Jedem Das Seine

Jedem Das Seine,
To each his own,
Beyond this gate,
His final home.

Jedem Das Seine,
To find his lot,
Beset with pain,
Consumed by rot.

Jedem Das Seine,
To seek, to hide,
Ensnared in chains,
At reapers side.

Jedem Das Seine,
Endure through mud,
Made thick with rain,
Washed clean by blood.

Jedem Das Seine,
Starvation grasps,
In guts it clips,
Round muscles clasps.

Jedem Das Seine,
Near wire barbed,
Electric death,
And sorrow garbed.

Jedem Das Seine,
The graveyard stone,
Its paving path,
Erased from tome.

Jedem Das Seine,
A chamber waits,
Fingernail walls,
Deceitful grates.

Jedem Das Seine,
And bolted in,
A pellet drops,
The daylights dim.

Jedem Das Seine,
In clawing piles,
With man on man,
Mother on child.

Jedem Das Seine,
In moments end,
A purple mass,
In scarlet blend.

Jedem Das Seine,
In barrels run,
A boarded walk,
In flames succumb.

Jedem Das Seine,
To each his doom,
Upon the pit,
Without a tomb.

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin

I Am Become Death

And I will say - now I am become fire.
The liar, the thief, stirred underneath
In golden chasms burst forth
Unto wrought iron skies
Shedding white scales
Upon the veils of the red.

And I will say - now I am become faith.

The wraith deity, gravity defiler

Tied to the fate, the hate

Of beaten idols
Lying in scattered pieces
Upon barren soils.

And I will say - now I am become fear.

Spread clear under the moonlight,
The sight of me frightens,
Whitens the eyes of all
Shadows cast from moonbeams
Upon the seams of the earth.

And I will say - now I am become pain.

Ravaged insane, bequeathed with daggers
For teeth, fine and foul,
Shatters the ivory,
Freely feasting on flesh
Upon the irony of endless wounds.

And I will say - now I am become law.
Upon the clasp and claw; raw the heat,
Meat blistering, burning, filling the urns 
Turning masses to ashes
At the desecration of pity
Upon the fall of my cities.

And I will say - now I am become loss.
Creator of chaos, struck firm in the forge,
For George could not slay me,
Pray he stay hidden under tor and stone,
Lone slumber in English beds
Upon the plagues I spread and spread.

And I will say - now I have become past.
Unsurpassed by Ascalon, thou art benign
At the refining of my doom,
The approaching end soon beckons,
My reckoning utter, unpaid
Upon the flayed scars of these lands.

And I will say - witness my destruction.
My desolation, laying waste
As though an aftertaste of a life-age,
Waging my ancient war, white wings unfurled
I need say no more - for I am become Death,
The destroyer of worlds.

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin 

The White Dragon
In Welsh legend, the white dragon was one of two warring dragons who represented the ongoing war between the English and the Welsh. The white dragon represented England,
as opposed to the red dragon of Wales

In Ribbons, Fell

Beloved son, I send you warmest greetings here,

For many years this war has kept us far apart
And whilst this ghastly circumstance is not yet clear,
Remain you do at front of thoughts and tip of heart.
I write this letter to you as my hours wane
So that I may not leave you questioning the blame.

For six days now we have been here beneath the ground.
It shakes most terribly from moon to rising sun.
The thunder never stops, it echo’s all around
And we, like rats trapped firm within the adders run,
Live out the final days amongst beloved friends,
As our most revered Fatherland meets dire ends.

But do not fret my darling child, for we are free
Beneath the ravaged city streets we make our stand.
Our glorious and honoured leader comforts me
And puts to rest the fears I had for our great land.
For I will stay against your fathers protestings
And see the final days out with your dear siblings.

We have bore dark monsters in our revolution
And treated other nations with untold cruelty,
For this the victors will exact their retribution
But cannot let them think that we are cowardly.
The right to life is rightly left with whom it fits
But we have lost this right and now must forfeit it.

Our glorious idea is but an ashes pile
And as you sift through it with but the finest brush
All the beauty I have known in life and style
Will dirty and befoul your thoughts of me, of us.
The world that comes after the Fuhrer is no more,
Is not the world that I would wish us to endure.

