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

Zen pen
your on the mend
its not the same
as yester-lame
Zenny penny
your not a dinney
without hurt feelings
you needle you leave keeling
stay away from sentimental mints
share your bitter sweets with :
postman, or milkman
i am awake all night
you gust of a bad smell
i need no breakfast bell
leave the girls to skip
take a long walk
dont baulk at the sad faces
the further you go
into countryside - unoccupied
less people will you give the :
hebbe jebbes
keep walking on
one day thier will bo none,
then stop!
and live happily ever after-Zen Pen
Penith in your Zenith
Never wrestle another smile
from another happy face - again - Zen Pen

"Smile when you say that," he said with a frown,
Which spread to everyone else that was there,
And then to everyone else in the town,
And soon they were all reading Baudelaire.

stick your paws in your pocket
like you lost your head socket!

let your head flop on down
with your screwloose happy frown.

now lets spread this meassage out there
"Its called a Mehi-can Bauda-laire!"

Ted fled into the shed,
hiding from Freda and Fred.
Who were making bread,
on their red bed spread,
talking to Ned who is well read.
Posted conversations,
about their frustrations;
of their new culinary creations.
Asking for donations to a foundation,
for the creation of a plantation.
On their internet thread,
followed by Jed who speeds on his sled.
Wining admiration from the congregation,
that practised levitation at their graduation.

If i ruled the curled
It would be a funny face

I am a survivor of the Diver.
Diving with Clive Shriver.
Who thinks he's a disco diva,
and is an eager beaver;
for the football team in Geneva.

Viva MacGyver, the tank driver,
with a fervour for giving out favours;
to ride in the space shuttle Endeavour.
Has a show named after him,
making him feel grim.

Hope this isn't too controversial. As the reference to fiery Fred attests, it's rather an old ditty, but someone reminded me of it yesterday.

I went to a freak show last night
There were people with strange coloured hair
And pins in their lips and their eyebrows
And noses and I don't know where
I could hardly believe they were human
Cuz they looked so different to me
I just wish that I'd taken Fred Trueman
I'd have loved to hear his commentary

I went to a freak show last night
At a pub with a strange sounding name
I know some say "E pluribus unum"
But I'm not sure that's too sound a claim
If I'd had a gun in my pocket
I might have shot somebody there
So thank god I don't live in the US
And thank god I don't have turquoise hair

Around her bitter lips
The Druids have painted
The Battle of Olgagrad
In bituminous purple.

Now that I have left the town of Fife.
And I have changed my name to Audrey Pfeiff.
So that I can train to become a chef,
with Stef who is also the culinary ref.
But I'll become funnier with my jokes,
wearing a yeoman's yolk, living amongst the country folks.
Ending all their strife with a trip for them to go to Recife,
to visit the wildlife parks and later sample the nightlife.
Dancing the night away, while discussing holidays in Tenerife.
Then changing into their sweaters so as to post their letters,
and visiting a resting home for red setters.

Now I have gone up in the world as a trend setter,
and nothing could be better than being a go-getter.
Sitting on my settes thinking about becoming a globetrotter,
with my jotter as I write about how to make engines out of anti-matter.
With all the money I would make from my new invention,
it will be my intention to remove the energy tension.
As my new type of energy will be limitless,
Making it a great success for a new type of renewable energy,
working in harmony and synergy produced from theurgy.

I'm the driver of the hive car.
Taking me far and becoming a star.
The media isn't interested in scientists,
they see them as a bore and an elitist.
If that's their game, I will learn to sing,
and wear lots of bling, that will be my thing.
Wining major talent contests,
as I dress to impress.
Then when I have won I'll tell them about my invention,
as I vie for their attention.
Hopefully with the money I'll make,
when I make my big break;
will mean that it will become a reality.

I See A Badx Pretty Poemx Moon Rising


Oh Beauteous Moon, Yon Fairest Moon what shines upon our heads,
Do you know our secrets, do you even know our dreads,
Do you know that we keep rusty implements in our sheds
Which are never used, but sleep the sleep of Innocence instead?

Oh Yon Pure Madonna, who bringeth celestial light,
Our fair and occult mother, not the ageing star who isn't half as bright,
Although she has a high I.Q, which she keeps with her all night,
Oh Beauteous Pure Madonna, are our lives eternal, are they really worth the frightx fight?

Oh Yon Pretty Shepherdess, Oh purest soul from another age,
Together with Yon Lamb of yourn, like you, a fraction of yore age,
Whom ugliness and oldiness are strangers to thine face,
Is this an epic poem, meaning it lasts about a page?

Dearest Moon, I love thee, keeping us safe and tucked in tight,
Whose army of Beauteous stars do shine - oh! what a pretty sight!
A sight that beckons us and makes the pretty girls ovulate
And also makes the singing tides come in on time and never late.


Arbuthnot Crinnge

No moon tonight
Lots of stars are in sight
Not them that sing
You know that twinkle thing

Examiner’s Report


The piece, though inexact,
Smacked of packed-in fact. It lacked
That 'sine qua non' of the true poem -
Imagination. It was quite a bore
In fact, little more
Than an abstract peregrination
Through wordy-gurdy versification
Resembling a disassembled verbal examination,
An abstraction without association,
And with hardly a single thought’s intrusion.

That would be
The report that tact allows me.
Otherwise 'Sheer rhythmically repetitive doggerel
Fit for the Kampa Khazi'
Would be more likely.

And, as usual with tum-te-tum verse
To make matters worse
There’s cheap rhyme, every time,
To chime with sometimes two or three or more lines,
As if aimed at those
Who are led by the nose
(Because of fears or cloth ears or leaning
Towards the misunderstanding of meaning),
To be shown each time, by means of rhyme,
That it’s poetry they’re reading.





from an anonymous examiner, (J), and not aimed at anyone's BP here.

Five silver threads held her head on,
Five silver threads, that was all.
Oh, all through her life she was led on,
Until a clumsy tailor caused her downfall.

Oh to be so politically correct
To read all ,only to reject
So sterile that you touch all with protective glove
In the life before you were a dove

In life before I did not snore
I was a grunting pig
Hairless , pink and not a bore
I had to wear a wig

Bit of information: if anybody gets outraged at the fact that the examiner's report resembles the examiner's criticisms, that's exactly the point. Just take the use of rhyme, especially at the beginning,
And you're winning.
It's displaying
What it's criticising-

And that's itself
Rather than anyone else.

I live on the sand dunes,
where every night I look at the moon.
As I eat chocolate dessert with a spoon,
in the month of June, listening to a tune.
To the sound of a lamenting baboon,
who lost her wooden bassoon.
That was stolen by an unremarkable buffoon,
who wails with the wolves at every high noon.
Before joining the platoon at the saloon,
for a few in the afternoon.

I read the verse of Jabberwock.
It's flawless. There is naught to knock.
It's clever, warm, and always witty,
But it isn't always pretty!

I want to go to a party,
to meet Marty, who's rather a arty.
And have a meal that's very hearty.
It's a new wave rave, where people crave,
to watch the new tv channel called Dave.
Sitting whilst having a permanent wave,
making them feel very groovy,
when they go to watch a movie.