Best Underarm Poems
The world is a factory farm
And no one can save nature's charm
The harm from this binge
Makes ecologists cringe
And stinks like a raw underarm
Author's note: Let the games begin and hold your nose. The scale of exploitation is unparalleled in human history. But don't worry because more industry and technology will save us.
Painter Pablo Picasso’s
lady may have a three-nostrilled nose,
misplaced eyes, an underarm breast,
and another mid-chest.
a clerihew
entered in Rick Parise's Ekphrasis Poetry Contest on May 28, 2017
Would you still love me if I threw you under a bus?
Would you still love me if I taught children to cuss?
Would you still love me if I sat on your nose?
Would you still love me if I squashed your big toes?
Would you still love me if I had you arrested?
Would you still love me if I had your blood tested?
Would you still love me if I turned you in to the cops?
Would you still love me if I pulled out all the stops?
Would you still love me if I hid underarm hairs in your food?
Would you still love me if I laughed at your most awful mood?
Would you still love me if I smacked around your big brother?
Would you still love me if I sandwich-grilled your grandmother?
I am jotting down notes, deciding how evil I can be,
Figuring out what would make you stop loving me.
How much can I, do I, will I have to do to push you away?
You perpetually are still loving me, so I guess I will stay.
Written 12-07-2018 Would You Still Love Me Poetry Contest. Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
sucked out of denim and
cotton, half in running
flat over the bedroom floor
skinless like a cartoon cat
someone I knew the day before
an underarm stainer, a tracer
a schlepper of bad deeds,
hidden in layers, now magic and gone
as I sleep as a big filling
ready to meet myself
in the morning.
People often say now I understand
When they hear that I'm from Paree
Not Gay Paree silly, but redneck
In the heart of Tennessee
I am the newest style of hairdressers
Here to lay out all the facts
I no longer work on the tops of heads
But straight out of the pits
It all happened when I got bored
With the every day to day
Trimming of the head left me feeling dead
That's when it hit me..."Underarm Braid"
That right there was my life saver
That right there was my turn around
If it didn't make me world famous
At least it did on this side of town
Now people come from as far as Nashville
To have their underarms done
I even gave a left and right pit Mohawk
To the Governor's daughter and son
What? Did you think I only braided?
There's so much more that I can do
Just ask the Punk Rock Chick's that wait in line
To have their armpits colored blue
My older clientele have let there hair grow out
Since it is they learned
I'm now specializing in for both women and men
Their favorite sets and perms
So feel the freedom of the pits
That hippie chicks have long since known
Here at Michael's Salon Of Pits
We'll do something special with that growth
I swung with a vengeance but missed that damned fly
The breeze I’d created caused him to pass by
My electric racquet in underarm mode
Still failed to make that bluebottle explode
It filled me with hate as it buzzed round my plate
I swung and I swung and became more irate
That foul little demon was soon to be dead
As soon as it took itself off of my head
Now, I’m not a coward in anyone’s book
But I’m in no hurry to smell my brain cook
I angled my zapper to strike as it rose
And almost set fire to the tip of my nose
It flitted at speed like a Pac-Man on heat
But I am a human… I will not be beat
My dinner was cooling and it wasn’t salad
I’ll murder that fly and then write me a ballad
Overarm, underarm, back-hand and flip
My energised racquet was firm in my grip
At one point it landed on chandelier-high
And I had to wave that light fitting goodbye
My sausage was cold (can we please keep this clean)
And I had become a fly killing machine
A back somersault and a cartwheel or two
My electric racquet had flashed neon blue
Poor little Tiddles, she trusted me so
Her recuperation has some way to go
But I’ll give her cuddles and snuggles and then
I dearly regret that I zapped her again
Twas kinda Dick Whittington, but in reverse
Tiddles left home and I don’t know what’s worse
My poor little kitten is out on her own
But that demon-fly is at rest on my phone
How great the temptation to say what the hell
And batter that fly and my iPhone as well
But then it took off and it sped through the air
I swung and I swiped and set fire to my hair
Okay I confess; just a few hairs got singed
But I don’t have many and that’s why I whinged
In anger I swiped at the sound of its hums
Which came close to giving me two deep fried plums
How bloody long can a bluebottle live
My electric racquet and I cannot give
Yet more gymnastics to vanquish our foe
As I shoot some volts through my right hand big toe
I whirled like a dervish and now on a mission
I swung like a thing that had infra red vision
But, boy, did I cheer at the quiet little ‘phut!’
