iPoem · 5747.5912.165.341 · Cent mille milliards

1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum

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 5747.5912.165.341 (no. 789,575) was generated on June 17, 2026 at 11:04 am
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