Vogon Poetry Corner Volume 2

Of Hair and Appetites

Rake my mullet, my sweet flaky biscuit in burgled borscht
Dance the ancient polka of panini and char my ventricles with hot poky thingys
Alas, this feeble benign bunion bellows and yearns for Budokan
Fie! Fie! Crispy koalas and smoothies on a stick
Feed my dentured molars with your pleasing plurality of pensive pistachios and pernicious pompadours
Crackle me some, good fellow of Budokan
Crackle some and begone like the crabs of cream.
Urp.


His Master's Wiley Way

"Pooch," he clamored with foul intent of talcum
"Sit and stare, and let not your eyes avert from this bag of delicious lamp."
Complied he, and he stared long like a very thin lake of lava trees
No bark came from tongue, but waggle and Purina bits
The scent...
Heavenly stench of judicious jam jarred in January
The dog, he barked
The lamp sat, lit and lascivious like an evening with cattleprods
"That'll do," he spat.
And he spat again, softly, serenely, psychotropically.
Yea, he did do it.

Vogon Poetry Corner (volume 1)

(Poetry originally translated by the late Taro Riser)

The Comfort of Brains and Behinds

If I were a couch with cushions carefree
Take my seat and vacuum the kernels of yesterday’s kettle corn
Behind, so bulbous and seated, tether me to my L2 vertebrae
And rock me gently until grazing goats gouge my ganglia.
Your lullaby vacuums the caverns of my medulla oblongata.
I am refreshed with your spicy syrup of spores.


My Iron, Cold and Angly

You wrinkle this sheet like an emu who seeks a dung beetle in a tiny patch of filth
Do not hinder my sweaty palms of destiny and vehicular malfeasance
Your willful metallic water dripper dost not phase my granular insect infested thorax
“Nay!” I phleghmatically drip into a case of ripe avocados.
The day has copulated grandly and my will has been expedited by a fur pocked hammer.


Pondering a Patch of Lint on Crust of Pizza

Oh filth on a plate of rusty carburetor screws
Lube the lugs of yesterday forthwith until the seals howl "Momma!"
I see you deposit gunk so easily on my Noritake
Wherefore art is my pepperoni?
See how your garment sheds like a dandruff infested alligator...

She's Always a Vogon

(to Billy Joel's She's Always a Woman)
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She can kill with red tape
With a stall she’ll devise
She will oft promulgate,
Till you sense your demise.
And don’t try to appeal
For she won’t hear your plea
She’s cold and reviled
Cause she’s always a Vogon to me.

She will lead you along
She will flail and demean you
She is dry as vermouth
And she’ll never believe you
And her words are not soothing,
Abrasive they be
Yeah, from her, no relief
Cause, alas, she’s not Vulcan you see

Oh- if she’s near, go seek help
She berates when she wants
Her skin is like slime
Oh- all the rules she will spout
All the rules she will spin
She just lives to malign

And she’ll chide and she’ll bore
As you hope she stops breathin’
Then she’ll say she’s a poet
And you’ll pray for a healin’
She’ll recite you her best
Then for death you will plead
Say goodbye mental health
Cause her verse curses all poetry

Oh- can you feel your brain melt?
You will pray to get shot
Or be strung up with twine.
Oh- she spews things from her mouth
And they run down her chin
She is not so refined.

She’s infrequently kind
And she’s evil and cruel
And the bile she releases
Is dung beetle fuel
You’ll find she’s addicted
To bureaucracy
And then when she is through
There’s not much left of you
Yes, she’s always a Vogon you see.

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Copyright 2010 Warren Baker

Vogon picture from the movie Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

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