Armpit Farting... It's An Art Poem by Mervyn Graham

In the land of whimsy, where laughter's spun,
Lies the World Armpit Farting Championship, begun.
A stage of hues, with lights aglow,
An audience awaits, their excitement to show.

With quirky costumes, each finalist appears,
Their names a delight to tickle your ears.
There's Sir Squelchalot and Lady Guffaw,
Dame Parp and Master Bigblaw.

The competition starts, the air aflutter,
As each contestant's armpit farts utter.
A cacophony of sounds, both wild and wry,
Brings forth laughter from the crowd hereby.

The judges, with faces set stern, yet barely hide
Their mirth, as they evaluate with pride.
For tone, for volume, for creativity's grace,
They mark each performance in this wacky race.

As the final round approaches its peak,
Tension mounts, making spectators weak.
The contestants, with antics bold and bright,
Entertain the crowd through the night.

Then comes the moment, after much ado,
The winner announced, the crowd's joy anew.
With cheers and applause, they hail the one,
Crowned champion under the stage's sun.

Adorned with a medal, comically large,
The victor stands tall, a true armpit-farting charge.
Showered in confetti, amidst laughter and cheer,
A celebration of silliness, year after year.

Mervyn Graham (cc 2024)