As that fly took a window to find it was shut
***
But now I feel guilty for I’ve done okay
Though I don’t know who saw me swinging away
I owe my new job to that small airborne menace
My local school wants me to teach the kids tennis
Be happy for you have not witnessed it
The time where Haiti shook and fell
On this paper I transmit
This event worthy to tell
It started like any other day
Everything was calm and nice
Maybe it was nature’s way to repay
Us for our vice
In a split second it begun
Everything was going up and down
No matter what, you couldn’t outrun
This destructive force shaking the town
After a while it ended
The place was filled with dead silence
I was with my siblings that I defended
Saving them from this death sentence
I saw a man running with blood
All over his face, and lost his arm
The rest of his body covered with mud
With an organ sticking out of his underarm
During this catastrophe
I lost a lot of friends, and family members
I would like to destroy that part of my history
But everywhere I go that feeling ember’s
I was unlucky to see the remains
Of what was left in this desert
I had to close my eyes for it pains
Me to see my people trapped under the dirt
Just the thought of writing about it
Makes a bed of tears in my eyes
On that day I was whit
My friend as he lays and dies
For what happened to Haiti
Pray it doesn’t happen to you
This pain will cause you to worry
When they say you’re safe is it true?
I studied cosmology for 4 years before I realized there was no mention of make-
up or hair styling.
I saw the movir "Superfly", and didn't understand why they never even showed a
zipper!
I wanted Lasix surgery- but, due to being stupid, I wound up with Latex surgery;
now I have "boobs".
I love movies- and had my heros- and I was classified a "copy cat". But I got tired
of the hair balls in my throat.
I'm probably the only one who considered suicide by H-bomb.
I ordered a "Blair" catalogue, expecting a book about witches.
I had a car I nicknamed "Flattery" 'cause it got me nowhere.
Ever notice that some hospitals have a "detox" ward? Does that mean that
somewhere there's a "tox" ward?
I'm a musician-I've been, for years, trying to join a "Rubber Band". Guess that's a
stretch, huh?
My house is so messy, I don't remember the color of my carpet.
I used to be a department store buyer. But I could never afford to buy stores.
I suffered from chronic pain for years. Then I got divorced.
All this talk about "role models"- boy- just go to the bakery!
I have a very high IQ- but in my case it means "Idiot Quota".
Someone once scolded me about my self-depreication. I replied-"It's better than
self defecation!"
Everytime I went to the psych ward I signed in as "Randall P. McMurphy" true!
confused? see "One Flew Over the Cuckoo Nest".
Russian? I don't know, they seem to move pretty slow to me.
Napoleon Bonaparte? I don't know, I've had a number of Napoleons from
various bakeries; I never found any bones.
I guess the Nazis must'a needed a lot of underarm deodorant.
Cell phone? I don't know- seems like being in prison is hardly worth it.
If we capture Osama Bin Laden, instead of death, I'd make him watch Billy Mays
commercials 24/7. (Too gruesome to even think of!)
Jock itch is a bit_h. Glad I'm not a "jock".
Wars never end, they just change names.
I once spent a winter in my old home, alone- no heat, no gas, no phone,no
food,sometimes no electricity. Ever have your underwear frozen fast to your
body? True!!
Well, my friends, till we meet again! Here's to Soup!
Deject jejune muck
Underarm hollow tax cows
Nods lone land per hoof
Grasshopper a widower
Yelps fable ape logy bog
Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Why do ladies wink and titter when they glance at me?
At the office party I stood beneath a sprig of mistletoe,
Hoping some gal would upon my lips a tender kiss bestow!
For the party I wore my new suit and a matching tie,
Shaved my mug and fragrant Old Spice I did apply!
I brushed my teeth and sweetened my breath with Listerine,
And polished and brushed my shoes to a dazzling sheen!
I applied underarm deodorant so as not to offend,
Got a haircut having the barber fashion it per the latest trend!
I stood there looking, I thought, rather suave and debonair,
But not a gal approached me - none of them seemed to care!
I happened to glance down and was shocked at what I did see!
My fly was unzipped! Oh dear! That was what the matter be!
I was born in the beautiful country called Zimbabwe,
Now it is devastated by the tyrant Robert Mugabe.
