SoP 39: "Vogon Poetry" and Bad Poetry

a sampling of Vogon poetry
Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz
as translated by Douglas Adams

Oh freddled gruntbuggly! Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits in a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee my foonting turlingdromes,
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindle werdles,
For otherwise I will rend thee in the goberwarts with
My blurglecruncheons, see if I don't.
- - - - -
(Anybody passed out? Internally bleeding? No? Good. I'm no poet, as I've mentioned in the past, but I think the following's a bit of an improvment over the above.)
- - - - -
Bad poetry's
akin to torture.
It's understandable
if it's a new poet.
But a "seasoned" one?
It's cruel and unusual.

I'd cry out in anguish,
"Please! Spare us!"
but I restrain.

Maybe they'll have mercy?
Maybe it'll improve?

But why can't I shake the feeling
that it won't?