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.

 

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

The Fair

Flashing lights and music pumping in the night, it’s an unmistakable sight, the fun fair at night. Candy floss and toffee apples, sweets and treats of all kinds sit on the carts waiting to warm fair dwellers hearts. Helter-skelter, rubber slide, climb up the side then glide down with good grace, picking up a respectable pace.

 Bumper cars flash around the track, young man jumping on the back, from car to car he goes, spinning the wheels to young girls’ squeals. Waltzers spinning around and around up on a wave and straight back down, G force pulling your face out of place as the car picks up a pace, fairground staff spinning you all over the place. The rifle range with tin cans stacked, after your turn they are still intact, hook a duck so easy to do, guaranteed a prize no matter how you do.

 Burgers and chips, savory dips and cans of pop to wash on top, children’s eyes light up at the sight, day or night any time is right for the fair.

 

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, bullying, doubt, flash fiction, lost, love, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Communication Breakdown

I try to communicate with you but you just get in a rage, doesn’t matter if I try to speak or put it on a page. I talk a lot but no one ever hears, my voice only echoes back through my ears. I could shout from a mountain top, it would not leave a blot, would it really bother you? cos you don’t give a jot.

My voice echoes inside this empty vessel trying to make you hear but you may as well not be here, my voice travels nowhere near. All I want is for you to hear, to speak without fear, without ridicule and for you not to sneer. So, when the words come out all the same it’s because I’ve said them over again.

Your attention I must gain this saga is becoming in vain, to say what I want to say, nothing inside my soul but anger and dismay. My thoughts are only decay, communication is such a tough game to play, its driving me insane again and again, overloading my brain.

 

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

Doubt

When doubt creeps in to steal the show, you feel that you really don’t know. When it stops you from moving on, sets your mind to all or none from self-belief to disbelief, the distance is only brief. The unknown thief, falls like a leaf, no motive or brief.

Wrong decisions seem harder than procrastination, but still you don’t get to your destination. Setback and derailment, other people you come to resent, pride and confidence takes more than a dent. Want to give up as you are spent but in side you don’t relent. Tough it out sulk and pout., hoping more words will fall out.

Maximum effort little return, I carry on in discern. Mulling over my decisions brain and heart in collision, shooting each other with derision. Each one wants to give up the mission. Some will say it’s weak, or that I am just meek. Reassurance and truth is all I seek. To know that truly my work is great and people really do appreciate, not feeling bad and alienate. Wish I could believe myself when I wake in the morning and say I’m great.

 

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

Deserted Street

Men and boys say good bye all know the reason why. Called up to serve in a war they don’t deserve on the front line, not reserves. Whole Streets fighting together as a regiment. Swathes of streets empty of men who will never return. Desolate streets no dads to greet, no sons to hug mums, just dear Johns, to all the friends you meet.

Workers side by side, they all came for the same ride, work as a team one unbreakable seam, and go down with a scream. Waste of men and boys who will never know life, but briefly met strife. No guns fired or fixed Bayonet charge, the enemy is still at large. Longing for home, their bed and clean sheets, seeing their families again and walking down those deserted streets.

In their heads, their family implanted safe return not taken for granted. Over the top their turn to drop, an entire street, downed by men from an unpronounceable town. Leaving heart ache in a deserted English Street. Mothers cry, children wonder why, when the officer drops by house after house on the same Street, tears and sadness at each one they meet, finally leaving the deserted Street.

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

Magic Weaver

Lost in your shadow, your billowing love, free as a bird, not pure as a dove. Come find me tonight, in the dim candle light, open your mind and dictate my plight. Make me tingle and writhe in pleasure, let me feel your warmth and caress in good measure. Run your fingers through my hair, down my body and anywhere you dare. Let passion flare, you won’t scare.

Tempt me with your fruit, make my passage to it an easy route. Caress my body with your lips, work your magic with your hips, make me scream in your magic dreams. Love me until I am coming apart at the seams, until I can take no more, but pleasure screams. When you think my body has had enough, come find me again a little rough.

