iPoem · 7018.7965.734.169 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come

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 7018.7965.734.169 (no. 790,491) was generated on July 8, 2026 at 6:47 pm
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