Enamel Poems | Examples

If I gave up Sugar

If I gave up sugar
would I crave more salt?
Filling up my diet with potato chips and French fries?

If I gave up sugar
would the enamel grow back on my teeth
Would my missing teeth grow back?

If I gave up sugar
would I lose weight and feel healthy?
Would I still be me?

I daresay I will never know

Tooth And Nail

                     tooth
               jagged, canine
        aching, decaying, eating
  denture, enamel, manicure, claw
       grabbing, clenching, filing, 
              etched, pinpoint
                       nail

Mentality

Drifting face across fulfilled lives, how many lies do I see inside? 
I see without visual, drowning in endeavours.  
I hear within silence, the blinding numbness adhere to my veins. 

The silence enriches my absent thoughts, swallowing me whole into the jaws of fate. 

What’s holding me captive in this divine existence? The monotony of being etching away my compounding resolve. 

Saturated with doubt, with guilt and remorse. A futile endeavour to attempt release from the clutches of madness. 

Altering ley lines to divert my path, digesting the inedible and finding purpose within.

Disturbances not overcome but overgrown with enamel concealing the ugliness left behind. 

The path forward we travel, onward we look. Hereby is the contingence to survive. Survival is key, survival is free, survival is not where I want to be.

Best use of my time

I began playing this game with myself

So at any moment you are holding something
How would you kill an intruder
I mean some of them are obvious
Throw the tea then use the cups like enamel
knuckle dusters
Deodorant like a spray
Handy flame thrower if you have a lighter in your hand
Toothpaste takes some thought but if you can squeeze it onto your hands and go for the eyes
Hairdryer and plug
Like a pair of Noon
Chucking blades as I charge towards them
Sometimes good to share

Pen would get the wickedness treatment
Spooning eyes out on stalks
Balloons depends on what they are filled with

Tell them
I will
Not one psychopath in here
There is definitely more than

Took me eons to work out
Mainly tricks in may
A brill
I ant ain’t an auntie

Started working on scenarios on stairs in water
Has anyone ever been xylophoned to death

Red toolbox

Some still now
	remember when
years ago
	it there stood

red enamel
	with handles of chrome
a polished top
	of finest wood

with drawers so large
	with tools filled
most carefully cleaned
	and put away

wrenches of chrome
	both tiny and large
some modified
	for particular jobs

and bars of brass
	most carefully shaped
that they did use
	in most curious ways

and how they did tell
	tales of old
in jobs they done
	over so many years

but now it’s gone
	just memories remain
of the red toolbox
	now they’re gone away

Pause for thought

I can feel my tendons contort
The sickening crunch of bones breakage
The skin across my face pulling to a snout
My lips ripping apart as razored enamel
adorns a snap
Can’t stand
Beneath me legs bevel lowering me earthward

I can taste it’s iron on the back of my tongue
My stomach grimaces in tongues of twisters
Left need so far back
My ears ripping into points
Every rustle edible on the nights hum 

My screams no longer have a trace of humanity
Snarling spits and swirls of froth
Just highlights in the slit eyed shape I must become

Dripping

No healthy oils
but beef dripping kept
solid in a white enamel 
can with a lid
in a cupboard under
the oven. Reused until
too dark and heavy 
with sediments, 
the dregs flavored 
the best chips.

Mothers carried 
the war year's frugal habits
into the fifties and so
it was with mine. 
My Mum could make
a feast out of almost nothing
and gave little 
to the bin. 

There was an observed 
formality for meals,
all of us had to sit 
at the table, elbows
at the side and recite
the customary grace.
No getting up until excused,
no talking with your mouth
full, no reaching across
someone else's plate,
every request had to be
prefaced or end
with a ‘please’.

Something of the sacred
gave dignity to the rituals 
of preparation 
and consumption of food. 
It wore the presence 
of a gift. Not sure if today's 
abundance is better
or worse - no matter -
as we eat whatever
and whenever in haste,
plugged in and sedated
by a mind-numbing choice,
our progress is measured 
in waste.

Five Minutes

Dentist appointments cause me to linger,
Someplace betwixt dread and the blackness,
Fright’s version of despair, 
Wistful and aching with silent prayers,
Silent, silence, soundless – still,
All the reasons, the responses, the requisites,
For those hours, endless times
Spent, losing my mind, 
With mouth opened to oblige
Fingers pressed against my gums,
Forcing the enemy’s needles,
Taste of lidocaine, breathing in and out,
Through expanded nostrils,
Urgent moments, flooded with apprehension,
Distracted by the metal instruments,
Dreadful apparatuses, 
Some intended to scrap at my enamel,
Pick at my fangs,
Some meant to dislodge roots,
Extract a tooth, - a part of me,
A portion of my flesh, my body,
Buried deep in my gums,
Where silent forces sing of dark horrors,
Will this dentist ever finish?
It seems like I’ve been in this chair for hours,
Looking at my watch….

