Promise Me

When my hands begin to tremble

You’ll place your hand in mine

When my eyes become hollow

That you’ll gaze into them

When I’m at a loss for words

You’ll kiss me so the silence

Can speak for the both of us.

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Tags: Eyes,Kiss,Love,Me,Poem,Poet,Poetry,Promise,Silence,Words

What's going on inside my head

Wish I could turn it off

Buzzing

Whirring

Voices echoing around

Wish I could reboot my brain!

 

I keep it all inside

All my worries

Fears

Stress

But I'm scared Scared I'm going to crack up

There's only so much I can think about

 

Keep it bottled up

Even though it's not healthy

I need to release the cork

Don't want to be in that dark place again

 

...

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Tags: anxiety,depression,poem,stress

From Hull To Halifax (A Halifax Town Love Poem)

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This is a poem dedicated to my birthplace and current residence of 28 years. i have dropped some odd and interesting town facts in there too.

From Hull To Halifax

I was raised in a town
where memorial plaques are outside houses
Fridges left out on country walks
and a guillotine used as a historical exhibit
But i love my town.

Hometown of Big Daddy
the cat-eyes too
We had a hand in Macki...

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Tags: Halifax,Poem,Punk Poetry,Tribute,Yorkshire

Confessions Of A Pyromaniac

a poem  i wrote about my uncoditional love for flames.

I like to play with matches
I like to see stuff burn
people think i'm tapped in the head
but when they gonna learn

the smell of fresh turpentine
is a scent i love to taste
Please give me your unwanted items
and don't let them go to waste

now some people are addicted to sex
and others like to steal
but the only i like to see naked is...

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Tags: addictions,comedy,fire,poem

Liberté

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Thy pen; no mighty sword here preach
Where words, metallic, fall.
On blood-ink lines; stained city streets -
Oh time, thou horrors crawl.
Wrought freedom flits, it waxes, ebbs,
Whence censored bullets rain,
But fallow not among the dead
Doth liberty remain.
 

Copyright © Simon Austin 2015

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Tags: Charlie Hebdo,Je Suis Charlie,Paris,Poem,Poetry,Terrorism

Alcoholic With Sick On His Shoes.

Alcoholic with sick on his shoes,
Sat on a brown wooden bench
In the middle of town
With his old dog,
Flea ridden,
Shaking, gray,
Lacking good vision
Waiting for a meal
A dropped pasty or pie
A sandwich, perhaps rye.

I, was never taught in school
To be such a man
It was always
You could become a lawyer,
You could become a teacher,
You could become a business man
Never, you could ...

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Tags: alcoholic,Everyday,Life,Poem,poetry,society alcohol

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