iPoem · 7174.391.138.765 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum

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 7174.391.138.765 (no. 789,807) was generated on June 22, 2026 at 2:53 pm
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