Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized, words

Senses #4

The taste of your lipstick as our lips meet and tongues flick.
The taste of your hand, as I kiss it like sand.
The taste of salt as I kiss away the tears.

The taste of food laying on a table, providing you are able.
The taste of beer on a hot summer day, relaxing and fooling in the hay.
The taste of summer as fresh as fruit salad.

Let me taste the spring water running through the hills.
Let me taste fresh bread, made from the flour ground in the mills.
Let me taste the seasons and long charming days.

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized, words

Senses #3

Touching your body with all its curves, soft gentle skin to match your linen.
Touching the soft cotton of your dress my finger and thumb your hemline caress.
Touching the silk of your sheets, nicely laid with little pleats.

Touching your hand, I feel so grand, soft and warm a beautiful form.
Touching your cheek, soft as you speak.
Touching your face, a warm embrace,it feels like lace.
Touching your lips,your eyelids dip,as I use my mouth to take a sip.
Touching your soul, you as a whole, I’m slowly losing control.

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Senses #2

The smell of your perfume lingers in my head, from when you get up to when you are dead.
The smell of cropped grass tells me its spring at last, green lush grass is so vast.
The smell of bacon sizzling in the pan, waiting to be devoured by a very hungry man.
The smell of the fire, wood burning pyre, sometimes, an odd tyre.

The smell of your musk as I explore your hollows, deep in you a choose to wallow.
The smell of your coat as you get ready for work, sends my senses berserk.
The smell of fruit in a bowl wanting me to devour it whole.

The smell of freshness and regeneration after the storm, ready for the rest of the day to get warm.
The smell of life, not trouble and strife, leave troubles behind and appreciate what’s around.
The smells around you will astound.

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Beautiful Sights

Speak to me only of love.
Speak to me only of care, tell me you will always be there.
Speak to me of open minds, leave alone the bigoted grinds.
Speak to me of perfect days, of sunshine and heat haze.
Speak to me of empty minds, waiting to fill with things divine.

Speak to me of truth not lies.
Speak to me in equal measure and unlimited pleasure.
Speak to me of unfound treasure, in more than good measure.
Speak to me of tiny child, infant so innocent, tender and mild.
Speak to me of your desires, how you want to take them higher.

Speak to me of golden sands and lazy days holding hands.
Speak to me of sea and surf, being at one with the earth.
Speak to me of bright stars and moons, which disappear before noon.
Speak to me of all these things, of living and breathing human beings.

Speak to me of earth, for I have only heard curse.
Speak to me of all things good, what is going on in the neighbourhood.

For I cannot see the beauty around or the thrills that shape and astound. All I see is the gloom of the dark and old ladies mugged in the park. Free my mind from dark thoughts and catapult me into the light so I may see beautiful sights.

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Senses #1

I see flowers starting to bloom lifting their heads from the winter gloom.
I see the river running so free, life force of nature for you and me.
I see children running and playing with glee, from morning to night then in for their tea.

I see lovers on a park bench, kissing and cuddling, their hands in a clench, gazing into each other’s eyes, pure thoughts and sometimes lies.
I hear a dog bark from a far, and the backfire of a car.
I smell the diesel and fresh cut grass, as I walk along the path.
I close my eyes and see nothing but dark, nothing to love not even a spark.

Open my eyes and mind to see what has changed, all the colours of life are back here again.

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Blog Slog

Scrabbling around inside my brain waiting for words to rain, for something to fit and make sense, words that say what I want them to, in the right tense. Trying to write every day sometimes at night or at midday. Ideas come and they go away, oh how I wish they would come and play.

What is it I’m trying to say? Am I talking about my day? Maybe I’m letting my mind just stray to see what happens by the end of the day. Go for a coffee a change of scene, people around doing their thing, a couple of people are about to send. Should i write about daisies and grass or should I let that idea come to pass. Rain sitting glistening on the grass and soaking the path. Should I write about what raises my wrath or should I write something totally daft.

When I decide I let nothing hide but redraft and craft. Look for errors spelling mistakes over and over for my ego sake. Should I finish it or break for tea and cakes, out on the lawn from morning until Dawn. I finally put pen to paper and write what I do. Finish it off then read it through its surprising what you can do.

