Yesterday, I was reminded of really bad poetry when I reread a reference to the Vogons in a story that I wrote. I found the Vogon Poetry generator http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhiker...ettergen.shtml , but I have found only example of poetry of Paul Neil Milne Johnstone aka Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings http://community.livejournal.com/hhg...26.html#cutid1 . If anyone knows where any more examples of Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings is available, I would like to know.
Here is your Vogon Poem from BBC Cult
See, see the underground sky
Marvel at its big black depths.
Tell me, Amy do you
Wonder why the human ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel stiff.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your huftled facial growth
That looks like
A cheese.
What's more, it knows
Your prissy potting shed
Smells of grapes.
Everything under the big underground sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm noses.
I had to do another one:
See, see the spacy sky
Marvel at its big beige depths.
Tell me, Connie do you
Wonder why the hairless cat ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel dreadful.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your varsupial facial growth
That looks like
A leftover meatloaf.
What's more, it knows
Your penal potting shed
Smells of wasabi paste.
Everything under the big spacy sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm dirty gym sockss.
"...if you weren't smart enough to get a pedophile in a dress to put a small amount of water on the child’s forehead, then what the eff did you think was going to happen?
This came to mind again, so I searched for other poetry generators. the first one I noticed was The Love Poetry generator http://www.links2love.com/poem_generator.htm . The output is o a par with the Vogon generator. Here's an example:
My Love
Your skin glows like the apple, blossoms flat as the pansy in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your oboe voice and leaps like a goat at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great raven wing.
I am comforted by your bra that I carry into the twilight of bookbeams and hold next to my nose.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of vodka.
As my knee falls from my sweater, it reminds me of your desk.
In the quiet, I listen for the last dulcet of the day.
My heated abdomen leaps to my chic. I wait in the moonlight for your secret paper so that we may slide as one, abdomen to abdomen, in search of the magnificent orange and mystical chair of love.
Actually this may be worse than Vogon poetry.
This is purely random words, so it is much better.
http://www.angiemckaig.com/play/poet...php?numlines=5
an example:
friend, whose smile has come to be
i love to steal awhile away
over the river they beckon to me
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
as a naked man i go
let us express our baser passions
she must go back, she said
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
the air is full of dawn and spring
This is actually pretty good.
heres my vogon poem!
See, see the stern sky
Marvel at its big orange depths.
Tell me, claire do you
Wonder why the hyena ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel cranky.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your scrudoorly facial growth
That looks like
A cheese.
What's more, it knows
Your muck potting shed
Smells of pea.
Everything under the big stern sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm poos.
"Come away O human child!To the waters of the wild, With a faery hand in hand, For the worlds more full of weeping than you can understand."
W.B.Yeats
"If it looks like a Dwarf and smells like a Dwarf, then it's probably a Dwarf (or a latrine wearing dungarees)"
Artemins Fowl and the Lost Colony by Eoin Colfer
my poems-please comment Forum Rules
Your skin glows like the peach, blossoms sublime as the iris in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your lute voice and leaps like a feline at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great peacock wing.
I am comforted by your pants that I carry into the twilight of beautybeams and hold next to my breasts.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of liquid silk.
As my eyes falls from my brassiere, it reminds me of your eternity.
In the quiet, I listen for the last yawn of the day.
My heated lips leaps to my ring. I wait in the moonlight for your secret love so that we may copulate as one, lips to lips, in search of the magnificent red and mystical adoration of love.
Originally Posted by HiddenGem
I really enjoyed that. some horrible stuff,
the evening floats in on a great peacock wing is a gorgeous image, maybe not bad at all.
"Don't matter who they are, anybody sets foot in this house, they are company and don't let me catch you remarking on their ways like you were so high and mighty."
heres my vogon poem!
See, see the stern sky
Marvel at its big orange depths.
Tell me, claire do you
Wonder why the hyena ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel cranky.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your scrudoorly facial growth
That looks like
A cheese.
What's more, it knows
Your muck potting shed
Smells of pea.
Everything under the big stern sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm poos.
"Don't matter who they are, anybody sets foot in this house, they are company and don't let me catch you remarking on their ways like you were so high and mighty."
The dead swans lay in the stagnant pool
They lay, they rotted
They turned around occasionally
Bits of flesh dropped off them from time to time
And sank into the pool’s mire
They also smelt a great deal
I think I'll have to go gnaw my legs off now
Nah, this don't qualify as Vogon Poetry, it isn't bad enough - lol.
Sorry to necro, but this is too hilarious.
See, see the hysterical sky
Marvel at its big brown depths.
Tell me, Anne do you
Wonder why the vulture ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel groggy.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your bazingaloo facial growth
That looks like
A yogurt.
What's more, it knows
Your pusillanimous potting shed
Smells of cactus.
Everything under the big hysterical sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm socks.
Your skin glows like the avocado, blossoms warm as the snapdragon in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your lute voice and leaps like a tiger at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great robin wing.
I am comforted by your vest that I carry into the twilight of slopebeams and hold next to my wrist.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of glycerin.
As my toe falls from my shorts, it reminds me of your strangeness.
In the quiet, I listen for the last crash of the day.
My heated navel leaps to my blouse. I wait in the moonlight for your secret felicity so that we may take as one, navel to navel, in search of the magnificient green and mystical thought of love.
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