Can it have only been five minutes!?!

MINIATURISTA Hilliard Holbein

often 
   called limning
 vitreous enamel
 painted on copper
or ivory
opaque,
 & gold
  to heighten effect 
of
ingenious illusion
 in
soft focus
images-

society's
face
in
detail-
stubble
  warts an'all

My Poor Overnight Guests

I am a little bit of a trickster 
It has to be said
A wee bit mischievous
Somewhat bonkers in the head

Friends came to stay the night
So l played a cheeky joke
Showed them to their room
Explained all for when they woke

I mentioned if they needed the loo
In the middle of the night
No need to stumble in the dark
 We do this and its works a delight

I bent down and pulled out from under their bed
An vintage enamel handled pee-pot….full of wee
Initial awkward horror followed by hysterical laughter 
As it was a pee pot full of apple juice you see!

On Healing

Sometimes healing is messy
It is a rollercoaster 
Ups and downs
Sometimes I can handle it
Other times I lose control
I say I am in recovery for my bulimia
But I still struggle
I still consider pushing myself that extra hour in the gym
I think skipping lunch that day won't hurt
I sometimes spend too much time looking at teeth enamel strengthening toothpaste and whitening strips
I only look at healthy snack like plain rice cakes and original sun chips
Carboard is not the most appealing flavor
But it is the safest one
I don't have to feel guilty when I eat them
I won't need to punish my body later
Some days though
I will eat the birthday cake and not worry about it later
I will still go to the gym but only spend 30 minute there not 2 hours
I brush my teeth not worrying about if i will cause any damage to them from a purge
Healing is messy
Somedays are easier than others
But I know that I am trying my hardest.

Scalloped

Enamel finger-smeared thick with butter
Yellow onions, yellow butter, floured and browned
Just add cream
From roux to dream
Now spice to glue that hold my world together

The team assembles for its tasty mission
Cheddar, gouda, mozz and more
Thick sheets of ham
Tubers sliced translucent
Layered, latticed, clothed in white bliss
Sealed deep into my black Dutch Oven

Four hundred twenty-five degrees, twice boiling
Every five minutes, I keep checking
Time warps
seconds are hours
Only half done, removing the covering

Top comes off, melting marbarella muck
Gilded golden gruyere
Splattering over spuds
Swirling cheese seas
Miasmic fragrant fromage tauntingly teased air

Beep! Beep! Beep! It's done!
Don't waste a moment
Too hot to taste
Bubbling lava lake
Slowly crusting cheesy skin emerging from the oven

Finally, the soup solidified, gooey cultured cream
Ready for the fork and spoon
Potatoes caked
Ham baked
Reality as gastro-goodness manifested dream

Onto my plate, my fork, my palette, my bliss

The Doorway

He sat in the doorway of the empty shop
Daily for so many years
Unwashed and foul smelling
Often the object of disgust and sneers

He held out his old enamel cup
To make a dollar or two
To buy a little food and drink
Just to get him through

His face was worn and weathered
Though his eyes were a beautiful blue
A handsome face he still possessed
Despite the toll and hardship his body knew

I often wondered about his story
How he came to have no place to call home
I would never know the reason 
The doorway lay desolate and alone

Shadows On the Horizon

Strange - how one can know of a thing
yet not know it.
That I should perish someday is no secret ...
but how well do I know this?

My injuries before were always superficial.
A scar upon the surface
but no loss of function.
Now, my form has changed for the worse.
Not by much, perhaps, but such small changes
are the first stumbling steps toward the pit.
A small loss of enamel,
a thumb that may never bend as far as it once had done.
Trivial losses in the grand scheme of things.

But there is something utterly terrifying
in taking damage that cannot be repaired.
And the roads of tomorrow seem so much more 
wreathed in shadow now.

31 August 2022

The Misnamed Would Quarrel

They began to quarrel,
After he heard ‘Squirrel!’
Instead of Stan Scammel
And he called him ‘Rommel’:
“The Not-Strong Enamel”
Who could Hitler blackmail 
While it was ‘Same Barrel!’

Then, they stopped The Quarrel,
When he heard ‘Becquerel’
A Laureate with a Laurel …

Quarrels from Nicknaming:
A Purposed Misnaming!
Who would such start claiming:
A hateful Misnomer;
KGB’s Informer
For OGB Omar …

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