Best Aftershave Poems
The snow slowly morphs into rain, a thousand cold cocoons that release raindrop butterflies into the frosty air. They glisten in the morning light, clinging to soft leather like tiny diamonds as he drapes his jacket across my shoulders.
The jacket smells like him: fresh soap and spicy aftershave--and that spearmint gum he always keeps on hand. It's way too big on me, but he zips it up anyway, pulling the hood over my head to shield me from the rain.
dripping icicles
bleed beads of liquid light--
fingers intertwine
He's soaked, but he doesn't seem to care as water slides down his rosy cheeks, dripping from his frozen nose. He brings my hand to his lips and whispers, "Happy New Year." Even his lips are cold, but I lend him my warmth.
As we stand there together in the soft tranquility of winter rain, I realize I'm happy. I want to stay here forever, in this life-sized snow globe of frigid weather and smooth, warm leather.
For Giorgio's "Leather Jacket" contest
To never see your face again
To lose the map of your body
To misplace memory itself
For example
Today I lost your nose
I couldn't remember which nostril
Was bigger
Last month it was your facial hair
How it felt against my flesh
I still hold on to your aftershave smile
But the hair on your forearm
is still vivid
Brown red and black
An earthly pallet
Like ivy climbing up you arms
You hated your bodily hair
You shaved it every month
I begged you to save it and love yourself
I recall diving my face
Unto your chest hair
It got warmer
The deeper I dove
those lazy afternoons
How the fog transcended us both
I took naps on your stomach
As the cats watched us
Remember when you punched that guy
And he tried to strangle you
I clawed his face
His wife pulled my hair
That was our honey moon
You called the police
I called my mom
And cried
You visited me in the hospital
With guilt dripping from your eyes
Words flew like poisoned darts
Others wanted us apart
But we stuck
Each carrying their cross
Were we ever Heroes?
Doubtful
We were the fools
Laughed at by the children
we never birthed
I wanted to say goodbye
But I was too angry to realize
That goodbyes are a formality
When your soul suddenly dies
We will never have Paris
We hated it
Instead, We will each cry
In a separate house
Until one day
Not far
My face becomes elusive
Your face turn muddled
What is left
This emotional leftovers
Is the essence of what once was
-----
Manar Ammar
Cairo, 2015
I light a candle for you this lonely night
Vanilla scented footsteps from the past.
The smell of your sweater a poignant delight
I wonder how long the memory will last.
Lavender scent to ease the empty pain
Potpourri of emotions in the smoky air.
In honeysuckle flames I see you again
Inhale the smell of aftershave in my hair.
Lose myself in pipe tobacco and peppermint
Barbeque fumes from a long lost yesterday.
Chocolate laughter that tease and hint
Of watermelon wars in the dusty hay.
Coffee memories that taunt and tease
Lost conversations in the smell of brandy.
Dusty morning air after a hard freeze
Your body heat so sweetly handy.
I light a candle for you this lonely night
Vanilla scented footsteps from the past.
Somewhere deep inside it's very tight
I wonder how long is grief supposed to last.
Cornflakes with honey and chilled little feet
from drafty morning windows and cool tile floors
sits next to her grandfather to listen
as he tells stories from his days in the war.
She watches him lift his ceramic brown mug
with steam like silhouette hands reaching his face
the black brew smells of warm summer soil
so she leans over and asks for a taste.
"This drink is for the adults, dear, you're much too young,
the flavour is too bitter and strong for your tongue."
The aroma mixes with newspaper and aftershave
she stares at the mug's water black and mysterious
then rests her little head on his sweater to watch
as he marks letters in the crossword with eyes so serious.
Memories of breakfast together are never lost
feeling safe and calm and completely at peace
they live in every sip of her morning coffee
with cornflakes, crosswords and chilled little feet.
“Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.”
John Keats Ode to a Nightingale
“Strange to find a sea captain quoting Keats.”
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
She knows nothing
about the sea,
the sails or thee,
your perilous tongue
swimming with the sharks.
The captain dies
by suicide -
nay.
stupidity -
aye.
She’s protected,
captured
by his salty speech.
Oft the wind
carries
its scent of aftershave -
nay, again,
for the bearded captain
scowls,
transcends
with this blasted widow
scores
a poetic love.
11/19/2019
There were so many present today,
To pay their respects and
To bid you their final farewells.
Some expressed grief at your sudden absence,
Some took a fond walk down the memory lane.
Some left early having fulfilled their societal responsibility,
Some sat in silence, unable to articulate their many thoughts.
What about me, you ask?
I wondered.
I wondered what will it be like?
When I run out of the last of your favourite biscuits.
Or when the bedroom stops smelling of your aftershave.
When your loyal labrador is too old to go for a walk,
And when the flowers stop piling at your grave.
When the oak tree in the backyard withers,
And when they stop selling your treasured cigarettes.
What if our trusted tea shop around the corner closes down?
And all your shirt buttons start coming undone one by one.
I wondered.
I wondered what will it be like?
When everyone stops grieving,
When everyone moves on.
What will it be like?
