragedy
Would spring a surprise
By reciting some of his own most correct and wholesome poetry,
A comfort to the whole assembly.


James MacIntosh McTavish McGonagle (Great Grandson of the Poet and Tragedian)

There once was a man with an orange,
Who said, "Well, this fruit is so boring.
Too bitter's the rind,
And beneath it I find
Such blandness I may lose my mind."

sir bossle said time
flies like an arrow
but fruit flies like
a banana

Have you been in my kitchen?

only in my dreams

Revised version of post 188:

There once was a man with an orange,
Who said, "Well, this fruit is so boringe.
Too bitter's the rind,
And beneath it I find
A taste that is just much too foreignge.

the poet sat
beneath a tree
studied an orange
and fell asleep

Ode to a Hangover

My heart grieves and a drowsy numbness dulls my brain,
As though of hemlock I have drunk,
But then it dawns – the cause of such cerebral pain,
It's reading through this mindless junk

by the
Aberant Pew Addict

catatonistic it renders me
to read what here before me i see
yet enthusiastically i read on
in hope of finding that special one
that pearl of poems between the swines

Reply to post 195

Read on, though hearty adventurer,
Plough through these barren threads of rhyme,
In time – no doubt – thou will concur,
T'was just an utter waste of time.


by the
Abberant Pew Addict

Mayhap if we appreciate what's bad
- the gushing, the unfunny, he ones that never scan, the mad,
The sentimental, the ones with disingenuous or ignorantly falsely heightened vocabularies, the wishful-thinking, the self-regarding, the unwieldy irredeemably miserably self pityingly sad,
That are all over the place and across the internet in these egalitarian times,
And that seem to think it's all right and truly poetical only if it rhymes,
We'll come to appreciate the really good.
We really, really, really should.
There's no need for knitted brows and funny looks -
They're there in lots and lots of books.


Herbert Sunflower (age 12)

Oh metalurgist,
Oh hygrosopologist,
Oh obfiscation,
Oh discombobulation,
Oh neurasthenia,
Oh, Tell me all,
What do ye mean ya.

Ode to long words

In betweenst perambulating within the grove,
I encountered serendipitously a trove
Of lacksadaisical daisies. My chore:
To disencode their loves me/loves me not lore.

(From "High-sounding but mind-numbing twaddle")

it is true what has ben written:
only if really bad verses are made
will we be able to see true talent
who can even rhyme