Best Mouthwash Poems
Daylight is greeted with the horrific stench of food chunks
swimming in stomach acid, dribbling onto bed sheets.
Accompanied with the embarrassment of
brown syrup puddle stains.
Head is pounding
like a hammer - hammering nails into the skull.
Cumbersome movements drag drowsy flesh to the mirror,
as bloodshot eyes with yellow hue, glare in reflection.
Exhausted hands rub dense stubble,
as heavy eye lids struggle to stay open.
A cocktail of coffee and a cold shower
comfort this somber slumber.
Mouthwash and mints help disguise
the fragrance of yesterday's session with Bourbon.
Continuous sips of water, attempt to quench sultry thirst,
but the blandness cannot douse untamed flames.
Especially as days consist of sitting
surrounded by monotonous blank walls,
and staring at cracks on a vase -
silently watching wilted flowers crumble.
Struggling to defeat temptation from fermented demons,
summoned by cravings for that burning sensation,
the tongue cries for mercy.
Infiltrates the mind luring it to
lust for sour liquid passion
that infuses the bloodstreams.
Hands trembling, parched lips quivering -
only golden nectar can ease the pain.
No need for a glass, as bottle is devoured,
with momentary pauses of 'aaahhhhh.'
So begins the daily quest,
to suffocate every sorrow.
To feel numb upon request,
with no care for tomorrow.
Favouring fantasy over reality,
each drop kills the pain.
The bitter sweet taste is a lethal injection,
but the numbness helps to feel perfection.
In a place where nobody notices -
alcoholic symphonies lead to intoxicated sympathy.
To deal with being alone, to forget the world,
to forget the name.
Envious eyes can be a crime,
leading to jealous tendencies.
Hiding secrets can lead to becoming a victim
to a self inflicted demise.
An empty bottle leads to remorse.
Bitter sweet tears roll with shameful giggles.
Now the cracked vase looks perfect with flowers blooming.
Inebriant melodies mock the mind.
Attempting to dance, legs stumble and crash to the ground.
Laying there on the floor - laughing.
Then crying hysterically.
The heart has no desire to be sober,
only to remain intoxicated until death.
The Silent One
20 October 2017
My nutty week stays long in my memory
My brain didn't process like it would normally
But just to be sure I now lay of the pink gin
I will share you my tale and shall now begin.
Paracetamol had been placed inside the freezer
Then found in the bread bin, the daily newspaper
My mouthwash was used as a face cleanser
Then sprayed underarms with the air freshener.
When cooking dinner I put no water in pans
Smoke and burnt offerings, so opened a soup can
Two hours of slow sewing, repairing some things
Only to discover I'd missed both sides of the seams.
Made tea instead of coffee, an easy mistake
But my feather head told me it's chocolate milk shake
Lucky that time the tea had cooled down
But annoyed with myself and felt a right clown.
Was I losing my marbles? why all the muddles?
That week I seemed in a right fuddy duddle
But the last straw came when I went to bed
I had slept on the floor of the garden shed.
The second stanza is true, I have done all that
The rest is made up for bit of spoof slap
But wanted a poem for the nutty contest
This I made up from my nutty mind set.
"N" Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor Constance La France
Written 20.09.21
Dear Abbieanne, my love life is in tatters.
All I seem to do now is blither and moan.
Absent a mate all my dreams have been shattered.
In spite of best efforts my prospects have flown.
I thought a good heart was all that would matter.
Indeed there are other traits I have not known.
Like brushing my teeth and taking a shower.
Plus shaving my nose so hair doesn't flower.
And using a mouthwash so breath won't offend
like a wealth of garlic and beer seem to do.
Or wearing clean clothes with no stains on my end
and watching my step so no doo's on my shoe.
And washing my hair. Deodorant's our friend?
All these endless tasks. Will I ever be through?
To my misery this letter will attest.