It was once a land full of milk and honey,
No this poem is not going to turn out funny.
But once this African came into power,
The whole country turned sour.
Don’t get me wrong not all Africans are bad, I turned out well,
Well besides the underarm smell, what the hell.
I remember when everything looked new, we were happy souls,
Now we have ten trillion dollar bills and the roads are full of pot holes.
Yes this is the country you need two wheel barrows full of money to but bread,
There's no welfare so you got to beg borrow and steal or you dead.
We had beautiful scenery, like Matopos (the balancing rocks) and Victoria Falls,
But this African destroyed it all.
We used to call the Falls the “Rain that thunders,”
Now I think it should be called “The nation’s tears caused by one man’s blunders.”
I now live in the UK where my father was born and where I will be
But as the saying goes “You can take the monkey out of the tree, but not the tree out of the
monkey.”
I miss my country the lovely Zimbabwe
And so sorry one African can mess it up, the African Robert Mugabe.
*Africans' attitude Contest*
The Islamisation of the world
Birds began falling from the sky, first a few but then
millions of birds fell dead to the ground one had to take
cover for not being killed by the mass of feathered deaths.
The sky was poisoned by our underarm sprays and other
stuff we used to cover our natural human scent, days of
silence but not for long, insects had no enemy bred fast
and we slithered ankle deep in bird droppings.
Summer, not a pleasure everyone sat indoors feeding
canary birds while swarms of insects clouded the sun.
a burqa that covered the whole body was the solution,
aftershave lotion and perfumes were forbidden and there
were aroma patrols walked around the neighbourhood
50 lashes and six months jail for anyone who wore the slightest
a whiff of perfume; and overnight we became Muslims.
We are in the age of raging time,
rhyme and reason down the drain
with our coffee grinds,
quick views and videos, terror on the tubes,
smart-mouths cursing
between commercials
repeating Breaking News.
Find somehow a parking place,
stand in line, glazed over,
gulp a drink, make smiling face,
chew on a Something Burger,
Spray underarm deodorant
so your sweat smells sweet—
sit at the computer,
tap away,
sinking in your seat--
gaze at the little icons,
brand them in your brain;
wash the car to guarantee
a bath in Acid Rain;
set alarm and throw it down,
put body in a shower,
Stop a minute! Cries the churchman—
time to smell a flower!
Time to look in someone’s eyes,
Past the flickering nod,
to run through open fields again,
to contemplate a God—.
Cook your dinner,
stub your toe,
write bills --small change keep—
moments touching tender skin
through packages of sleep---
stand aloof and shy because
you said the wrong damn thing:
watch a Sitcom, sponsored by
all your plastic things—
O what to tell the child inside
that still believes in dreams?
(O young girl, and O young boy,
deafened by the screams?)
As for Romance--
not a chance
though still a wavering ray
of Light I see: I’d like a Knight
to carry me away.
But if I were innocent Maiden Fair,
with bosom bound in silk,
the men on my street
would rape me down
for Heroin and Coke.
I’ve no time
to quaff the wine,
can barely wash my hair,
and the clocks tick on as my life winds down
running down the stair—
(and in the store, a pregnant clerk
is not allowed a chair…)
So all of us are forced to stand
And Never Can Sit Down:
the ants in ant-mounds ---better off---
hurrying around.
I’m out of breath
I’m out of time --
there was so much to say
I always thought
I’d get the chance
But life just breathed away.
JVB U of Louisiana @ Lafayette 1998
Under her arms
was a tangle of hair
It was quite easy
to get trapped in there
But thanks to the razor
the tweezers and laser
Drops of sweat now
love to betray her
The Beetles
I will now write a love poem and will include
heart, souls, roses and a box of chocolate with nuts inside
but a song by the Beetles keeps getting in the way
“Will you love me as before when I`m sixty-four?”
It was in Tokyo when heard the song I was visiting a girlfriend
who was a stewardess on a liner, the song said it all.
A few days later I met a cook smelling of booze and underarm
sweat, he told me my girlfriend had a lover on the ship
a steward, I confronted the man we had a fight and I was thrown
ashore. She had stolen my heart, but I had the song;
so I will not write this love story after all,
perhaps tell you a story of Frieda, who collected monkey poo,
kept them in glass bottles and inhaled the scent
but she produced wonderful paintings.