By Christos Floratos
These lights, they blossom as
Benches are left dormant like Antarctic ice,
And bodies undulate to the envy of mountains.
But why are these colours craved?
For a time of life. A sharing – of some sort.
Summer’s egress has fallen short of it’s glow.
A silent-loud decree is shared,
Of buttoned shirt and short-dresses,
A concubine of rats and men’s immortality this night.
Cruel bouncer. You block them from this night.
Cast dissonance upon their movements,
Let their legs stale like deviant cogs.
For intimacy has no atrium.
An open colonnade for expressions.
Love, like air, fills us up temporarily, forever.
Drinks are not to quench,
But to enforce this thirst
A longing of something far off, off, off.
Vague, like their purpose.
No white doves to be consummated here.
Constituents? No. And men? They go
To the night after,
To remember vivid lights and rhapsody’s,
To make friends and whatever tomorrow denies.
Night-time Colours is the third poem of the ‘Autumn, That Bastard’ poetry collection and is perhaps the most straightforward poem of this collection. Primarily, it focuses on my experience with clubbing-culture something I don’t really dabble with too much anymore. The formation of this poem, which was written sometime when I was sitting in a club in June of 2017, is both a celebration and critique of clubbing. Mainly, the poem acts as a celebration and an understanding of such a fun, but sometimes awkward youth sub-culture.
“But why are those colours craved?”Stanza 2, Line 1
The 3 line structure for stanza is a subtle comment on the repetition that I experienced with clubbing culture. I put emphasis on ‘immortality’, ‘forever’ and a sense of legacy that clubbing culture emits because many people in my experience proclaim, in the moment, that is the best moment of their life. But when I mention, the ‘thirst’, I refer to sex and further exploring sexuality, which I’ve found is an innate desire of clubbing-culture. I do not think this is always a bad thing, but it is usually accompanied by disappointment and failed expectations.
“A longing of something far off, off, off.Stanza 6, Line 3
This idea of false hope of long lasting desires is further amplified when I mention no doves will be consummated here. What I generally mean is, that usually you will not find the love of your life in a club. Instead, men get locked in this trance of trying to move on and into the ‘night after’. However, one thing successful in all of these attempts is creating companionship with the people you go clubbing with. ‘What ever tomorrow denies’ is a allusion to hangovers, but also the idea of capitalising on what this night has to offer. This alludes to Autumn because Autumn is usually a season of waiting, one that isn’t capitalised as an opportunity but ought to be.
“Constituents? No. And men? They go.Stanza 7, Line 3