LILLY’S FIRST FLIGHT
as told to Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet by her friend Lilly

You can’t get a magic broom
 until you’re eight years old 
the dangers are too great, you see 
at least that’s what I’m told 

my sister got hers —she turned eight 
but I was only six
I asked if I could try it out 
and maybe learn some tricks 

my sister screamed her loudest NO
so I just sat in wait
after crashing fifty times
she said it was too late 

then while she was washing up
I took the broom outside.
it lifts me up right off the ground
and then we start to glide

soon I’m flying down the street
12 inches off the ground
I hold on tight with both my hands
and twirl around and round

my hair is blowing off my face
and soon the broom begins to race

I don’t know how I made it go
oh, so fast — it would not slow

but I was brave and very calm
until I crashed into my mom

the magic broom was put away
but I will play another day

I ALMOST MARRIED DRACULA
by Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

This is what my father said,
“Ugly Bugly, you will wed!”

“No, please, Father,” I replied.
“He looks like he already died.
His teeth are sharp and drip with blood.
He reeks of cemetery mud.”

“Obey me, Child,” he screamed at me.
“The wife of Dracula you’ll be.”

From the vampire I quick fled,
And hid myself under my bed.

The tears were falling from my eyes,
My gentle heart he terrifies.

Then some plotting came to mind:
A wooden stake that’s sharp I’d find!

Then...

When he leaned to kiss his bride
I stabbed it into his heart’s side.

Because I am so very brave.
I dumped his corpse into a grave

I cast a spell, I cast it twice,
Then I laughed and threw some rice.

On my car it said “Just Married.”
On his grave it said “Just Buried.”

I hope he hears my evil laughter.
I lived happily ever after.

AN INCANTATION MISHAP
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

I must admit I was surprised 
when my spell went wrong 
at first I saw it had three eyes
a face that didn’t belong

A pair of mouths but just two ears
all sharing the same head
it might have been the moldy milk
or something that I said 

I read the incantation
and saw one small mistake
to conjure cats is tricky
like soufflés that won’t bake

I waved around my magic wand
and fell into a trance
I twirled just like a Dervish
and might have wet my pants

I said: O mighty Loki
make it Siamese!
that’s the kind that witches like
my special expertise

my spell book had a tiny goof
I’m blaming on the bat
he left some guano on the page
then I said:  Libre Chat

It was wrong — I know that now
we’ve all done things like that
so would you like an evil pet
a siamese twin cat?

I’d like to know before I die
does it share the middle eye?

I HATE MIDDLE SCHOOL
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

[Note: Ugly Bugly says she wrote this poem when she was 13 years old}.

Betsy Jean is very mean
Because I am a little green,
And my hair is snarled into knots.
It’s black and grey and full of snots.

She says I have a head of mold,
And to the gypsies should be sold.
She kicks my legs and spits at me,
And chased me up a pricker tree.

Now all the kids act just the same
And Ugly Bugly’s my new name.

I have a plan to pay her back,
I’ll make her a revengeful snack.
I’ll bake and frost a special cake
That looks like her but is a fake!

I’ll put it on a pretty platter,
Then amid my clever chatter,
I’ll ask if she would like to eat
A special happy friendship treat.

Then Betsy Jean’s big ugly head
On the platter - bled and dead!

She will scream and feel quite sick
This is such an awesome trick!

Betsy Jean was very mean
Now Ugly Bugly is the Queen!

MY CURE FOR INTERMITTENT BOUTS OF DEPRESSION
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

When I’m a crow and feeling sad
There’s just one thing that makes me glad.

It’s not a falling acrobat,
A mangy dog, or coughing cat,

An ankle bite from little Dork,
My Jewish friends all eating pork.

Some screaming children almost work.
Policemen often make me smirk.

But “glad” is quite a different thing,
And I have tried most everything.

Yes, just one thing will do the trick.
It makes me glad and kind of sick.

When Ugly Bugly gets the blues,
I kick off my black witching shoes.

I turn into a big black crow
And smell for baking cookie dough.

I fly and perch in a big tree,
Then cast my spell and count to three.

I wait until I hear kids cry
(That always makes me feel so spry).

Their sobs bemoan their ruined snack:
Each cookie burnt and very black.

Mom scoops them up and with a toss
She throws away the cookie dross.

It’s such a treasure to discard,
Black cookies scattered in the yard.

Then mother always says these words,
“We’ll leave these cookies for the birds.”

That’s my cue. 

When I’m a crow and feeling sad
There’s just one thing that makes me glad,

BURNT COOKIES!

DEATH IS CRABBY TODAY 
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

I visited Death the other day 
but he didn’t want to play 

his crematorium made of trash
the basement filled with human ash

around my head a smoky mesh
smelling foul like burning flesh

he clutched his scythe, and grinned with glee
no more bloody mess said he
while locusts rest, the demon sleeps
across the world my evil seeps

dark angel of the underworld
what wickedness have you unfurled?

then I see it floating there
coronavirus fills the air

he flails his arms and knots his brow
he stands so tall, he’s roaring now

they’ll not be saved by prayerful tongues
their putrid sins will fill their lungs
their hubris is their nemesis
survival — a hypothesis

all this vice makes me feel dizzy
I think I’ll go — I see your busy.