 

Markey Mark Symmonds army, Blog, Blogger, bomb, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, political, short story, Uncategorized, underground

Agents of Darkness

The agents of darkness strike again inflicting misery death and pain. Plots to kill injure and maim all don in a dark Lords name. The dark Lords weave their evil across their Web, recruiting its agents brainwash their heads.

Lords of darkness agents of death, wreaking havoc on the enlightened, running Scared and Frightened as the Chase To find The Dark Agents tightens, dark agents’ operations heighten. Lords of darkness creating a mess, from an unknown address, you send your agents to do your Dirty deeds up and down the country where ever they need.

Cowards in the extreme, make women and children scream how can they be so mean. Dark agents hoping they will never be seen, to die they are so keen, to be free they don’t know what it means, carnage and mayhem at the scene, under what stone have you been. Oh, agents of darkness who are in such a mess they cause such distress, now we have to clean up this mess.

Don’t snuff out the light, keep up the fight, the agents of darkness know their plight. Hunt them down, take their malice and spite. For we will not bow or give up the fight to live in a country the way we know is right. Lords of darkness you will get bored, why don’t you weald your own sword and stop preaching a fraud? |To defeat the agents of darkness light must come to shine on us all night

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, bullying, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized, words

Words

Words tell a million stories, some believable and some absurd, scaring you to the core with just one well-placed word. Words can define you or undermine you, be true or false. Words can kill you and hurt you inside as they punish you and deride, kicking you in the side, beating over you like a tide giving you nowhere to hide.

Words can sooth and bath you in glory, make you lose yourself in a good story. Words can tell you, you are loved, fitting like your favorite glove, keeping you warm and happy, only nice things do you see. Words cause wars, ripping apart worlds by scores, words that are full of hate, designed to berate. Words of religion tell of what went before but lay others of god raw, say no more.

Words are funny making you laugh, like a hyena or even a giraffe, they make you laugh out loud, or chuckle back in side, where your happiness and humour safely reside. Words can rhyme although if they don’t it’s not a crime, words can make something chime. Words can give introductions but can also cause destruction and abduction. Words can describe pungent scents and flowers, words can make you hungry and your mouth savor.

Use words wisely and for good as you know you really should. Don’t be miserly, write plenty, let your pen work until your mind is empty.

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, love, play, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Playground

Black safety surfaces highlight the bright colours of the playground with children all around, they climb and run and jump, on metal frames and trains. they imagine they are climbing a mountain to rescue fair maids and gallop away.

Driving a train passenger laden picking up knights and maidens. A large swing hangs like a disc, carries several children on the journey they wish. Slides and roundabouts all to wear the kids out. then comes the ice cream, it cools them down in the mid-day heat, a real treat, strawberry sauce real sweet. Back to their play and imagination all day, dancing and singing and rocking in the sun’s rays. Play in a group or just on their own, there is plenty to do until it’s time to go home.

 

Markey Mark Symmonds balloon, Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Balloon Flight

Bright coloured silk laid out on the ground basket tethered all around, the size of it astounds. The fan fires up to open the envelope, opening it up like a periscope. Air shivers down the silk rippling waves in coloured silk. Then comes the roar and hiss of the flame, heating the air from the burner mounted on a frame, sometimes fierce and sometimes tame. The heat from the air makes the silk flare and people stare as the balloon takes shape.

Struggling to stand and reach for the sky the canopy comes back to lie, as the pilot gives it another try. The balloon is soon erected, it drops its tethers and heads for the sky. Waving at crowds as the balloon heads for the clouds. The people below look in awe, as the balloon starts to saw. Up in the sky the current takes it high, until it is difficult to spy.

Gliding over towns and parks up high with swifts and larks, firing the burner to keep it high, now just a dot in the sky. Out over feels of cows and sheep, boats on water not so deep. Wind is dying it starts its descent, to land in a space without a dent. Slowly sinking down to earth along a field, we start to surf, down with a bump, and a scrape and a drag, it will soon be time to put it back in the bag.

The balloon comes to rest in a local field, gas turned off to bring it to heal. Then comes the trailer and ground crew, where it would land they never knew. They start to work folding the silk, all the air extracted up to the hilt, rolling it into a ball, into the bag it’s heavy to hall. Onto the trailer it takes them all, packing it tight basket and all. Then into the cab the crew all file, ready to return this valuable pile that makes people smile making it all worth while.