When I lose you in the truest sense,
And I finally grieve in a world happy without you.
I was first picked up
In a cast-off shop in Liverpool;
Surrounded by racks of seasoned shirts
Bearing names of old soldiers.
“Draper” draped on an immature frame
In a collage of brown and green,
Overlapping and enveloping
Any semblance of a past self.
Baby-faced and militant,
The paradoxical camo in an urban warzone.
Slogans painted from shoulder to shoulder
In pungent, nuclear-white bathroom paint.
The smell is burned to memory,
Singeing nose hairs with chemical vigour,
Of dance-generated sweat, upturned pints,
A lover’s aftershave, the sting of cigarette smoke.
Washed once, maybe twice,
But anxious eyes watched the spin cycle,
Fearing specks of dislodged paint
Covering my muddy canvas.
Now “Draper” drapes a matured frame,
The only scent that lingers is
The petrichor of Northern summer
Tie-dyed deep into my fibres.
I bare a name that isn’t mine,
Memories of a life I did not live,
Scars from battles I never saw,
And honours that aren’t mine to claim.
Why am I grouchy, tired and upset?
And why can’t I cheer up like others I’ve met
Who go on their way as though walking on air?
Smiling and humming with nary a care
My friends have all shunned me and it’s getting me down
I can’t lift my spirits or shake off my frown
All I can do is to carp and to moan
I suppose that’s the reason I’m left on my own
Is it ‘cause I’m ratty or my jokes are so bad?
Is my aftershave chronic or my clothes really sad?
I am getting a complex, I can’t work it out
What is causing my anguish as I go about?
I should show my mettle, be macho and tough
(But it’s hard to be manly when feeling so rough)
And never show weakness, striving never to fold
But this is quite different; I’m a Bloke with a Cold!!
failing to see which road would be best,
not knowing how much i've really been blessed-
too much time on my hands with too much fear,
wishing you, my father, were still near
cramped in a box without room to breathe,
needing more than this life can believe-
my constant friend is gone like the breeze in Spring,
as I hear the sparrows in your birdhouse sing
my reason for good health has been taken away,
little to do with the words that they say-
not living as I should when on the road that you led,
thinking of you lying gently on your death bed
i remember your aftershave in the morn,
before work in your suit---(now I'm tattered and torn)
afraid to go forward without you by my side,
wishing i could run to your loving arms and hide
a father, a friend, too much pain to have to bear,
i'll always wish we had more time to spare-
loving and dying and crying without you,
fearing my sobriety will somehow fall through
but i sit and watch your sparrows create a family,
remembering how important you are to me-
i miss you and wish you were holding me in youth,
hoping that you can hear my truth
a porch swing to feel the breeze whisper a secret,
knowing it's a gift- (and i shall always keep it)-
living so that you can be proud of me,
i miss you, dear father...
for you're the sparrow in me
_____________________________________
to my dad- who every year watched the sparrows mate and create a family in his special birdhouse on his porch. I heard them singing and wrote this poem.
Love you, dad- I pray you are listening to the sparrows in heaven with Karen...
love,
your little girl
-luloo
7.23.21
My tale about the barnacle I bared upon my bum
has now passed into legend and folk law
The battle I thought was over and now long done
Just when I thought I could sit down and relax
and lick my wounds
and heal my poor bum
I now have two barnacles
clinging on instead of one.
Their jealous of each other
and like a porcupines
my bum is very sore
I'm stuck in the middle
and I don't think I can take any more!!!!!.
My telephone is melting
and they push love notes through my door
I'm divided down the middle
and I'm preparing for war.
I have no idea why they follow me around like flies
maybe it's my aftershave that smells so nice
There's nothing about me
I do declare
but everytime I turn around
there's always someone there.
Why couldn't it ever be
who I really like
I even tried to escape on my motorbike last night
I thought I was just saddle sore
but latter when I pulled my trousers down
what did I see
not two barnacles but three.
I darn't leave the house no more
and I've barricaded myself in
I'm now a nervous wreck
and I've taken to drinking Gin
I've sealed the letter box and took the phone of the hook
and have been searching amazon for a useful book.
If your a poor sufferer too
have a hammer and chisel
we can help each other get through
just bare your bum like me
and maybe we could throw the barnacles back into the sea.
''Beware! their out there''.
Peter Dome. copyright.2014.march.
The cold wisps of wind on the hard wood floors makes your toes cringe in holy socks.
The cabinets give room to store house spiders, they fill every crack and cranny.
Money spent on you alcoholic breath.
Why do you insist on blowing that smoke in my face?
Am I really that much of a disgrace?
I plead and beg for you to release the chains but your promises for a better life keep me from breaking free.
I have lost you in your steel toed boots and aftershave.
Where has the spirit gone?
You talk about fighting demons, but I see no trophy.
You speak of knowing and giving to the world, yet I see no rewards.
You are as lost as I in your pool of dreams.
You see them almost gone, circling down the drain but you hold onto the rim as if you can't see the bottom.
I can taste the dirt in the food and the mold on the walls does not fool anyone.