ICKITY LICKITY’S PICKLE MAGIC
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

When my sister was very young
She liked to rub pickles
All over her tongue

She always hid a mason jar
Under her bed and
Inside of the car

It didn’t matter - sour or sweet
If it’s soaked in brine
It’s her favorite treat

Bread and butter, gherkin, or dill
She wanted pickles
And she loves them still

Ickity Lickity is her name
Her pickle magic
Has heightened her fame

Her pine cone ones are really tart
Her baked bean pickles
Cause wizards to fart

Strawberry dills will make your day 
Shrimp ones are fishy 
But hot they’re okay

She makes pickles from anything
But her classic cukes
Make all witches sing

My favorite spell right from the start
Is her burnt cookie pickle
It brightens my heart

Her burnt cookie pickles 
Are great with milk tea
I love my sister
Cuz she makes these for me

PIG DOG
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

I’m sublime
with my rhyme
all the time 

got a pole
and wig
for my gig 

where I grind 
and I strip 
and I jig

got some coin?
touch my loin
now your groin

that’s my patter
it don’t matter
not a smatter

whose that there
in my chair
with my hair

that your dog
shit a log?
he a hog!

he so big
what the frig? 
eats my wig!

can’t be worse
call a hearse
him I curse

his poo stink
in a wink
he be pink

eat my wig?
wreck my gig?
you a PIG!

puppy slime
you do crime
one more time

like I said
you be bled
you be dead

Ugly B
ya that’s me
count to three

okay, Piggie?
oink for me, baby

MY POPSICLE SPELL
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

Popsicles are really yummy
In a little witch’s tummy.
I did not have a favorite kind.
I ate whatever I could find.

Popsicles were my best friend
And they’d be with me to the end.
Then Sammy called me gross and fat
And I had just enough of that!

I didn’t whine. I didn’t bicker.
I made his popsicle a pricker.
I twirled and said the magic word
That made it taste just like a turd.

He took a lick and threw it high,
So high that it could almost fly.
The teacher reached out with her hand
And caught it before it could land.

Sammy cried and ran away,
I guess he didn’t want to play.

The teacher took a little lick
And looked like she would soon be sick.
The prickers stuck around her lips
And made some awful bloody rips.

She looked like she could hardly stand
I grabbed the pricker from her hand
I ran across the schoolyard lawn
And soon the popsicle was gone

Just don’t look inside the ditches.
Popsicles are just for witches. 

FLIRTING WITH ZOMBIES
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

I was sitting on a bus
making my commute
when two zombies boarded
wearing sailor suits

I hiked my skirt and winked my eye
I gave my best salute
they smiled at me, one’s nose fell off
the oozing one was cute

as they lunged to catch the nose
some man began to shoot
zombie guts were everywhere
and zombie guts pollute

I scooped the muck into my purse
then settled this dispute
the shooting man had no just cause
and acted like a brute

he tried to run away you see
I followed in pursuit
I caught him on eleventh street
then tied him up with jute

the Zombie Navy penalty
for killing a recruit
required that I grind him up
then put him in your fruit

ripe bananas filled with meat
a delicious vengeance treat

GRANNY’S NEW HAIR-DO-NOT
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

 It was her party,
Her fun Halloween.
They said what I did
Was a little too mean.

But think how I felt,
The butt of the joke.
She is the mean one,
The throat you should choke.

“A scavenger hunt
To find Ugly Bugly.
She is so creepy,”
Granny said smugly.

The kids were excited,
Dumb clue after clue,
Trying to find me!
Now what would you do?

The sky was pitch black.
It was so hard to see.
The candles lighted
The path by the tree.

The kids were frightened
Where up on the porch
More candles waited
Dumb Granny to scorch.

She cocked her fat head
And without a care
She said I WAS UGLY,
Then I lit her hair!

Flames quickly covered
Her stupid big head.
No reason to scream,
It’s not like she’s dead.

Granny was livid
With all her hair gone,
Covered with ashes.
(It just made me yawn).

It will grow back, and
It’s not like she bled.
It was a fun prank.
So here’s what I said:

“Your shiny bald head
Looks just like the moon.”
(Perhaps that comment
Was spoken too soon). 

Make fun of me
Try if you dare.
I will burn off
All your hair!

OLD TULL
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

There were some questions
I needed to mull
there were some corpses
I needed to cull

I kept the third head
he’s terribly dull
not much to look at
I named him Old Tull

I had no idea
he’s less than a hull
not quite the brightest
and easy to gull

my bad decision
I now render null
and charm a pumpkin
outside of his skull

Tull has some hair now
it fits like a glove
he is my cutie
I think I’m in love

BROOM SHOPPING
By Ugly Bugly the Witch Poet

For all of my life
I wanted a broom
So people would say,
“That witch can sure zoom.”

Not just a broom 
But one with a heart
That fires real bullets
And makes its own fart

The broom with a boom
That lives in a tomb,
Fills people with gloom,
Sports a slimy green plume

It’s all that I’ve wanted
Since leaving the womb
A broom with purpose 
That helps a witch bloom

I’m filling with doom.
Let’s look in that room.
Do you smell that fume?
I think it’s my broom!

Don’t look at me. She told ya not to read ‘em! You’re scared, right?