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

There's an island far away, and it's draped in Azure mist,
Where my sweetheart waits upon her scented bed.
She's been longing for my touch, and I'm sure that I'll be kissed
When at last I find her boudoir, painted red.

There was a powercut near Derwent Parade.
People are out on the streets drinking lemonade.
Householders and shoppers are starting to feel afraid.
The police said you are living on the edge of a black hole.
They tried to reasurre the locals through a serenade.
Then everyone including the police all ended up in a trance.
Whilst in this trance, they started to pole dance.
This started a fine romance where all took their chance.
The police took to their patrols to give out some coal.
Then a troll appeared with his friend the mole who wehre on a roll.
Computer games were being played using their consoles.
Gamesters were losing and blaming it on Nicole.
It is not her fault, said Mr Default as he made them all halt.
Nicole, went down to the vault to get some malt which she put in her renault.
Everyone went back into their homes to get some cheer, they drank some beer.
But when they got in, they were greeted by deers with spears all dressed in the best gear.

both on a roll!


Wishfull Thinking

I met a character from a Dickens tale
Who said ive found a fresh brewed cask of ale
said i in disbelief whence did it come
from a passing cart which weighed a ton
this answer i was very glad i heard
the prayer from when my breakfast tea was stirred
so sitting on a stool with laughter near
is where the rainy day went with good cheer

Thank you for your compliments.

I sit at my computer, thinking.
When will I get my mutant powers.
I patiently wait for answers.
Still no reply to my request.
I have completed the appropriate test.
Then I sent off the answers in my email.
I did my very best in the mutant contest.
While I go and pour out a glass of ale.
An email arrives with a short tale.
It reads, there will be a gale which will make you wail.
You will then find scales that will appear on your body.
Then you be be able to swim like a fish.
You will be a great foody which will make you broody.
This inturn will make you want to sing out in a rhapsody.
As I looked around I saw giant pales of pale ale.
Which led to a trail leading to casks of beer.
Then a whale appeared singing in Welsh.
I felt very relaxed with no hint of fear.
The whale drank all the beer and then started to belch.
As I looked at the whale, it start winking and blinking.
This started me thinking which made the whale start to sink.
So I gave the whale more to drink, which then turned pink.

Your mutant powers are in the mail.
There's one little problem, however:
Sir Tristan is wearing it in the crusades,
And will he come back? Prob'ly never.

Could you,in fact, be Bad Poet?
You may be, and not know it.

Bad Poet could be you or I
Or even Great-Aunt Tizzy.
Your inspirations fall from sky,
And keep you mucho busy.

I am drinking a bowl of scotch broth.
The broth that I drink is truly Scottish.
Made from Higland water and Scottish vegetables.
Some say that could be very debatable.
It is made in the best gaelic tradition.
With good mutton pieces included as an addition.

Beside me is a very friendly moth.
It looks like the moth is made out of cloth.
The moth speaks, and then it starts to froth.
It is in response to the mud mask on my face.
My face is cracking up as I play the bass.
The moth starts to smile which takes quite awhile.
Then it flies back to the isle of Kyle.

Bad Poet does make sense
I see above there's more evidence
Bad Poetry's a wicked mutant weapon. There are few more evil or more worse
In the whole mad, stupid universe
You could make a superman weep
Or send a superhero to sleep
Bad Poetry can cause such suffering
You have to be strapped down to listen to the thing
Go on -
Think of the Vogons.

If not, it could be Paul or me
Or Great-Aunt Tizzy
Or anybody with the power of poetic misery
- That's any of the Bad Poet superheads
Who write the Good/Bad stuff on this very thread
[Thus doing in everybody's head]
Or over half the 'poets' on the world wide web

T' was snowing in the afternoon
Of yesterday but not today
I wanted to go on the moon
Or to the parking lot to play
Alas, alas! I did not go
For it was cold, and windy too
But I'll surely go tomorrow
If I cannot drive to the zoo.
Indeed the zoo's 'n amazing place
Full of creatures and animals
Who sometimes seem to make a face
And sometimes not.

I'm here to write some verse,
But don't know what to say.
They told me, "Keep it terse,
Or you'll drive people away."

Oh don’t get down or be so glum
Such words derive not from man but git
Fingered typed as he did hum
Whilst drinking whisky the drunken twit

Are sober twits as twitty
As drunken ones?
Perhaps they are just as witty,
My suppositions....

Are drunken twits as witty
or gentle poets plain gitty
when the're both sober
from mine and silky song

"wine" and silky song

Logic it is the best
I scratch my head
Consult old vest
Read not too deep in what is read

Some days I feel like an old ugly wart
That sits and does nothing good.
And then there's today, that just seems to thwart
My plans for the neighborhood.

I wonder if it is going to snow today.
I hope it will, I dearily pray.
Then I could go and get out my sleigh.
Riding down the snowy hills would make my day.
Two feet of snow would be okay.
Even more would make it better.
Perhaps even 6 foot or more.

Some people would find snow a bore.
Not for me snow, is one thing I adore.
It's more thrilling than a red letter day.
More wonderful than the fourth of July.
It will make me fit as a fiddle, and very spry.
As I look up to the sky aas I start to sigh.
Hoping that snow will come from far on nigh.

When it gets colder, I'll put on my sweater.
Which will make feel light as a feather.
My heart skips a beat, when all around me is covered with frost.
As I put on my ice skates, I am turned into a speedskater.
Skating far and wide, petending to be an intergalatic spy.
Going to pubs and having the very best cocktails.
Which will lead me onto the devious trails to the marshall with gold fingernails.

To celebrate such a wonderful time, there will be fine wine and bratwurst.
This will be eaten at lunch time with sauerkraut.
Then for afternoon tea, a slice of blackberry pie.
Last thing at night at supper time, there will be rainbow trout which makes you stout.
Being stout, makes you pout and shout out very bad puns aboout brussel sprouts.
I have no doubt that the neighbours will complain that they were not invited.
Even though you had sent them invites, at the time they were all having pitched battles with their roundabouts.

Two feet of snow was what Frosty had.
Four feet, however, would drive him quite mad.

Woof!