You are more lost than the rain without a stream to join,
Sinking into the old porch steps with no purpose, yet you cry of silver an gold.
Let me be free!
Let me live my life as you intend to be,
But don't let your promises break me.
In days of old when men were bold
And they didn’t use moisturiser....
They shaved with a sword,
slapped whisky on their chin
And didn’t use aftershave in an atomiser
The scraped the dirt off with a shell, they reeked a good manly smell
They combed their hair with the jaw bone of an ass...
Not now oh no, their hairdryer is so big
You need a drying license to use it
there’s even an exam you have to pass
They broke their nails with hard work
A beer or two they do not shirk
But now it’s a wine bar and a manicure...
Oh where are the days when a man was a man
And not a female male that’s for sure
We woman must share the blame
We wanted equality
But then we took it too far...
Now we’re down the pub while they cook the tea
And we are the ones having a jar
There was nothing as nice as a man opening the door
To let a lady walk though
Not today’s man we find,
we have to stand behind
And open and hold the door for them to pass too...
When men were the ones we looked to for help
They always came through for us girls
No now I’m afraid,
they are busy at home
Baking cup cakes and tying ribbons for little girls...
In days of old when me were bold
And didn’t use a consealer
Proud to show off their scars
And not refuse a date,
To use their face mask and their skin peeler...
Girls we must shoulder some of the responsibility
We wanted to be more equal to our men
Now we get the tattoos,
Drink pints and pints of booze
Wear jack boots, party till dawn and even then...
Bring me back a real man,
I’ll do all that I can
To keep him happy in his manliness...
I’ll work at it hard and teach him well
Even if I have to I’ll pick out his dress…
© ~GG~ 28/12/2012
Please do not be upset all you men out there I was cleaning my bathroom, I have to grown sons and a husband. I was moving all the products while I cleaned the shelves and out of 15 different bottles and potions I found three were mine and one of those was my toothbrush. I borrowed my son’s hairdryer to dry some moister because I wanted to re-grout behind the sink. I had to ask him how to use it because it was digital…………….dah xx
The show it is over another one gone
Never ever again I decry and bemoan
Five days of eating the turkey and ham
Curries for me and the bones for dog Sam
The tree in the corner all naked and bare
Pine needles cover the carpet and chair
The presents patiently wait to be cleared
Aftershave and face balm; I have a beard
My head in bits from abundance of drink
Can hardly talk never mind clearly think
Pants must have shrunk they are too tight
My wife has left after a big row last night
I may have said that her bum was quiet big
Her father a waster and her mother a pig
Of joy, carols and merry I’ve had my fill
I tell you now you can stick your goodwill
Sink stacked high with dishes and plates
The tables a mess and the floor in a state
Sports been cancelled because of snow
The car’s frozen in so I’ve nowhere to go
T.V. is repeating twenty year old shows
I think I’ll just settle to rest and repose
Even if Christmas I sometimes besmear
Peace to you all and I’ll see you next year
When I am gone you can spread the word
And leave your cage like a big black bird
You can tell your world of my dreadful deeds
And give your hungry lover all the food he needs
You can eat your breakfast with you hair undone
When I'm dead and gone
The birds will sing about your evil ways
And make stormy weather in your holidays
You willl ask your lover what's happenin' here
And you will look for comfort in my Irish beer
But no drinks can mend your heart of stone
When I'm dead and gone
When my glass gets empty and my time runs out
I dont care any more what you talk about
If your stories are true or a goddamn lie
I'll leave this place with my head up high!
You'll hear the sound of thunder in distant skies
You can fake some tears in your evil eyes
You can give your lover my aftershave
Put a rolling stone on my unmarked grave
Then tell all your friends the bad things I've done
When I'm dead and gone
You can put my poems in a lonesome song
And you can shred a tear as you sing along
Then give it all away to some travelling soul
Along with lonely days and the time you stole
Then you can count the battles I lost and won
When I'm dead and gone
When my glass gets empty and my time runs out
I dont care any more what you talk about
If your stories are true or a goddamn lie
I'll leave this place with my head up high!
The witch awaits her chance to ride her broom
On Hallow’s Eve she does so love to zoom
Dressed in her black cape and stunning costume
Her cat on the back they fly o’er the moon.
Witch prepares her brew for folk to consume
Made from dead rats, bats and bones from a tomb
She adds mouse droppings from around the room
And mixes in chopped up death cap mushroom.
She bottles cat pee called ‘Bridal Perfume’
Some labelled ‘Aftershave fit for a Groom’
Loved by brides and grooms for their honeymoon
Till the honeymoon ends and hope is strewn.
So off she goes on the fright night of doom
Joining with ghosts, ghouls and goblins of gloom
People come sniffing out the cauldrons fume
But trot off soon to the nearest washroom.
Midnight approaches and witch strides her broom
Speedily flying raising sonic boom
Disturbing the birds who wrongly assume
It’s morning and they start to shake their plume.
The man in the moon cannot stand the vroom
He hides his face and earth turns dark illume
Then witch makes her descent through the volume
Therefore normality should resume soon.
Halloween 2021