And to this end I tell you now what I have done,
I hope that you, my darling son, will understand.
I cannot see, or wish to see, the rising sun
Over the fallen cities of our Fatherland,
And neither do I wish your siblings eyes to bear
The buried dreams above, beneath the Russian air. 

Few hours have passed since we concluded our plan
And as their mother, knew that it was mine to task,
For we have only one goal left, in death we stand
With our most noble father, this he need not ask.
And were the children old enough to have a voice,
We know with little doubt they would support our choice.

I lay them down and rested up their weary heads,
(They had been so exhausted from the shell shocked streets)
Their little eyes stared fairy like from tiny beds.
Their golden hair in ribbons fell upon the sheets.
But I had no anguish, and felt no need to weep,
For I was sending them to their most blissful sleep.

By now the potent potion had taken its course
And drearily they slipped into their peaceful rest.
I looked upon the cyanide without remorse
And lent before them, one by one, upon their chest.
Their little teeth I opened up a fraction, then,
I slipped the capsule in and brought them down again.

The slightest crack and within moments it was done,
They did not suffer, here I was most merciful.
I then repeated this and quickly, one by one
Your six sweet siblings no more had to fear our fall.
I covered up their faces most respectfully

Knowing I had done my motherly duty.

You are my blood and know that you will see me pure,
That only by my love did I perform this deed.
A mothers love is complex but I must assure
That mine is no lesser than others embodied.
They will not grow and age will no more sully them,
Their future is no longer such a vile burden.

But far greater a tragedy happened last night,
(I do not know that I can write this woeful tale!)
Our dearest father, architect of our great Reich
Had locked himself with lovely Eva in his jail.
And though I begged I could not stop their wretched plot,
A double silence followed but a single shot.

We are bereft, our misery is all too rife,
But do not grieve, for this is how we choose it all.
I want to give to you what I have learned in life;
Be loyal to yourself, loyal to the people.
Stay loyal to the Fatherland, to your country.
Be proud of us and keep us in dear memory...

My son, my game of patience now has reached its end
And with it too my life, my soul, will now ascend descend. 

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin

Magda Goebbels - 'The First Lady of the Third Reich'
Pictured with Joseph, Harald (son from her first marriage)
and her six youngest children, whom she murdered on April 30th 1945.

 

Johanna Maria Magdalena 'Magda' Goebbels was the wife Nazi Germany's Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels. A prominent member of the Nazi party, she was a close ally and political supporter of Adolf Hitler. 

As Berlin was being overrun in late April 1945 by the Red Army at the end of World War II, Magda, along with Joseph and their 6 children moved into the Führerbunker underneath the Reich Chancellery, along with Adolf Hitler himself and his closest supporters and advisors. There they awaited the coming Russian army and when it became apparent that there would be no victory, Hitler chose to remain in the complex with Eva Braun, whom he married just 40 hours before he and she committed suicide.

Joseph Goebbels was one of Hitlers most loyal and trusted allies and refused to leave Berlin or Hitlers side, resolving to die also. Magda supported her husbands decision, and on the morning after Hitler and Eva Braun committed suicide, Magda drugged her six children, aged between 5 and 13, and then murdered them by crushing a cyanide pill in their mouths whilst they slept. Her and Joseph justified this act in that they believed had the children been old enough, they would have made this decision also. They were found 2 days later, still in their beds, in their nightclothes with ribbons (which the name of this poem is based) tied in the girls hair.

Immediately after she had murdered her children, Magda was then said to have sat and played a game of patience, before her and her husband left the Führerbunker, where Joseph then shot his wife, before turning the gun on himself.  Their bodies were then burned in a shell crater, where they were discovered only partially destroyed the next day but the Red Army. 

This poem is based on the letters that Magda sent to her eldest son Harald, whom was a prisoner of war at the time, and letters sent to her sister in law clearly divulging her and her husbands horrific intentions to both themselves and their children. It shows how unbelievable the depths a woman, a supposed mothers, is capable of plunging to in the name of fanaticism and misplaced loyalty.  

