Notes About The Poem
6/8/2026 for "The Wurst Verse In The Universe" Grand Slam Poetry Contest sponsored by Jami Patterson
If It Isn't Johnny B Appleseed!
I never round-or-flatly disagreed
with Johnny Appleseed,
so red, so crisp, so...quite.
Never in the dawning, evening dawn
did I fly up or s*it upon...John James Audobon
in the evening, morning night.
Ah, I'd never be rude or eat the food
of the pulchritudinous Johnny B Goode.
How could I?
And why would I harm
odorless, flightless John Barleycorn
or give him Spanish flea?
I'd sail the vast untarted sea,
or play drums obstreperously,
with that flapjack, John Paul Jones,
but what kind of pancake would I be
if I revealed I was bigger than, by three,
that wunderkind, John Holmes?
Would I ask Johnny on the Spot
for a rag to wipe my snot?
Unindubitably!
Would I surprise him with mascara,
or do the backstroke in marinara
like a mushroom in a noodly sea?
I'd be on time for Johnny Come Lately,
and eat bon bons till I sat, oblately,
under the midday moon.
I'd tell Johnny Carson, "That's a wrap"
and neatly wrap my dog's crap
up with cellophoone.
What about John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt,
that diaphanous, novelty hit?
Would I blast him with the guns of Navarone
under a sky that sticks like the glue
of a colorless, humid, hue?
Would I deny him a raisin scone?
No!
When Johnny Comes Marching In gets home,
I'd serve him grits and iridescent cornpone,
and sit him on my knee.
Then I give him a lavender shout,
and set up an appointment for my gout,
superciliously.
Would I ask John the Baptist to convert?
No, I'd offer him some camembert
and crackers!
And the sprightly John the Apostle?
I'd offer him a waffle.
and crackers
(for dessert).
Oh John Keats, dear clapboard poet - you left too soon,
before I could offer you a macaroon,
or anything that leaves a crumb.
There's a reason I asked you for tea.
Give me a sign. Tell me honestly,
do you think I'm a doofus - dopey, dippy, daft and dumb?
Would I pull the leg or make fun...or steal a tart, chocolate eclair, pineapple upside down cake or cinnamon bun
from the beetle, John Winston Lennon?
Nope, I imagine I wouldn't, in truth,
but I'd surely pull the tooth
of the weevil John Wilkes Booth
under the midnight sun.
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