Also known as The Story of Itch and Twitch
by Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet
_______________

Itch used to be a wizard
wrapped in golden robes
inside his skull there is a brain
with thirteen different lobes

his head is quite deformed you see
from his wizard hat
that’s why he made his way to me
to put it back to flat

he brought along his homely wife
with skin of lovely green
dressed in tattered rags she was
the cutest thing I’ve seen

such fragile birds with tragic eyes
their lilting song could not disguise
just how far these two had fell
perched now on the gates of hell



I took them both to live with me
and housed them in an old dead tree
Twitch dusts my cobwebs with her head
which fills her heart with fear and dread

Itch starts each day with tortured frown
so I turn him upside down

this gives dear Itch some time to think

while he plugs my kitchen sink

at night they make not one small peep
but I hear them cry and weep

it lulls me off to peaceful sleep

we all must learn to earn our keep

Since the publication of this poem, the Audubon Society has intervened and obtained a court order which requires Ugly Bugly to relinquish the birds into the Society’s custody. Miss Bugly’s whereabouts and that of the birds are unknown. It is believed she has taken then to the United Kingdom where she keeps a summer home. Please contact the Audubon Society or the F.B.I. with any information that may lead to her capture.

by Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet
A selection from her New Dork Times bestseller Thirteen Wicked Poems-Volume 4
_______________

She was my roommate
when I went to Yale
it was her fault
that I went to jail

she killed my pet bat
made fun of my skin
because it was green
I just couldn’t win

she burned off my hair
put poo in my purse
told all my classmates
that I drive a hearse

yes, I’m a witch
as I freely admit
but she’s a disgrace
and I'm sick of her sh*t

I ruffied her drink
I chanted my spell

I framed her for fraud
you’re dead if you tell


it’s hard to believe
her ego’s so large
she looks good in orange
and she’s guilty as charged

Uh-oh, what has Ugly Bugly done? Where did this poor girl go? I bet she sold her to that hobo on the train!

Cookies and Poem
by Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet
This cookie was her entry in the
2023 Bake-Off against Granny
_______________

My sister is
a quirky witch
with yellow skin
she’s not a snitch

I’ve got her back
and she’s got mine
she makes pickles
pickle wine

pickle soup

and pickle beer
pickle stew
you heard it here

pickle burgers
pickle peas
pass those pickles
if you please

cuz my sister
is so sweet
I make for her
a pickle treat


each pickle day*
laid in a pile
pickle cookies
make her smile

I must win
you know it’s true
so I am making
some for you

take a bite
and you will see
stupid granny
can’t beat me!

As you can see, Lilly was surprised by Ugly Bugly’s pickle tribute to Ickity Lickity. Make your own pickle cookie thusly: chop up a pickle. Wrap the pieces in paper towel and squeeze out the excess juice. Hide chunks inside your chocolate chip cookie dough. Bake. Pickle Day is almost here. It makes a great treat for the whole family. (As a sad side note, Granny’s cookies beat Ugly Bugly in the Annual Halloween Cookie Contest Bake-off so we are waiting to see what evil befalls her. Stay tuned.

Like cheerful vampires
in rubbermaid sepulchers
deep in the dark of the basement
they all lie in wait for scarecrow day
when we welcome fall 
with little ones in the flower pots
larger ones on the porch columns
whimsical ornaments of autum

our real scarecrow 
life-sized
two-faced
perched on a pole
tattered clothes
stuffed with straw
obligatory sunflower
and that perfect goofy smile

he’s too loving to scare crows
instead he just stands endlessly
beckoning us to
stretch out our arms  
empty our minds
and open our hearts

he beguiles us
to don a straw hat
and bask in the sun
until the last leaf has fallen
when at last we find
our own goofy smile

This sweetheart has kept crows off our lawn for decades. He has weathered storms, sleet, vandals, and overly curious grade school children — all with a goofy smile on his face. We think he gets more delightful each ragged year.

Wasting time in front of a screen
scrolling away hours of life
we can never get back

dipping endlessly into a cesspool
of avarice, lies, and narcissism
darkening our life

training our brain to live in fear,
negativity, and hopelessness

training our brain to crave
excessive consumption

instead go behind the screen
deep inside
where the wisdom of the world resides

curate your digital learning
make your posted contributions
a refuge of goodness and hope

use this virtual universe
to share your love


don’t be used by algorithms
use their power to make wonders

He brought the plants in
to protect them from the cold night
I suspect that’s how it rode in
that tiny little beetle
making its way
across my refrigerator door

I think to myself 
he's unfamiliar with the
tactical advantage of camouflage
as I am mesmerized
by this speck of a being
black against appliance white

I think to myself 
lucky beetle
you are in a house of mercy
as I watch my husband
launch his typical rescue protocol

like a doctor in surgery
he commands the gentle supplies
that will protect this visitor
from harm during transport

three attempts later
the tissues and paper discarded
beetle is extricated from the premises
liberated to the potted plant
on the back porch

we are fifteen minutes late now
but a life was saved
by this merciful man
with a tender heart

I think to myself
if we trusted more
in the mercy of strangers
maybe we wouldn’t need
so much camouflage

We live in a chamber of silence now
this once bustling home
bears the weight of echoes
memories like distant whispers

the chatter of daughters
the laughter of grandchildren
faded with time to faint murmurs
of what is lost

ensnared by obligations and ambitions
they have dwindled and drifted
from this tiny corner of existence
where they were the heartbeat of our lives

but we recognize their chapter
from our own evolving story
it feels right - like a promise fulfilled
it makes space for something new

but it’s so quiet

I woke up this morning 
thinking about fatness
a personal story

perhaps you’ve heard of Stress Eaters
who seek comfort
in large portions of mashed potatoes

or maybe Pleasure Eaters
who indulge to delight their senses
with a perfect chocolate eclair

I realized this morning
I am a little of both
but something else 
for which I have no name

so I made one up
tried it on
it sort of fits

Hi, my name is mary
I am a Suicide Eater

So much effort
to defy death
as if it were an enemy
to be loathed and feared

No effort required
to embrace death
as if it was ever near
to teach us how to live

allowing ourselves
to be humbled
by this immutable friend
to be surprised by
how much nonsense
falls away in its presence

remind yourself

this day
may be the last one you see

this problem
may be the last one you solve

those words
may be the last ones they hear

watch life change
when each morning
is a new life
to create
to learn
to love

watch yourself change
when each night
is a new death
worries end
regrets die
gratitude swells

you sleep in peace


Memento Mori

Love-struck by the sky
where the universe waits
for us to unravel its wisdom

the deep black void
a canvas of what could be

the sparkling stars
a blueprint of the first creation

both waiting for tiny us 

to speak the names
and give form to the formless

let there be light
let there be a child
let there be a poem
let there be love

the sky is a lover’s invitation
to be co-creator
of this consecrated space

to bring our own stars to life
from the darkness
is our sacred task

heeding our heart’s whispers
until they echo through the heavens

If you’re wondering what got me started writing poems, you’ll find the story here. Or, if you’re wondering why this collection is called Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read the past issues of Slender Stalk, click here. If you’re wondering where you can read more of my poems, check out my website: Life at 240.

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