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

Another Milligan one that I love is:

I must go down to the beach again,
The sand, the sea and the sky,
I left my socks and vest there,
I wonder if they're dry.

(or something like that)

Going Home

When walking home, on a moonless night,
I had the most horrendous fright,
As I ambled past the graveyard wall,
A Siamese cat gave its dreadful call,
Which startled a donkey, who started to bray,
I stood there transfixed, in total dismay.
As the weird cacophony filled the air,
I **** myself, in utter despair.

From the
Abberant Pew Addict
Collection of Spiked Verst

Impossible

One fine day, in the middle of the night,
Two dead me got up to fight,
One blind man, to see fair play,
Two dumb men, to shout ‘hooray’,
A paralysed donkey passing by,
Kicked the blind man in the eye,
Kicked him over a ten foot wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all.

Something I remember from childhood – I haven’t the foggiest where it comes from but it MUST be bad because I can remember it after all these years.

And how do goddam donkeys keep getting into my poems?

Don Quixote was no fool.
He invented every mule,
'Cause a Don Qui on a horse
Sires a mule, of course.

Poetry is bad.
Poetry is bad.
Always dreaming of poetery bad.
I'd like to write a donkey verse
Like Paul H did so well.
I'd like to make it tough and terse,
But that would never sell.
And if I write some stupid rot
They'll send me off to hell.
Dreaming oh my bad poem of thee!


With apologies to the writer of that wartime poem,
"Dreaming of Thee"

poems with typos aree usually bad.
The moon catrches mono, and dead is poor dad.

I wasn't lonely in the crowd
Who walk on high over dales and hills.
When, all at once I saw someone
With a dozen, golden daffodils.
Beneath the stars
Under the trees.
The pollen from them
Made me sneeze.


Words, worth knowing.

Brilliant

I stood beneath an ancient tree,
And watched the poets falling.
I knew this was a poetree.
I said, "You look good, dahling."

A genuine awful poem from the internet, from Beautiful Lovepoems:
http://www.1lovepoems.com/pw23.shtml

WELL, I CAN DREAM!
Author: Joyce Hemsley

Winsome, when at his best,
so suave in evening dress.
Is it any wonder I fell right
under his awesome spell?
A supernatural man from afar,
I love him well, my superstar.

Skies fall at my feet as we meet,
Archangels listen as we speak.

He's a "one-woman guy" and as
time goes by, I wonder why we
are so in love ~ o me, o my!
Isn't life pleasantly sweet?

A beautiful love song I hear.
A top of the run, number one;
we're going dancing in the vale;
I am under his spell, because
he's a superhuman-supernatural
one in a million superstar.


[There are plenty more where this came from]

"Eulogy Written in a Country Pub"

The barmaid tolls the bell at end of day,
The belching crowd winds slowly t’wards the loo,
The drunkard homeward lurches on his way,
And leaves his unpaid slate for me to do.

Now fades my glimmering hope of getting laid,
As the barmaid spurns my solemn offer cold,
Save for her fleeting smile, she’s pretty staid,
But for the beer, I’d never be so bold:

The Epitaph

I rest my head upon the lap of Earth?I am so drunk I can’t find my way home,
Fair chance of rain, and then I’ll catch my death,
As Melacholy’s marked me for her own.?

From the
Abberant Pew Addict
Collection

The trouble with spelt is
That it is spelt like spelt
Oh were it spelt like barley
In my mouth it would melt.

from Demeter

Spelling

The trouble with spelt is that,
It’s spelt ‘grünkern’ by the krauts,
Confusing a-merry-cans all the more,
As they think spelt should be spelled.

From the
Abberant Pew Addict
Collection of Blank Verst

I'm covered with green, slimy mold,
And I'm looking for someone to hold.
Each time that I cough,
My fingers fall off,
But apart from that, I'm good as gold.

(Original. Very, very original )

Noon Elm Tints 1

O cormorant, that on yon cliff doth spray,
Droppest thy load, that down the rock face spill,
Thy fishy stench, the nostrils sense dost fill,
Whilst seagulls swoop to signal end of day.

Thy liquid filth that turns the rocks pale grey,
First smeared as thou digests they fishy fill,
Portend good angling, only if Jove’s will,
Have left some fish to swim another day.

?Now timely shag, ere the rude bird of shate?Foretell my hopeles doom in some cove by,
As thou from yeer to yeer hast shat too late

For my relief; yet hadst no reason why,?Whether the ling, or sprat or even skate,?Bother me not, and on their trail am I.

From the
Abberant Pew Addict
Collection of Sterilising Verse Solutions

Gunnison!!
Son of a gun!!

I met me on the road today
- I was going the other way
Not me but me I mean to say
For I - was going the other way

by Samson Birwhistle

Oh fiddle de dee
I lost a t
I wonder where
On earth it can be
Ah! Found it! Wonder full of wonder
Won't need to repeat my previous blunder

Samson Birtwhistle