I finished the poem with the crossing out of the word 'ascend' and replaced it with 'descend' - Magda believed that what she did was truly for the right reason (and therefore assumed that she would ascend to heaven - her words '... and a merciful God will understand me when I will give them the salvation') however as a reader, and as a humanitarian, I have scored this out, replacing it with 'descend' - symbolizing not just the common belief that the soul of a murderer or suicide will be thrown into Hell, but also represents the inevitable downfall of the entire ideology of Nazism and evil.  

May she, and so many other thousands like her in those dark times, never rest in peace.

The Moth

The moth, she knows the flame will burn
But back again, again she comes,
Her velvet collisions dress the air,
Sparkling against tempting embers
As she throws herself again, again
Upon the flickering fascination,
Senseless self-immolation
Strips her to a carapace,
Scorched, naked, undressed, undone,
Against the tragic unraveling of her world.

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin 

Forlorn

So easy to be drawn,
Then thrown upon the rocks,
For I am but forlorn,
And begging for the scorn,
To fall before the morn,
Upon the waiting stocks.

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin

Inkless Pen

I watch you burn above the pyre,

Emasculate upon the fire -

What use are you to me, to them?

A pointless weapon, inkless pen.

This waste of space, this waste of time,

Thrown to another, but still mine.

I want it used yet want it gone;

My loving lyrics hate the song.

A hole filled heart in endless pour

Upon this virginity floor,

I will not plug it, will not try,

I'll let it run until I'm dry.

In my despair, and mine alone,

A soul of ice and heart of stone.

I hate this night and long for dawn 

But hate the light and loathe the morn,

So let me burn and be it done

Before the rising of this sun.

I was once loved and loved deeply

But squandered such a love as we

That thought there better, more advanced

And wasted yet another chance.

I am but lost, and wander so

And now have nowhere left to go,

So stop the world and let me off,

I cannot stay, it is too tough

For I am done, so let it be,

This love for you, a vacancy

That shall not be written again,

For all the ink has left my pen.

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin

That which is unwritten, remain it so.

 

Saturday Night Bow

Poorly propped in the corner of the room,
His head, spinning the waltz, faults.
The thumping sounds liquify his ears,
Fears allayed in clouds of vodka and rum
Succumbing quickly to their potent beauty -
Mutiny on the dance floor!

He stumbles to his feet, behind the eyes
The heat builds to a crescendo
And sends him crashing back to his chair.
Somehow, the innuendo of the situation evades him
And without a care in the world
He stares blindly at nothing,
Whilst his skull swims.

Odours of overworked bodies muddy the air.
Heads of blonde and brunette
Wildly flick their matted tips his way
But his gaze drifts, thoughts of her return,
Burning the back of his throat
Where the hate for her rumbles up,
Following the cheap whisky to his mouth;
He swallows the lumps back in disgust -
Fucking bitch.

Bass merges into inane turbulence
But the urgency of the night is on.
Checking his phone, unknown numbers laugh
At his desperate thoughts. His sight, cracked.
His mind lost under intoxicated sheets;
He peers our from underneath them
And that's when he suddenly sees them.
Who is that?

Across the room, not fifteen feet,
Through the gaps of cheap juvenile ravishment
(Like peering through greased branches caught
In a drain) he catches a glance.
A chance on their face suggests they're aware;
Perhaps the stare came the other way first?
He snaps his head back, but like rubber
His gaze bounces back through the bodies
To the other that is no longer there.

A panic sets in. Is it the gin
(Or the wine, or the rum, or the shots)
That brings a sweat to his brow?
Somehow he is worried, a hurried jump to his feet,
Staggering forward through the neon darkness.
Balance forms in his mind, but unconvinced legs
Send him crashing to the glutinous floor.
A haze of stars in his path,
Belly laughs above the cacophony confirm it;
He's down. 

His shirt drinks the dirt from the floor, drop by drop
The grime binds to his skin. Grim and groped
He slams his hands forward,
But drunk elbows bend unsympathetically
And he bows further into the filth.