Send me to heaven, open the gate, don’t make me anticipate. Lay with me in the afterglow, my body twitching, sending a signal of contentment so you know, you have been responsible for setting me alight and making me feel high as a kite. I want to weave magic with you every night.

 

 

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, lost, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

The Corners of my Brain

In the far corners of my mind live thoughts and feelings of many kinds, running around forming rhymes, wanting to be on time. Synapses fire signals around the wire, some inspire and some drop me in the mire, sending signals of desire and that my heart is on fire.

 Free radicals firing around the dusty corners of my mind, trying to find some place to bind and save a memory. Sometimes, there is dark matter and my brain begins to clatter. All the negative clatter, not sure what’s the matter. The dark places in the corner of my brain are where I go when I’m in emotional pain.

 In the corners of my brain is an area full of love, of doves and words that are cozy and kind and gentle. Then there are travelers, that move around and flick thoughts into my head. Sometimes absurd, they hound and pound, as they wiz around transmitting sound and messages from the ground. Yes, in the four corners of my mind there are thoughts of many kinds; long and short; good and bad and some that I ought not to have had.

 

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, bullying, death, flash fiction, lost, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, short story, sleep, Uncategorized, underground

Tight Space

Tied and bound in a small room tall enough to stand but not enough to turn, escape I yearn, ropes start to burn as I wriggle and twist and turn, in discern. Dark place, no space, just me and the fear of closed in space, darkness in front of my face sets my brain running a pace.  Panic sets in as I wriggle and squirm to try to get free from this room so wee. Exhaustion follows as super human effort does not succeed and my wrists start to bleed, my mind starts to plead. 

Then there is a bang a chink of light cutting the dark of night. In through the top comes a piece of meat, raw and not fit to eat. I scream, the lid slams shut, trapped in a box like a mutt. I smell the meat it’s raw, gathering dust on the floor, I start to heave with every breath I draw, desperately wanting to find a door. 

I decide not to eat, my body starts to ask for a treat, water needed but none about, I dream of a beer if I get out. My body is weak my thirst is bleak, I may not even last a week. I may be caged in body but am free in mind able to think and go into my mind. I think of nice things of better days, reciting lines from films and plays. I loose track of all the days, just sitting there staring a gaze. Flies start to swarm like gnats before the storm. Putrid food rotting on the floor, smell a fowl stench of rotting flesh and decay. I lean on the wall waiting for what’s at the end of it all, given up hope of getting away, in this box I must spend my last days. Hallucinations come and go in the dark, madness tearing me apart. My body week and breaking down thirst and dehydration come around. I close my eyes and wait for coma to descend and my body to meet this tragic end. 

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

Sun Haze

The sun rises in my eyes it’s always true and never lies, just hangs there in the sky. Blinding light, power to make you sneeze, struggle for breath and start to wheeze. It heats you up lifts your mood ultra violet It extrudes, exploding heat rays give way to atmospheric haze. Oh how I love these long hot days, barbecues and children play, to hot for indoors to stay.

Not mid summer it’s only May making the most of each sunny day. Evenings turn to chill, sitting out late is a lovely thrill, cooling down with long cold drinks, sun sets in orange red skies as glasses clink. Water seams a cold relief but cooling from the sun is only brief.

Off to bed to rest my weary head to hot to sleep, lay on the bed in a sweaty heap, until the early morning when through the curtains the sun once again does creep, after its short night sleep. Down stairs I must go to sit in the garden all alone hearing the owl and the chorus of birds, bleating of sheep in fields in herds. But all is peaceful and no one stirs.

The power of the sun is immense and warm it’s not gone much past dawn as the new day is born. Then comes the storm, thunder and lightning, crashing rain, washing the air on its route to the drain. In the aftermath of the storm comes a cool fresh air cleansing the day making it easier for the heat to bare. Oh how I love those long hot days, but soon will come winter and it will all be a haze.