‘Sonnet on the Death of Teeth’ and Other Poetry by Damian Robin

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.