iPoem · 2097.8764.228.843 · Cent mille milliards

1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum

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 2097.8764.228.843 (no. 796,049) was generated on October 10, 2026 at 6:37 pm
→ voir version originale | create new iPoem
→ navigate in dataBase ‹ ‹ bwd | fwd › ›

Disclaimer: This website uses a temporary session cookie only; no persistent cookies are stored. As part of the 100,000,000,000,000 iPoem project, your IP address becomes one element in the generation of a unique poem among countless possibilities. The information is collected solely for the conceptual purposes of the artwork and is not used to identify you personally.

Okay – I got it – Close