Vogon Poetry please

Whilst out doing a funeral I was asked why I never featured Vogon poetry, especially on this National Poetry Day, so (of course) I am most happy to oblige:

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturitions are to me,
As plurdled gabbleblotchits,
On a lurgid bee,
That mordiously hath bitled out,
Its earted jurtles,
Into a rancid festering confectious inner-sphincter. [drowned out by moaning and screaming]
Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles,
Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts,
And living glupules frart and slipulate,
Like jowling meated liverslime,
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turling dromes,
And hooptiously drangle me,
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,
See if I don't.

And of course, if we're doing Vogon (which is the unoiverse's third worst poetry we of course must put aside the marvellous iambic pentameters for a rendition of Grunthos the Flatulent's  (one of the Azgoths of Kria, who I'm sure you may recall possess the second worst poetry in the universe) offering, 'Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning':

Putty. Putty. Putty.
Green Putty - Grutty Peen.
Grarmpitutty - Morning!
Pridsummer - Grorning Utty!
Discovery..... Oh.
Putty?..... Armpit?
Armpit..... Putty.
Not even a particularly
Nice shade of green.
As I lick my armpit and shall agree,
That this putty is very well green.

Sadly I can find no works by the universe's worst poet, 'Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings' (of Sussex).