Secret Writers Business - by quatro

Have you ever had a night, where you made love to a point where you were not aware of your presence in that space, when you did not even think of where you were, what time or what day it was, where nothing mattered except for that high you were lost in. If you answer yes, then you had a magical night. Unfortunately they don’t last and are often a double edged sword, pointing straight to your heart.

Magical nights,
perfect still moments in a vanished haze,
let’s dance and move closer to touching,
magical nights,
a dreamtimes serendipitous delight,
my wondering minds glance into the darkness,
for one of those sweet and overwhelming,
magical nights.

Talk softly if not with sadness,
Eros unleashed one such magical night,
whisky drowning your lips and our souls,
a moment in time with occasion,
a sundrenched night of delight,
sanity prevailed if only like a candle light,
eyes bloodshot with bodies lost in the moment,
just a wild flower born on a night of worship,
without sun or rain it was nourished on our love.

You wrote me a letter,
slow breaths in an even slower silence,
cold mornings and lost picnics without sound,
you wrote me not to cry,
that you care,
that you must leave me,
send me a letter tell me you need me like I need you,
cold mornings without remorse,
let’s dance and touch,
hold me like you did once before,
feel your desire for a somewhere love once lived,
your body was on fire,
flowers drenched in our sweat,
another heart burned by another heartbeat,
you know I still love you,
I love you because I do,
just like a wild flower born on a night of worship.

Hard mud underfoot,
forsaken and forever trodden,
never relenting moments,
an anguish unsurpassed, both in time and intensity.

A lonely street lamp, alight in the dark of night,
a beacon to look up too, to follow,
to illuminate an otherwise grey day.

A futile mind, a futility crowned,
a seemingly hopeless disposition,
a light wind blows the litter in a darkened streetscape,
it is a warm breeze,
the only welcoming experience here.

I want to rest a little,
the ground trampled beneath,
excavations in my mind,
building a building, but I do not know why,
there is mud in my blood,
the light is no longer clean,
effervescent is the bitter cup of hemlock,
dripping slowly into my soul.
Somewhere, somehow, a dolphin is sleeping,
and a moon is full,
broken concrete littered with pots full of litter,
plants struggling, in need of love,
I can hear someone crying,
I think on the 16th floor,
a bright light is on up there, on the 16th floor.

In the name and for the sake of impropriety we need to become vigilant and dare I say it, vitriolic, in our cerebral attitudes towards multinational corporations. They are an overwhelming blight on our social and human privilege. They demean the consequence of individual endeavour and are simply a parasitic atrophy growing immeasurably at the expense of all who choose to try and understand them. It is my undeniable and genuine desire that there will come a time when no man, woman or child should ever again have to suffer at the hands and whims of these sanctimonious monolithic corporations.



Nor should anyone ever again have to tolerate the indignity of selling themselves for a remunerated abstract worth that is adjudicated by these corporations. We the human’s, are better than that. We do not need a 132 inch plasma television with built in 3D and 12.4 surround sound with speakers all imported from somewhere very far. No, we do not need any of these promoted and heavily advertised luxuries. I believe doors are overrated. Do you know the carbon footprint of a door? I wonder how many doors there must be in the world. Whoever says they need doors must, ergo, need these multinational bloodsucking, parasitic, soul destroying large rock or monolithic, a law onto themselves, corporations.



I for one can live without my 4wd gut buster with illumination.