Raymond Queneau’s sonnet work Cent Mille Milliards de Poèmes (Hundred Thousand Billion Poems)
Source: goodreads
One structure, thousands of combinations.
A silly sonnet:
One’s left with only sorrow and disease
enough to spur on any picaro
the Turk you see was deeply mired in sleaze
across the hillocks comes a steady blow
Just one was right and not those SOBs
your mind turns more and more to gloom and woe
both are right not that vague congeries
the Greeks and Romans read and thought ‘how so?’
The genealogist finds every blot
we’ll smack the dibbing kiddie’s little bot
shame gives the colonel’s brow a greasy sheen
Oh reader thinking thus your heart will lock
the Indies have enough without that schlock
so we are cousins now to king baleen