The Worst Poems Ever

Written by Anakin McFly

1. Ode to the Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning
2. Uncle Joe
3. Constipation
4. First Luv lyk omg
5. Ode to the Removal of Your Left Kidney
6. The Decay of Swans

1. Ode to the Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning

Oh, lump of green putty, how green art thou
And putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish
What doest thou in yonder armpit
That is not that yonder, because it is mine
Perchance thou can stand the stench
That flows out from my underarm
Which has not been washed for many a year
And caused the murder of many innocents
Through death by gas.
Or smell.
'Tis a wonderful midsummer morning
Not fit for snuggling up in armpits
In sooth, there are better places to be
For something as putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish
As yourself.
And now I take you out
And I look at you
And marvel at your putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish
Self.
And I smell you.
Your wondrous aroma fills the air
Like a passing zephyr
And kills the bacteria frolicking with gay abandon on the desk
Behind me.
And I touch you.
Ah, your delicate body depresses under the gentle touch of my finger
And falls apart, but I stick you together again
And you are whole once more, my love.
Once again resplendent in your full glory
Putty-ish, and small, and lumpy, and greenish.
And I listen to you.
But you make naught a sound.
Just the gentle vibrations that all things give out
In this universe in which we live.
The subtle assurance of your existence
Flows into my eardrums
And out again, finding its passage
Blocked by a Babel fish.
And I taste you.
Slowly, you slip down my tongue
And the amylase in my mouth reaches out to digest you into glucose
But it cannot; for you are not starch,
But green putty.
And you make your life's journey
Down my oesophagus
Towards my stomach
Where your fate awaits you.
The gastric juices bubble up
In long-anticipated anticipation.
And digests you, oh lump of green putty.
And you are gone
Had you ever been here before?
That is a question without an answer.
Farewell, my love.
I will miss you.
Your putty-ish, smallish, lumpy-ish and greenish
Self.
See if I don't.

2. My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles

Oh bathtub, dear bathtub, how nicely you're shaped
So round and so smooth as I feel you all over
And splash! as I get into you for my bath
And glup! as the water gets into my mouth.
And glug and a blorfle and gwomble and bloop
I gurgle so happily; oh how do you do?

I shampoo the hair on my favourite head
And slather the other with pink marmalade
Kargurble, oh flooble, oh garahagoop
I gurgle while downing a bowl of blue soup
Chamarba, lafooga, oh glurgahiya
I rinse off the soap suds with spinach from far
There's spinach in my hair now, so I eat up some
While gurgling in joy for it tastes real yum
And oops! Some green spinach fell into the tub
Poop bathtub! I'm sorry! Malyooyahgub.

Glug glug glup gloop slahahahagaglug
Gurgle.
Gurgle.
Gurgle?
Gloog.

3. Uncle Joe – A Poem by Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings

Uncle Joe lay in his coffin at the funeral
His anus exactly 98.2 centimetres from his head.
His face was pale white
Which reminded me of the maggots that were to come.
Long, white, slimy ones
Short, fat, juicy ones
Itsy bitsy tiny little maggots.
They would soon be crawling in and out of Uncle Joe
Through his mouth
Out his nostrils
Sliding along his nosehairs
Leaving trails of mucus everywhere
Back in through his eardrums
Slithering down his earhair
Laying their eggs in the decomposing remains of his bellybutton which he never cleaned.
Savouring the mangled flesh that falls of him in huge great chunks.
(Kind of like chicken nugget chunks, but not really.)

I once did an experiment on maggots in school
We got some meat
Put it into a container
And left it to rot.
I brought mine home from school filled with maggots ad my baby sister ate it.
Because she thought it looked delicious.
Maybe she'll try to eat
Dear old Uncle Joe
If she sees him when he's rotting.
But that would be called cannibalism,
Which is kind of rude and you shouldn't do it,
No matter how yummy someone looks.

That's what Uncle Joe used to tell me.
And now he's dead and his corpse is
Falling apart smellily six feet underground.

That's why I wrote this poem to remember him by.
I know he'll appreciate it.
The same way my sister appreciates the taste of maggots.

4. constipation – in which paula nancy millstone jennings learns the artistic value of no capital letters

I.

the toilet bowl was round, its once-gleaming
ceramic bowl now spattered all over
with not-quite-dried urine – (my brother's fault)
i pulled down my pants and sat down.
ah, wet.
little drops of yellow urine, bursting
under my buttcheeks as i sat.
ah, wet.
i huffed and i puffed, but nothing came out
i wheezed and i sneezed, but nothing came out
my face turned all red. my nostrils were flared
into the depths of the toilet, i stared.

II.

waiting, hoping, and pushing so hard, so
hard, so hard, so hard, so hard, oh, mercy!
urine had dried on my butt's underside
i almost cried. so hard, so hard, so
hard, so hard, so hard, so hard, oh, mercy!

III.

and then, and then, oh, that wondrous feeling!
peristalsis at my anus! what joy!
and the faeces moved down, down, down, down –

plop!

and i was

free.

5. First Luv lyk omg – Paula's First Love

His eyes were the exact shade of green stomach bile
Mashed together with green emerald bits for that speckly effect
To give the colour a bluebottle would be
If it were green and not blue.

His hair were like streaks of a wet squirrel's fur
That had been playing with joy in a mudhole
Of the kind that little pigs like to roll in when they're still alive
(Not when they're dead and being eaten)

His lips were red, like O-positive blood
And his nose had two holes, where if you looked closely
You could see bits of dried mucus dangling from his nose hair
The same way bits of dried earwax dangled from his ear hair

He was so sweet, he gave me toothache.

That's why we broke up. He made me hurt.

6. Ode to the Removal of Your Left Kidney

This delicate operation is no easy feat at all
We'll slice your left side right open and pull out your left kidney
Pull out your left kidney
Pull out your kidney
Oh, oh, gharwargely.

The surgeons are not qualified, but neither is your kidney
Your unqualified left kidney
They will go well together
Especially deep fried.
And if you want, for a token fee,
And after the proper requests are made
And copied
And signed in triplicate
And lost in filing cabinets
And found
And all again for good measure
We'll let you have a bite
A bite of your left kidney
We'll all eat your left kidney
Oh, oh, gharwargely.

Be on watch for that one moment
Of deep profound Vogonity
That will stir up into whirls of joy
And loss
The most primal emotions in you
As we sever the knotty stringy thingy
That binds you to your left kidney
Your bond to your left kidney
Gone forever, how sad.
Oh, oh, gharwargely.

And soon, it will be
Gone.
(Your left kidney.)

7. The Decay of Swans

Swans in a pond will
Decay over time
Like a lime
On a till
Dead swans will
Decay over time
It's kind of stinky.

They really stink
Of decay
I think
I may
Smell one now
Wonder how
They would smell
If they didn't decay.
(Probably less stinky.)

Switchform!

Slowly the swans in the ponds fall to bits
Shreds of flesh falling and floating away
With maggots riding feathers towards the horizon
The tiny hitchhikers sure know how to hitchhike in style.
But back to the swans as they decay in the pond
It's really quite agonising to watch, 'cause it's
Kind of slow, do you know? No you don't.
No one watches swans decay.
Except me. Sometimes. Especially in May.
People skinny dip in the swan pond then.
Sometimes they drown. And in a day,
They float in the water and start to decay.
Like the swans.
Over time.
Like a lime.
It's kind of stinky.

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