Very Truly Yours, Despondent in the West
The glass was half empty until he smashed it on the room divider
Tequila Sunrise on the wall
Shattered the pieces lay on the ground when he walked on his shards
Barefoot floored surrender
A bitter taste of guilt as he wretched his way to the bathroom sink
Unplugged mosaic of pain
The lipstick kiss lingered on the mirror but her toothbrush was gone
Message from a bottle
Staggered in defeat he stumbled on slurred words of another promise
Twisted spluttered echoes
As he rinsed his tongue with mouthwash more lies mourned his loss
Prolonged rapid suicide
It was the kindest thing she would ever do for the wasted drunkard
Tough unrequited love
17th February 2020
Scope is the drink sans pleasure
That always burns a hole
And stings your gums -and have you heard
It's worse than vile gall
And Listerine is more absurd
And sure your tongue to harm
Yet mouthwash wasn't meant to hurt
Like an acidic storm
Therefore imbibe with caution and
You'll find that you agree
Another beverage there ne'er will be
So full of caustic glee
For Brian Strand's "Adaption" contest
Parody of Poem #254 - "Hope" by Emily Dickinson
Poem #254 by Emily D ickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Say good morning to the cold bathroom floor-
mouthwash tastes like a reused mojito
vomit erupting from a molten core-
in the sink, fermented blood starts to show
from sacrament taken on Thursday night,
my last supper. Judas, feel what I feel-
whiskey nailed to a cross, my final fight.
No more beer or tonics will make me kneel
genuflected for a porcelain god-
today I will rise steady on two feet,
not carried by a bouncer as he plods
to a dented cab in a smoky side street
My dear friend, you dined silent at my side,
But under your thorns I cannot hide
Coming off third shift, My brain in a haze… Feeling worn and ancient, Dragging through the day’s maze.
I got home exhausted— As tired as a dog. Reached for a drink— Spilled water in the fog.
Grabbed for a sponge… But what did I meet? In my sleepy confusion— A Rice Krispie treat?! ??
My knees were aching, And so was my back. Tried to brush my teeth— Dropped the toothpaste cap!
Rummaging for cereal, With hunger in my belly, Found a bag and took a bite— Wait... was that jellyfish deli?! ????
Ran for mouthwash To cleanse that awful taste— Gargled boldly— Soap?! I spat in haste! ??
Night crept back in. Time to get dressed. Buttoned my shirt… Gave it my best.
But outside in the breeze— Someone gave a yell. “What is that smell?!” I couldn't quite tell…
Then I looked down— One shoe was black, one was blue. And on one unlucky sole… Was the culprit of the pew! ????
I've tried to tell you you’ve got bad halitosis
When you open your mouth folk can’t fail to notice!
The stench of your putrid dog breath I simply abhor
Just use a toothbrush before you head out the door!
I’ve dropped subtle hints but you don’t take the bait
I even left you mouthwash when you had a blind date!
Last Christmas I gave you some soap on a rope
It’s still in its box; so I’ve just given up hope!
If you use a deodorant perhaps you’d then get hired
Your personal hygiene leaves so much to be desired!
The impression you give is that you’re a total slob
It’s no wonder that employer’s won’t give you a job!
You claim that you’re happy with the ‘caveman look’
As your landlady I’m telling you to go sling your hook!
***********FICTION WRITE********************
‘*sling your hook’ means leave or go away
I wish I had the guts to say what I really felt Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
8/10/18
We were best friends.
We were lovers.
Inexorably linked.
For such a commitment-phobe, I fell in love quickly. But I didn’t fall, really.
I dove headfirst.
I chose her. No, she chose me.
She was always lurking in the shadows. She always knew I was The One.
She was just waiting until I was ready. She loved me.
She watched as my hair fell out in clumps,
She handed me the mouthwash and she soothed me as I nursed the blisters on my knuckles and
together we reveled in the cracks, little channels of blood escaping from the frigid,
sallow skin.
She watched my lips turn blue and laughed condescendingly when people gasped in horror.
They are just jealous, she told me.
We linked arms and she helped me walk on shaking, spindly legs down the hallway. Jealous.
They’re jealous.
Sometimes I hated her. She turned me into something cold and callous.
I told her of my hatred once, and she grew violent.
She asked me if I was getting soft, vulnerable.
I needed her, she needed me.
A perfect symbiosis, but god, she was a parasite.
My erratic heart pumped her venom through me and it gave me strength.
I ran manically around the track, every morning at three, because I couldn’t sleep, and
she encouraged me, run, you disgusting creature, run.
