.
Glistening droplets
form soft liquid spheres that spill
moon rain down wet cheeks.


© Pagan Paul (29/11/17)

Drinking again
At 12 'O' Clock
The hangover too much to bear
And it's like a bear
Clawing at my skull
Crunching my nerve ends
So to the shop I go
Two hours later
Feeling better
Smoking a cigarette
That doesn't make me gag
Actually enjoying every drag
As the martini goes down
Of course
Sooner or later
It will all catch up with me
And the sickness will return
But until then
I am feeling fine
Feeling better
One drink
At a time

Under a large, round, yellow
Full November moon
The chill of the cold, dark night
Slips in through my window
It fights against the heating
To send a shuddering shiver down my spine

Under the full November moon
People spill out of noisy pubs
Leaving heat, light, music
A false, inebriated happiness
To stagger, swirling home
To warm beds of love
Or cold, empty houses
And late night T.V.

Under the full November moon
Teenager's breath leaves clouds in the air
Hanging heavy and mingling with smoke
From spliffs secretly held in cupped hands
Hanging around shops, parks
Even the disappearing phone boxes
Feeling the arrogance of youth
Course through their veins

Under the full November moon
The middle aged sit
In armchairs with tea mugs
T.V. droning as they dream of their youth
When they were slim and ****
Or hungry and virile
Before it all slipped so quickly away

Under the full November moon
Swingers swap flesh and fluids
In hotels and motels
With no more passion or emotion
Than passing the salt

Under the full November moon
Prostitutes haul their tired, aching bodies
From car to car for the price of a hit
The dealers  swagger, stoked full of *******​
With the power and arrogance of mediaeval lords

Under the full November moon
People sweat in police cells
Under grey, itchy blankets
On blue rubber mattresses
In a white - tiled nightmare

Under the full November moon
I think of them all
As I sir writing ideas
In a cheap, lined pad
Then turn off the lights
As the full November moon
Bids goodnight
To us all

Walking in the cold, damp weather
Feeling 1/2 a bottle of whiskey better
Than I did an hour before
When it was already dark at Four

In these times, we need some help
To sometimes get out of ourselves
But I know only too well in an hour or two
The buzz will be gone, and here comes the blues

I love these visits from Gentleman Jack
But I hate it when he has to go back
Back to Kentucky, in the U.S.A.
Leaving me hungover and alone again