iPoem · 5307.773.937.327 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum

Based on Raymond Queneau’s A Hundred Thousand Billion Poems, The 100,000,000,000,000 iPoem is a non-commercial artistic project inspired by Queneau’s work and the tradition of literary variation it inaugurated.
→ iPoem 5307.773.937.327 (no. 790,790) was generated on July 15, 2026 at 12:57 pm
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