The Plough and the Stars: a poem about the intoxication of wine

I am on my back

And I can see the stars,

a blurry moon

And an out-of-focus Mars.

And by Jupiter!—is that Jupiter?

Orion and the Plough?


There are a lot!

Lots and lots of Stars!

There appears to me,

as far as I can see

to be Millions and millions of them!


The scent of fragrant blooms wafts upon the tropical air;

The grasses sway

and brush my hair;

Cicadas sing a symphony playing out of sight

their evocative sound chirruping in blue moonlight;

A cattle bell rings a gentle tone from a cow or goat in the distant somewhere on the mountain;

grazing in the night, 


I close my eyes

And listen to the susurrus sighs of the balmy evening breeze

whispering through the grove of olive trees, 

I drift upon an undulating cumuli of dreams


everything is not what it seems.

I awake with hot sun on my face.

What am I doing in this place?

Where are the stars?

Where is the moon?

Oh, my goodness!—it’s nigh on noon.

I try to stand up;

It isn’t easy.

In fact, I’m feeling queasy.

I’m feeling a little heady

and unsteady.

Oh dear, oh no.

I’m not feeling Fine!

I’ve drunk too much ouzo

and imbibed too much Wine.

L. S. November 2022
My poem is in response to the d’Verse Poetics prompt Cheers! My thanks to Paeansunplugged for suggesting a subject and theme that I know nothing about. 😉 

Bottoms up! 🥂

Photo of me enjoying a glass at the PV this week of the ROI Annual Exhibition. At the Royal Institute of Oil Painters, the Mall Galleries


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