Armpit Poems | Examples

Sour Pickles From New Orleans

His  smelled of semi-soft cheese 
with a low moldy blue undertone 
I had no tolerance for his smell 
for compared to gym socks,
ammonia, 
or barnyards,  
it was pure Eau de Toilet ! 

After a game of indoor soccer   
he'd break wind 
while holding up one leg.  
He smelled of rotten egg 
formaldehyde, 
and sour pickles,  
from New Orleans....

While they chased after him 
with bottles of perfume 
He'd do the armpit fart 
then run away.   
Leaving behind,  
a skunky smell of Cannabis.

Odd Sock

In the drawer, a pair did reside,
Same color, same stripes, side by side.
They danced and they walked,
Till one vanished, no trace to abide.

To the washer, they went, hand in hand,
To rid themselves of dirt and sweat so grand.
But alas, in the dryer,
One sock was a crier,
For its partner, it searched every strand.

Weeks passed, and the mystery unsolved,
Till in a T-shirt armpit, the missing sock evolved.
It found its way back,
From the laundry track,
With a lesson, its tale has resolved.

So remember, when laundry's the task,
To keep pairs intact is no ask.
For a panty hose snug,
Keeps socks in a hug,
And romance in the laundry won't bask.

The Trump Smell

Sniff, sniff. What is that smell?
Is it him who exudes that tell
Of his character that he will sell?

That the former presidential counterfeit
Smells of ketchup, butt, and armpit
An ex-GOP lawmaker did admit.

Is it pleasant? They say not.
Everything he has, he ill got.
An honest bone is not to be found in his lot.

So, what does Trump expel
That he cannot quell?
It can only be his corruption that we smell.

In My Left Armpit a Big Boll

In my left armpit  a big boll
That made me with anger boil…

Then, nurse began to water boil.
“Please, don’t touch it now: let it boil…”

“But not like breakfast tea I boil!”

I’d prayed fluid would spill on the soil
And had begun to like snakes coil
But her next move, I on that soil, 
With the planned help of a sir Doyle
Who made steadying me his toil…

Several attempts to escape foil…

Treating a boil could a day spoil;
Two friends in arguments embroil.

Blow Your Trumpet

Who doesn't know I can bake
A befitting king John's Cake
And other senior Job's take:
People of High profile make?
Far into the night awake,
Knowledge displayed for its sake,
None of my finished products fake
Not what makes hirers rake
Nor cause to drown in a lake
Nor me liken to a snake...

Sure, I'm blowing my trumpet,
Claiming sweet - smelling armpit:
I had been Luck's Ignored Pet
For decades with eyelids wet...

Poor Hygiene Picked From Eugene

A dazzling forest of an armpit
By watchers paired up with cesspit,
A moment's confirming touch of this
By much displeased hell - raising Doris,
Sure it would puncture Marital Bliss
And all day keep her courting a hiss;
More so, her unhygienic Elvis;
Issues has with The Vilest Pelvis...

No longer The Forgiving Girl friend,
She is now seeking its abrupt end:
Not the best pelvis for love making;
Why would any Eve stop a - raking?

Elvis' suddenly stirred Ring finger
Ready to find out what does linger,
His fore finger to soon face Eugene
For a marriage - delaying hygiene.

Dare I Guess Where He Lives

I do not confide this often, but today is a painful day
The flea is knitting again; and he gets wild with the needles.
So I am being poked and bruised, as he works on an afghan.

My friend asks me “Dare I guess where he lives?”
In a hairy spot, under my left armpit, I confess.
And you cannot get rid of him? I do not choose to.

Why is that?
He is the best dog sitter we have ever had.
He knows how to keep them in line.

Oh…..

Love Questions

How can I jilt you my True Love?
I shall be hurting Lord God’s Dove
Why would I teach you what is wrong
When it won’t help us to live long?
What is The Essence of crying Foul,
When we can absolve wrongs like Scowl?

Which love had lasted and no hurt;
Which hands neared a stuff and no dirt?
Whose loving skills do we trumpet?
All of us smell in The Armpit!

Poor Hygiene Picked From Eugene

A shiny forest of an armpit
By Ninety-Five percent a cesspit;
A quick verifying touch of this
By Ridiculed Christopher Elvis
Also brandishing a moist pelvis,
For long months now excused by Doris 
His Understanding, Hopeful Girlfriend 
But clearly seeking its abrupt end.

Anew, Elvis investigative finger
Goes for The Sticky Feeling that would linger,
His Poor Hygiene Principal Bell Ringer
And Change-for-the-Better Soft Singer;
To his Dad something he should be killed for,
As he keeps wondering what he’s waiting for,
Already by him pronounced A Serious Matter
And on Offending Elvis’ Head a metallic clatter …

His show of disgust had to be perfected
Because Elvis has a wisdom rejected
“All the stops pulling out to pick poor hygiene
From his interactions with Useless Eugene!”

Eternal Waiting Turn

Then a lot of hair and pubic hair grew up
They grew up and rolled his legs on the ground
As if a long-winded root of an entire Banyan tree
Crossing the Armpit valley
Came to the ground-
Exquisite beauty images were embodied 
But the eternal waiting turn was yet to finish.



There was a lot of whispering and whispering 
A lot things were cut and a lot of knots were tied 
By Cutting and binding
It made a gigantic straw-stack of farmer’s house
Like a very big mountain
Exquisite beauty images were embodied 
But the eternal waiting turn was yet to finish.

A Hunter's Flaws

Primitive hunter's arrows
Metallic and they use runes
Effective hunters have flaws
The armpit odor

For the New

For the new
on the rolling earth
The adventurous mind
Yes, I need

On the lazy piece of white paper
The pen is paralyzed patient

Need to travel me
To cure my pen

I like to travel
but without arriving anywhere

Because of the pen of poetry
does not know how to stop

Nowadays
Justice
Truth
Right -wrong
Religions
Political throne
Constitution
Judge
Scale of punishment
all live in the woody armpit of savage power!

The adventurous mind of the pen
comes out from the prevalent dark den
without fixing any trend
to enjoy all thru wisdom shower
for the new independent intuition seeker


02.11.2020 Chattogram

Campfires

Campfires
I have been around them
Burned sausages
Smoke in my eyes
My heart has been hot
My back has been cold
Friends; lost and found
A vacancy sign; removed from my armpit
I have looked into the flames
I have put them out

I tought about that today
We sat in a circle, 2 meter apart
Talked about our back ailments
Almost like sitting around a campfire

Beacon Street Blues

What sort of homeless person would I be
Would I cart all these books everywhere with me
Would I scream and shout to keep the world at bay
Or would I nod and smile by my tin cup each day
Would I dress real well, try to look like a swell
Or would I let myself go, not put on a show
Would I turn to drugs or would I stick with booze
What would I have to lose
Would I rant and rave about equality
And how you look right through me
Or would I understand -
you need to keep what you’ve got
You don’t want to land in this spot
Would I have any hope, would there be any rope
Gone are the jobs that kept the unlucky on track
Now the squirrels are on crack, the humans on smack
The armpit of L.A. gets hairier by the day

Look At Yourself

The skyscraper building this is
Perseverance of sacrifice

Steps after steps, thousands steps the staircase have
Conscience of humanity
 
But immorality enjoys snatching righteous
In falling down gravitational power of ground have no steps

Don’t the index finger aim at others finding faults
Before doing it looks remaining others three aiming at you!

Bad smell! This is dustbin of royal Earth!
No; they are famished corpse, stranded on hollow eye shore!

No stink from these; 
It’s your unshaved armpit!

-November 25, 2018 Chattogram

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