Confusion sets in, the direction has been lost.
Up isn't up anymore (is it?)
Trapped by an avalanche of points and jeers
He sneers at his own state -
Fucking loser.
Resigning to fate, he does not move,
His flooded skull now full,
Sure enough, it expands
And he plummets into catatonic bliss.

But suddenly, he's up - lifted to his feet,
His chin no longer friends with the filth.
Arms clasped under his own, the unknown saviour
Nothing more than an opaque outline,
The flavour of their scent, a distant comfort
That closes in quick, the obvious discord
Masking the subtle questioning;
'Are you OK?' comes sarcastically.
He clumsily grasps at his liberator,
The baiters have gone and in one swift move
He intentionally pulls her to him.

Thoughts of 'the bitch' fade in an instant,
A distant reflection, only the acidic stain in his throat
His reminder.  Replaced with another,
This rescuer, this minder
Grasping him as if trying to stop glass

Tumbling down a staircase.

His intoxication, utter and complete;

Feet sway to a new beat

And without concern he leans in,

Stealing a kiss from the lips of his heroine.

It's odd.

Soft skin and cherry smiles do not greet him.

The sweet nectar of perfume - absent.

Slim hips and magnificent breasts

Do not push up against his chest.

Instead, his head greets the chisel of jaw and rock;

He looks up, not down, on his liberator.

The flavour is hard spice, spliced with oaky notes.

Arms that keep him afloat, not lacy

But blatantly solid, cut from stone;

They alone hold him aloft from the scene

Where he broke.

Oh fuck - it's a bloke.
Taxi. 

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin
 

The Conqueror

He crossed the seven oceans, brought the seven tides

But did not bring the mercy in His rippled wake,

The loss was His to gain, was His to cast aside

And yet, to pillage, plunder, was all His to take.

The comets and the stars above could not lament,

Or cease the rapid odyssey of his ascent.

His armies were immeasurable, immense in size

And none amongst the ranks did dare question His cause,

For they had once been men of freedom, men of pride,

For they had once been men that fought in grander halls.

But challenging His tyranny that knew no bounds.

Was but to dig their own grave in the waiting grounds.

The earth itself rose up and split itself apart

As He traversed the ruptured scars of its remains.

He strode across the bleeding magma’s of her heart,

Across the glass-like ashes of her blackened plains.
His glare was limitless, surveying without pause,
Ensuring all succumb to monocratic laws.

The fires parted ways like oceans drawn by moons

And though they licked at He, His flesh was left untried,

He strode across the roaring chasms without wounds

And laughed upon the faces of the gods defied

The very cosmos could not halt His forward march

And burnt as though but fabric in His aftermath.

But still between He and that which He seeks to hold

His stature riding high as death himself looked on,

He, utterly aware of those that were so bold

To challenge such a thunderstorm, a maelstrom.

His wrath alone diminished quick their measly gains

And cast their tortured carcasses upon the flames.

The sky above turns black from ceaseless firefight,

As blood begins to pour out of the cracks of earth,

An endless age of men fall down in wasted plight,

Then buckle into piles of ashes, mounds of dirt.

But He rides hard and fast upon His blackened horse,

Crushing foe and follower without remorse.

Millennia draw on but his defenses stand, 

As millions are notched beneath His brutal laws,

The waves of those that could not serve before His hand;

Devoured before uttering's of His great jaws.

A thousand years of immolation whispered in

And countless souls annihilated at His whim.

Until no more was left, and nothingness endured,

His domination absolute and ever long

The mountains, crumbled wastelands to his fate immured,
The oceans, barren canyons of oblivion.
And as the ceaseless winds rage on across His lands
They pour the scattered wastes through His triumphant hands. 

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin

I, Defined

You may judge me

On my successes

But I am defined
By my mistakes.

For it is these

That have truly made me,

Me.

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin

 

The Reader

She read many books,
there were few she did not like - 
for six years they burned.

 Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin

The Shortcut (Keep Off the Grass!)

Excuse me son, you can't walk there,
It's strictly out of bounds.
Please come back here, there's a good lad
Just turn yourself around.
What were you thinking, can't you read?
'Keep Off the Grass' it says.
It's not that hard, should I worry?
You alright in the head?

