Vogon Poetry Contest
Mea Culpa, but I Plead not Guilty.
Safe at home,
it was an ordinary day.
I was on PoetrySoup,
reading poems, page by page.
And then, the house shook,
I ran outside,
and to my surprise a light,
shining down from the sky,
lifted me off the grass.
Darkness
is all I remember next,
no couch, no text.
And then a Vogon voice
cooing in the black
uttered syllables full of malice
sending shivers down my back:
“Vogon Voigon, Vogon Voigon, Diip’L Diip’L Space
Goyn’gone, noi escase ynda Diip’L Space
Fingletipslytch, noilbedrytch, brub brub brub
Vogon Voigon, Vogon Voigon, Diip’L Diip’L Space
k’Rrak-tothruut, hutdryl-buz riz riz riz
moiff-braq, braq guud, shreemy ynda Diip’L Diip’L Space
Vogon Voigon, Vogon Voigon, Goyn’gone Goyn’
gentle-nittle
gentle-nittle
expoi
expoi
noi escase”
I needn’t state my fear to you,
nor how my heart turned cold.
I’m sure you understand
how the Vogon stirred my soul,
blended it.
I tried to stay resolute
insouciant to the Vogon’s noisome use
of minatory morphemes, but
I felt them creep in,
crepuscular,
prowling the twilight of my consciousness,
their vowels
staring at me like eyes.
The Vogon vowels, Vogon vowels, Vogon vowels.
I tried to shut my ears,
tried not to hear
the rhadamanthine trenchant chant,
but my wrists held fast in adamantine bonds,
my ears as unreachable as acnestis.
My thoughts,
my words,
were blurring,
becoming more obscure.
My paranoia pulsed
as my metanoia pushed,
my will to resist seeming fatuous,
as I slowly succumbed to a meretricious delight
in the vile Vogon’s exerable verse.
I would like to tell you that I escaped,
for I am back at home,
on my couch
writing poems, but
there is noi escase
noi escase
noi escase
from the Diip’L Diip’L Space
February 9, 2025
Vogon Poetry Contest, sponsor: Sotto Poet
Copyright © Jack Webster | Year Posted 2025
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