Sonnet on the Death of Teeth
I’m amused by a brush with Death
In the depths of my bathroom mirror.
His grimaces shrink into grinning,
His ruthlessness fades to bad breath.
His rot had once fogged me with terror;
Now his gnashing is rootless and blithe;
His gargling grotesques are not winning;
I’m done with dead fealty and tithe.
I swoosh my electric toothbrush;
He picks at his gaps with his scythe;
I ignore the black gunk on his scythe.
I’m not scared so he whips out in a rush
Two big dentures that reek as he breathes,
Two risible, horseshoe wreaths.
One Approach to Death
Death the Reaper,
Death the Reader,
Death with candle, scream, and book.
Death by Water,
Death by stream,
Death by worm and fishing hook.
Death’s so seedy,
Pushing through;
Death after all is always new.
Death gets harder,
Death gets mad,
Death is Death
Not good, not bad.
Death incognito,
Death in a well,
Death insensitive as stone.
Death with a hump,
Death as a bump,
Death over which a bicyclist is thrown . . .
Death with a bell,
Death with a horn,
Death a misplacement
On the pavement.
Death to follow.
Death will stalk.
Death unexpected
On the sidewalk.
Death in battle,
Death by collateral,
Death by damage,
Death by stealth,
Death of the individual,
Death for wealth.
Death in chaos,
Death in calm,
Death that really does no harm.
Death for dinner,
Death for sure,
Death lies waiting
At the door.
Death, the stranger,
Death, the friend,
Death that drives you
Round the bend.
Death, the inevitable,
Death anyhow.
But Death,
Not now.
Damian Robin is a writer and editor living in the United Kingdom.
These are both excellent poems by a man with a broad, well-developed psyche not afraid of self-irony. Bravo!
These are great lines:
“I’m not scared so he whips out in a rush
Two big dentures that reek as he breathes,
Two risible, horseshoe wreaths.”
Beaming smile back at you, Mr Yankevich. Thanks.
I like these poems so much, which I classify as neo-baroque, that I invite you to send similar poems to The Pennsylvania Review, which I own, at pennsylvaniareview@gmail.com
Here is one of my poems in the similar style: http://pennreview.com/2017/10/bakelite/
This is a perfect opportunity for me to post a poem I wrote in 2006.
Death
This too shall pass,
Blind until we see.
Death come at last,
It has no remedy.
A flower must die
To bloom once more.
So again we try,
To see what death is for.
Beating like a drum,
As we come and go,
Intervals must come
For the wind to blow.
So vast the universe,
Behold a cob of corn.
Death rides a hearse,
From night unto morn.
Death goes on forever,
For life to ever be.
Always betrays never.
Death makes us free.
To correct a typo, the line should be: Death comes at last.
By the way, Damian, your Death poems are great.