iPoem · 7087.2911.916.358 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum

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 7087.2911.916.358 (no. 791,441) was generated on July 30, 2026 at 6:05 am
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