EDIT — Ack, I posted this the day after. I suck.
Did you know that today is Bad Poetry Day?
(Neither did I until I saw it on the calendar at work earlier this month.)
Now, while my “bad poetry” tag is fair to bursting, I thought it more appropriate to go to the experts, and post some samples of the worst poets in the universe. You may (or may not) recognize the title of this post as being a quote from the poetry of Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz, but there are even worse poets out there than the Vogons.
Let’s have a look at a few brief snippets of the work of the two worst poets in existence.
The second worst is Grunthos (the Flatulent), Poet Master of the Azgoths of Kria.
A selection from his poem “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in my Armpit One Midsummer Morning”:
Putty. Putty. Putty.
Green Putty — Grutty Peen.
Grarmpitutty — Morning!
Pridsummer — Grorning Putty!
Discovery . . . . . Oh.
Putty? . . . . . Armpit?
Not even a particularly
Nice shade of green.
(I do apologize for the capitalization. The Guide tends to give its text in all caps, so I don’t know where capital letters belong and where they don’t.) On the lighter side, a selection from Grunthos’ epic (and fatal) “Zen and the Art of Going to the Lavatory”:
Do not fall over.
You are a cloud.
You are raining.
Do not rain
Is standing at a station.
Move with the wind.
Apologise where necessary.
Hold in there! It actually gets worse! (Please don’t gnaw off any appendages, though. Feel free to leave the post and come back later when you’ve got your strength back.)
The absolute worst poet of all existence is Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex. Her (apparently untitled) poem includes this passage:
The dead swans lay in the stagnant pool.
They lay. They rotted. They turned
Bits of flesh dropped off them from
Time to time.
And sank into the pool’s mire.
They also smelt a great deal.
Truly, Vogon poetry really is mild by comparison.
Thank you for joining me in this trip into the Total Perspective Vortex to see that while my poetry is bad, it’s at least not bad enough to make my intestines leap up and throttle my brain.
Many thanks to the Galactic Arts Nobbling Committee for this opportunity.
(They want me to pass on the information that they’re still looking for replacement members after visiting a poetry slam held by the Azgoths of Kria, btw. If anyone out there is willing to risk life and limb for a little arts nobbling, please contact your local Arts Nobbling Office for details on how to join the committee.)
(This has been an extended quote/reworking of material from Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, mostly drawing on the television adaptation, with one bit nodding to the radio series. Sorry I didn’t manage to work in that awful lint puzzle from the game…)