iPoem · 7574.5313.583.171 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
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 7574.5313.583.171 (no. 803,419) was generated on October 30, 2026 at 2:16 pm
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