I've Moved!

Hello wayward traveler - I thank you for visiting my blog.

I have recently moved to Wordpress, so I'll be slowly phasing my 'Blogger' blog out. If you've enjoyed my work and would like to keep seeing it, please go to simonaustinpoetry.wordpress.com and you can continue following me and my poetry.

I look forward to seeing you there :)

Simon.

I've Moved!

Hello wayward traveler - I thank you for visiting my blog.

I have recently moved to Wordpress, so I'll be slowly phasing my 'Blogger' blog out. If you've enjoyed my work and would like to keep seeing it, please go to simonaustinpoetry.wordpress.com and you can continue following me and my poetry.

I look forward to seeing you there :)

Simon.

Tuesday 29 May 2012

From Beyond a Dream

The ballet dancers swim outside my doors,
And pluck at scarlet fruits behind my eyes;
They pirouette in seven’s, eight’s and nine’s
Then drown in reddened lakes in twenty-four’s.
Their sodden tutu’s, drink them up through straws
And on their bloated bodies, here, do dine -
They make the most delicious cherry wine
So do not think their death was without cause!

Then from their shelled remains, I build a raft,
To sail it down the river painted red -
It scrapes along the purple riverbed
And stirs the lilac dust into its craft.
This ship is built of irony in draught
And nailed together with sugar and lead,
So watch it sink through sadness as I bled
And hear it floating proudly as I laughed!

But then, my laughing stops as she begins -
An ageing harridan sets fires new,
She scores a late sonata before noon
And plays it on her flaming violins.
The screeching of her opus riles the skin,
Igniting all the earth with burning tunes
She lets the world revolve around her moons,
Then desecrates the universe within!

Copyright © 2012 by Simon Austin

Thursday 3 May 2012

Little Boy

He slept in hangers beneath corrugated clouds,
Shrouds of suffocated tension
Echo through iron chasms
And burst into incoherent sounds.
But he does not wake;
Since birth, stowed away on ships
Born of Indianapolis
He, the vagrant of war
Undisturbed by the thick air
Now rests in this new theatre,
Intentionally hidden from the sight
Of humanity’s flaws.

Whispers blistered the air;
What should they do with the little boy
That nobody knew?
Such thoughts were in lieu of the sanity of those
That had made them, that then played them
Over and over again.
Soon enough though the question was answered
And with the advancement of the morn
The city which unknowingly held him
Now blindly repelled him
And banished him to the oblivion
Of an alien dawn.

But still, he did not wake from his sleep.
The deep rumble of others
That poured from the sky
Did not stir him to rise.
For ages he waited until such a time
That his morning of freedom would come.
Here, the Manhattan child does not belong
Amongst the throng of the murderous shells
Of men.
But what was his crime?
For do not forget that he had never hurt anyone,
Yet.

Then, he awoke,
His captors had finally raised him,
Relieving the boy of his bonds that he bore
Since his birth.
Now here, on the roof of the earth it was clear;
The boy being here was intentional
And his purpose was simply; to fall. And thus,
With the push of a button
And the turn of a key,
The Manhattan child, to the holding of breath
Was thrown from the heat of a blue morning sky
And fell to his legendary death.

Copyright © 2012 by Simon Austin