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ian-lewis-copestickPoems
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
0
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
Under The Full November Moon
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
ian-lewis-copestick
Written by
ian-lewis-copestick
45/M/Stoke On Trent
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
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