iPoem · 7471.6067.930.545 · Cent mille milliards

1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
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 7471.6067.930.545 (no. 796,888) was generated on October 13, 2026 at 12:39 am
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