I'm sorry mate, I really am,
I clearly missed that fact,
I thought this was the way to go
Though I'm quite high on crack....
I'll take the longer way around
I'm really not that fussed
As long as I'm there just in time
To catch me final bus.

Alright there love, where you off to?
You can't just wander here,
That aint a public bridleway,
So get your self back here!
You brainless girl, there's clearly many
Signs that say 'Please Stop' -
Am I the only one around
Whose lights are on up top?

What is the problem, honestly
It's just a patch of grass?
I walk real quick, don't worry mate
Just loosen up your arse!
It won't get damaged, Jesus Christ
You'll barely know I've been.
It's such a wicked shortcut
And I'm really fucking keen!

Oi over there, listen, get back
I'm watching you darling
This aint your private prominade
...and pack that spitting in!
I'm sure you're far too busy
To notice your mistake
Come listen here, don't make me shout
(I'm getting a headache...)

Oh my god, I so cannot
Believe you just said that!
I'm so aint doing nuffing wrong
You massive, massive twat!
I'm well telling all of my mates
That you're a right pervert
I bet it's coz you wanna stick
Your fingers up my skirt!

Stop where you are, don't move an inch
You gone too far my friend
The rules aint written for you
To just, at your leisure, bend
What did you think? Did you intend
To get across real quick
Before I'd even noticed - well tough luck
(...you little prick).

Jesus man, what's got your beef?
I'm fucking walking here!
So what if it says 'back up bitch'
Ain't noones bitch, you hear?!
So jog on mate, I'm on my way,
Aint nothing you can do,
Unless you want some beatings
From my proper well 'ard crew!

I really wonder why I stand
And take this everyday.
You'd get less grief on the front lines;
I'm off, sod this I say.
I'm jacking in, I need a change,
So stuff the little gits,
Let them take that shortcut there,
I couldn't give two shits

In all fairness the only loss
Is slightly flatter grass,
So your job, frankly, Mr Boss -
Go cram it up your arse.

 Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin

 

Four Floors

Her face was peppered with white powder,
The prouder part of her slender frame
Lay still, a weary head on a pillow
By an open window four floors away.
Eyes of glass catch hazed reflections
From the direction of London lamps
Lighting themselves one by one,
But she does not smile at their amber gleam
Whilst the seams of her soul come undone.

Vague melt solidifies natures crime scene.
Unheard screams echo through empty streets
And disperse amongst absent crowds,
The watershed of their witness long past.
Her mould cast in contorted limbs,
Thin bones buckled in defeat
Rise up to breach a weakened shell;
It splits in parts and dashes her contents
Across the immaculate canvas.

Her hair coiled into tight twirls,
Billows and unfurls in a fashionable way
And tickles her almond dipped skin;
She is still lukewarm within it.
Arms in dissaray clench absent railings,
Their flailing sealed fast against the frost,
Partly lost against the fresher dusting,
Their trusting gape embracing nothing more
Than the floor that does not grasp back.

Arctic air dances with the sequined dignity
Now slowly slipping from her back.
The cause of her silence tracks down her neck
Into rockpools of cracked liquid almandine;
Corruption in sanguine against velveteen flesh
Enmeshes with all that she was.
As her decency begins to rapidly fold,
The city as old as the river that bore it
Throws a desperate brume for her pity.

White facades shudder in the prolonged night
Iniquitously enveloping the dim scene.
The ironic beams of their iron balconies,
Open falconries of birds that could never fly;
Four floors beneath they lie shattered,
The tattered remains of their short lives
Scattered for those left behind to uncover,
A mere puzzle whose many pieces,
Fit together no more.

Depraved pavements shoulder another layer,
The willing slayer, its slain rests awkward,
Her frigid body alludes no more life
Lying jacknifed in her concluding pose.
Unable to make a final amend, ending
Not on a reminisce of a remarkable course
But a nameless remorse, abrupt and unsolved
Condemning an unsettled soul to history,
In a finale four floors long.

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin