My Descent

Spiralling down

Into the void,

That I unearthed. 

My nails, imbedded in the stone,

Do not slow my descent.

I repent, but it will not stop me;

I watch helplessly as the world

Disintegrates around me,

As blackness surrounds me

And those that love me,

Disappear above me.

I feel despair

Working its way through my skull,

Like a slow crack

Through weak glass,

It splits my eyes -

They flush red

And pour liquid misery into pools

That I long to drown in,

But falling is all I have left.

And as blackness surrounds me

And failure consumes me,

I acceptingly plummet

Into the abyss.

Copyright © 2013 by Simon Austin

Diary of a Manic Depressive

I felt happy yesterday.

But today I feel sad.

So fuck off

...

Sorry.

Ask me again tomorrow.

Copyright © 2013 by Simon Austin

Unto the Somme

Entrenched
Behind failing lines,
These curtains of shrapnel and sharp steel
Conceal my misery,
So seamlessly, absently
I go on, numb, alone,
For sensation no longer blesses me.

Relentlessly, I force back my fear,
The absent tears never reach my cheeks
And thick blankets of earth and sand
Choke my cries, damp,  pitiful.
I fall to the boards clotted with death
As my breath abandons me
To my miserable lot.

The heavens pelt me relentlessly,
Mocking me, who should ever be here
By the hand in the air, waving frantically,
Stupidity, and with utter lucidity
I have made my own bed
And must now lie down
And die in it.

But before I am done, I am up,
The screams of dawn chills my bones
Gnawed weak by seasons grip,
As I slip in the filth, trip blindly
Over fallen men
That will not see another day;
I envy them.

Distant annihilation mocks me,
Thunder, not made by god, but Hawthorn;
She begs for blood.
And as she throws her filthy innards skywards
The flood of claret and mud
Clots my throat - I reach and vomit
Into my tin skull.

A lull, short, but eternal
Fills the dead air,
Then the shouts of madmen
Send me once more to my feet
Rotted beneath useless boots.
I swallow back through the agony
And brace.

Blinded by bedlam, I crawl up.
My breath held, my thoughts lost,
I cast myself over the top,
And into the red dirt -
Clawing my way under the razor wire,
It begins to cut the soul from my back
Then tears out twenty-thousand more. 

Copyright © 2013 by Simon Austin

Battle of the Somme - July 1st - November 16th 1916

This poem is inspired by the first day of The Battle of the Somme which saw the British Army suffer the worst day in its history, with some 20,000 men killed. It focuses on the emotional and physical turmoil of one man, on the frontline trench, awaiting his orders to go 'over the top' and ultimately, to his death - which on that day was almost an inevitability.

The Somme was one of the largest battles of the war; by the time fighting paused in late autumn 1916, the forces involved had suffered more than 1 million casualties, making it one of the bloodiest military operations ever recorded.  In total, over 95,000 British Commonwealth men were killed during the battle.

To the Flames

The inhumanity of man,
His deadliest weapon
And his most fundamental weakness,
Allows the ideology of madness
To choke all compassion
From his soul.

And once his soul is extinguished
Only the acrid embers of hate -
Fuelled by his anger and fear -
Are left to burn in its place.
Until control over the inferno is lost
And evil rises from the fire.

But the inhumanity of man,
Is also the undoing of mankind
And inevitably, inexorably,
Those that are born of evil
Will be dragged back, screaming,
To the flames.

Copyright © 2013 by Simon Austin

This is a Poem (Honestly)

This is a poem (honestly)
I’m writing on the go.
Won’t be my best, admittedly
But hey, what do you know?
There will be stanzas, metre too
(I’ll even make it rhyme!)
A classic poem, through and through,
Though made up line by line.

You could say though, what sillyness,

To write things on the fly,

It could cause problems, cause a mess

(Perhaps someone could die?!)

Unlikely though that words on sheets

Could physically arrest

More likely be some horsey meats

To block a flowing chest.

I seem to be digressing, quick,

Let’s get this back on track;

What topics shall I herein pick

To bring your interests back?

Perhaps the weather (no that’s dull)

Or maybe Songs of Praise?

(I hear that when the Christians lull,

They sing for fucking days!)

No that’s not fair, let’s not be rude,

A poem should be fun,

Let talk about the latest news,

Or who’s at number one?

It’s probably that Bieber thing,

He’s popular, that's true,

Though when I try to think of him

He seems more 'number two'...

Or what about the credit crunch,

(I hear you groan en masse)

Apparently it was a bunch

Of wankers that caused that?

Oh BANKERS, is that the business

That caused all this bad luck?

I would have taken more notice

If I gave half a fuck…

And there again, a vulgar quip,

My mother would so frown.

I’d say to her, ‘Oh mother dear

Turn that frown upside down!’

‘You made this mouth, my brain is yours

Just smaller, less refined.’

‘And whilst you give your thoughts a pause,

Get mine another wine.’

Oh alcohol, what a good shout,

An easy one to use.

I’d make a funny comment about

How much I abuse.

Of course my doctors would not kid

And haul me into line,

But drain my veins of their fluid

And BAM - another wine!

But really now, I should not joke,

Booze is a deadly sin

(Especially twelve rum and cokes

Then palate-cleansing gin!)
We should all drink responsibly,
And never more than two
But do not fret as thankfully
The measure's up to you!

Though some advice, from me to you,

I’ll charge you not a dime -

If you make me a rum and coke,

Please add a fucking lime.
Don't get me wrong, I love a drink,
That's splashed across the rocks,
But chuck a bit of fruit in *wink*
And I can sink the lot!

What else is there to muse away

That makes for pleasant chat?

We’re having such a lovely day

Let's try and not lose that!

Perhaps another random line,

That strikes you on the nose,

I will not warn you when it's time

But when it comes, you’ll know!

Oh lunacy, oh silly tricks

This poems’ gone awry

Let’s get it back to the basics

Before I make you cry.

I’ll rhyme a pretty flowers name

With some sugary snack.

I’ll talk of fluffy bunnies, blame

This naughtiness on crack.

Bit boring though, if I was to

Compare a summers day,

The poem may be very smooth

(But you’d think I was gay!)

So I will lock that secret chest

And tell you it’s not true,

I’m well up for a lesbo fest
(But chuck a man in too.)

See if this poem was all dressed

In flamboyance and flare,

No doubt you’d still be quite impressed

But bored beyond compare.

So just admit, vulgarity

Brings poetry alive

It may not make the BBC

But watch out Channel Five!

So why not stop and take a look

At other poems made,

A lot of pride in them I took

(And all of them unpaid!)

And if you have enjoyed this farce

Please share it as you choose,

And if you didn’t, kiss my arse,

Like you've a fucking clue!

But thank you for taking the time

To read my little prose

I hope you have enjoyed the highs

And pushed on through lows

For now I must depart this page

But leave you with a punt -

Recall that promised, shocking phrase?

Well here it is you *end*

Copyright © 2013 by Simon Austin