Markey Mark Symmonds autumn, Blog, Blogger, Boots, cold, neighbourhood, play, Poetry, poets, season, Uncategorized, weather, words

The Fall

Autumn leaves fall from the trees, dancing their way to the ground on the breeze. Fiery colours line the avenues and streets, dappling the low sun as the horizon it meets.
Summer fades, gradually holding on to the sun’s last heat, like it’s dying and struggling for its last heartbeat. Children run and jump and kick the leaves, wearing hats and scarves with boots upon their feet.

The council pile the leaves so high and neat, until flailing feet they meet. With an explosion of colour, the flames of the fire take to the sky once again, until onto the earth they retire, rotting and mulching as they expire.

Cold mornings, frost on the grass, brisk winds whispering behind window glass. Roads and paths freeze with speckles of diamonds and glass, glistening in the light of the headlights that pass.

Comforting food in stewing pots with dumplings like giant spots, warming the insides of frozen bodies, curled up with hot toddies and blankets wrapping intertwined bodies.
Autumn fades as darkness pulls down its shade as winter gloom comes on parade.

© All Rights Reserved mark Symmonds 2018

 

Markey Mark Symmonds army, Blog, Blogger, bomb, Boots, death, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

D Day

Landing craft, fore and aft, full of men and boys poised to land guns in hand, close band of fine men. The start of overlord, the allied sword, men onboard to liberate a country, ready to maraud, engines hum in the darkness, thoughts turn to wives, kids and mums.

Landing crafts fall short of the beach, but still the aggressors they must breach. Ramp lowered boots pound first man out takes a round, into the sea, boots full of water pushing on, lambs to the slaughter. Guns firing everywhere, muzzle flash of yellow flair, everyone knows they are there.

 Soldiers topple into the sea like brittle skittles one, two, three. Single mind to win the battle to liberate these people treated worse than cattle. 4,000 allied soldiers die in the ensuing battle heavy guns pound and machine guns rattle, explosions all around, men cut down. Cold blood runs in the dark sea, bullets and shells rip them apart they know they are in hell and that’s just the start.

 

 

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 army, Blog, Blogger, bomb, Boots, death, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, political, short story, Uncategorized

Boots in the Hood

Boots on the ground soldiers deployed in towns, to stop the bombers coming around. Police with guns protecting kids and dads and mums. No need to run more boots can come patrolling in the mid-day sun.

Their uniform pristine and green, berets black, Red and green. Loaded guns rarely seen, urban warriors fit and lean. Preventing terror from those who are keen. Film scene comes to be, will it work? we will see. At least we can still be you and me.

Spectre of death fading breath, parents bereft nothing left where their children stood, just guns and boots in a neighbourhood, turn back time they wish they could stop the disease, that murders with ease here at home and overseas.

Stiff upper lip, though it stings like a whip, this disease spreading drip by drip. Solid lives can’t be destroyed by bombs or knives cos our bond is strong like man and wife. To stop us living free, you will have to take every life. Cos, we will fight to the end and will not bend, but will defend this way of life from low life and scum, we will never succumb, if there is a beat in our heart you will never tear us apart, we will fight you with all our lion heart.