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

I was sitting in a pit, knitting pairs of mits.
Telling jokes to my folks, showing them my wit.
And then finished of with exercises to keep myself fit,
wearing my best p.e kit.

I've just read 3091 again, about your father and your feelings for him TT, and I was greatly moved by it again, and like one by WFAT I'm sorry for the circumstances but it really is an excellent poem. To give repeated pleasure is a good test of a any poem.

Oh, I'm readin', readin' away,
All the bleedin' night
And half each bloody day,
Good fiction 'n good poetry, mostlay.

Thank you very much Jabs for your kind comments

I feel as drunk as a skunk,
that has fallen in vat of a junk.
And come out looking like a punk,
wearing clothes that have badly shrunk.
Making me make a vow to become a monk,
and to live alone in a tree trunk.

Here's a website that gives awards for the worst opening sentence of a novel:

http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/2009.htm

It is a real pain when it rains in Spain,
causing a great deal of weight gain.
Giving locals and visitors alike a love of grain.
Making them become very vain.
Which makes their life very mundane,
as they stare in the mirror drinking glasses of champagne.
Thinking of new ways to entertain,
by uttering zany refrains.
This has caused the mayor great disdain,
as she inspected the new trains.
With complaints about the computer domain,
boasting about their vanity.
And their catch of tropical manatee,
in their aquariums, spouting out profanity.
That scuppered their new tourism campaign.

Bravo!

Thank you Loftskywalker

Ed dread going to the Med with Fred.
Who was always tried to get wed,
whever they were put out a good spread.
At their holiday apartment,
when they gave out the refreshments.
For all the locals and visitors,
solicitors and editors acting as inquisitors.
Ending up in the garden shed,
with books of Shakespeare poetry, so they can have a good read.

i have travelled like amole or vole but have never been to Reading
i will talk till the sheep have slept but will not knit a cardigan today
i am alive and smell the waxy scent of money
i like milk and cookies and beer and even honey
i am good at eating sandwiches but i have yet to visit Reading

my shed is not dead
it has seen some wind and rain
it has battle scars no pain
i paint it when i can
and weed the outside
dust the cobwebs
oil tools and put away
tiptoe to the door
i can hear the spiders snore
the wasp has done a bunk
and left his bunk of silken chord
-for next year maybe

Jose lost his toupee in the hay,
when he got lost in the fray.
Trying to hide his precious cache,
of platinum and gold pressed latinum.
Which was bought at the ancient town of Sentinum.
In the cafe run by Renee with his flying toupee.
That kept on falling off his head to his dismay.
It was a wig with a mind of it's own bought from the USA.
Never listened to anyone and would never obey.
But once Jose's neighbour Mae got a hold of it,
and shared her very particular blend of wit.
That she got the wig to obey and now is proficient in cliches.

Cosmopolitan poets bloom
When planted in the afternoon
In sunny rustic scenery
Among fresh fruit and greenery
Scholars are always welcome
In bright and friendly Kent
Its named "the Garden of England"
By those who've there, thier summer spent

I have a pet egg that likes to beg,
and it's name is called Greg.
Has two bow legs that enjoys a good nag,
which can make life a bit of a drag.
Whenever they have a drink from the beer keg.
But to remedy this, a rag is put over the legs,
and then procede to have a drink whilst putting up the flag.
That causes all involved to brag as they smoke their fags,
and then finishes it off by dancing around their bags.

my life is uncommonly boring
nothing breaks the monotony
wish i'd never given up snoring
or half pints of cheap whiskey
i ache all over on odd days
i might as well sleep on a park bench
my memories sharp when called to wayward ways
but my own name eludes me as i sit this fence

When I am lying on the floor, I start snoring.
Even when I am awake and want to go exploring.
This can be very embarresing for visitors,
when I am talking to the invisible janitor about his jumpy excitor.
As I lie down and snore shouting to the janitor who has now turned into my imaginary inquisitors.
Watched by my visitors in deep awe as they praise me with teir never ending adoring.
When my visitors awake, they become very agitated and continue with shocked outpouring.
So now they leave me and ignore me when I have more of my funny turns,
but they still show concern by coming with a urn filled with ferns.
As a peace offering and a way of waiting for my eventual normal return.

I had bad breath the other day
All i met with bugeyes would sway
I 'm glad i had no-one to snog
My mouth smelt like a rabbid dog

My head fell off when i was shopping
Some people thought this was awful shocking
But most were unawares yet still cast stares
I wish i'd conquered, my bad hair with a comb
The tangled mess on my other head
But i stuck my nose high in the air
And walked off with head held high
And with my other head in my shopping basket

I went all aglow when I threw my shoe at the office bureau.
As it caused me great excitement as it started to grow.
Then to my amazement shouted an eerie 'Whoa',
as it caused time to slow.
Which caused it to become very cold, making it snow,
turning the room into a very snowy plateau.
With bands of tv presenters in my house as they make their tv show.
Causing tremendous amount of chaos creating media apropos.

there was a flood of cold pink jello
which eminated from my desktop screen
luckily for me my seat is inflatable
and the door is half a jar
as i lie back and raft this pink jello jam
tonight there's nothing on the tele
i think: what a lucky chap i am

Baaacon Raaain, ba a con Rain!


Baaacon Raaain, ba a con Rain!

........

the crackling radio played ludo
the old couple dressed for cluedo
naavies exchanges canapes for brunch
the bronze statue had a hunch
drunk pigeons staggerd down the road 4 abreast
a clown stares at the smiling triffid on his vest
now over to you;"So tell me: what happened next??"

old bones groan
and young legs kick out
old heads droop
as fresh lips pout

the exitement of the swell
to and from each day
living in an advertising campaign
a citizen of the 10 o'clock news

the exitment of morning stale
from habit follow the firmament
paddling in a brakish stream
to a desert island above the waves once seen