Run until you matter.
You’re beautiful, you’re hideous, you’re disappearing and you’re running like a mad, mad
animal in circles around that track and you’re going to do it again tomorrow until the
crevasses in your collarbones deepen, until your jeans dangle pathetically from the
daggers protruding from your hips.
You need me, she whispers tantalizingly.
Sick paradox.
I need her
To elevate me above my needs
As I strolled down Beaker Street
A neon sign flashed in front of me
That said "Only Serious Poets Need Apply"
(Blink) "Need Apply" (Blink) "Need Apply"
So it was I thought to myself
I can think of nobody else
As serious as a poet as I
I looked to the right and the left
Feeling pretty confident about myself
And decided to take a gander inside
The room it was totally dark
In the corner was the tiniest of sparks
I did a stately poetic stroll in that direction
Feeling I might have made a mistake
This thought occurred a little too late
But of course this whole scene might just be window dressing
A voice said we don't need a poet at all
Just someone dumb and gullible
That's the moment in my pants I started messing
Turns out it was a mad scientist
With a masters degree in craziness
What were his dastardly plans I could only be guessing
I was grabbed by a couple of ugly thugs
Who highly dislike deodorant and mouthwash
Tied up and flown off to the smallest of islands
Where they did unspeakable experiments on me
In the first, second, and third degree
All because to insanity they took a liking
When it was they were finally done
With what those nut jobs consider good fun
Don't know how many walls they had me climbing
Daily now I plan my escape
I only hope that I'm not too late
When the opportunity arrives I hope I don't blow it
I find it so hard to believe
That this all has happened to little ole me
And Why?
Because of me being such a serious poet
Woke up with a funny taste in my mouth;
Drank all my mouthwash, think I ate a mouse.
Burned out my razor just shaving my face.
It seems that I'm shedding all over the place.
I'm allergic to silver, the Wolfsbane's in bloom,
And I hate it whenever we have a full moon.
Can't keep a girlfriend, they don't understand,
No walks in the moonlight while I hold their hand.
My dog doesn't like me, the cat ran away,
And others bemoan one single bad day.
For Wolf Man The Beginning Contest by SillyBilly the Kidster
Bedtime Routines
A sly glance at his bathroom routine
Reveals clearly what the night would mean
If he reaches for mouthwash
He’s coming for her, oh gosh!
She promptly wipes her under arms clean
Written on:04/26/2017
putting on deodorant in my car
no shower....no wash-off
brushing my teeth with mouthwash
no toothbrush....no toothpaste
shaving with focus on being alert
no privacy....no home
still stinking....still nappy....still jobless
all i have is my plastic bag and my latest travel clock
i still have my charm, but what good is that without stability
i guess i will pray another day and sign up for this germ infested public library computer
the world feels like it is spinning, but in the center of this spin cycle chapter of my life, i know that there is a way out....and i am gonna find it....
There’s been a lot of speculatin’
‘Bout the cologne some cowboys wear,
And the toothpaste and the sweet mouthwash
And the way he combs his long hair!
I’s here to clear up the confusion
‘Bout these gallant ol’ equine gents—
And tell ya the gall dern ol’ stark truth,
That will make fer good cowboy sense.
Cowboy toothpaste is black gunpowder
And his mouthwash is rye whiskey—
But we’ll never know ‘bout his cologne
‘Cause getting’ close is too risky!
And if on the subject of hygiene,
He remains silent as a sphinx—
Ya better chaw ya some strong garlic
To cover up the fact he stinks!
Don’t git me wrong on my conclusion,
When some ol’ cowboy smells like rot—
‘Cause others take a bath once a month,
Whether they dern needs it or not!
There’s one special moment during your day,
When you can be honest and open and true,
And that’s the moment after you roll,
With your one special lover and you,
And your words should be coated with honey filled love,
And then luxuriantly spread,
But in that moment with peace in your heart,
This is what you might whisper instead,
“Do you still have that concentrate mouthwash,
I think you should go to the doc,
And where’s the closest taxi rank,
And I hear you’ve been ‘round the block,”
Also, “I think the condom I used just broke,
And what was your name again,”
Just beware, you should not say this,
Between you and your most intimate friend.