1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
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 7558.9307.93.841 (no. 805,292) was generated on November 4, 2026 at 2:44 pm
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