doubt – Rhythm of the Ink

Oct 15, 2018Oct 30, 2020 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, bullying, doubt, lost, love, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, poets, tears, Uncategorized, underground, Water, words

Let Me Cry

Let me cry until I die, down in the gutter or flying high, let me cry. Let me be angry and hostile and cold, no matter what you have been told, let me cry.

When I cry, please don’t sigh don’t join in, you have no reason to cry. Let me be the real me, but most of all, let me cry. Give me a tissue to dry my eyes, put your arms around me as I fall from the sky, but most of all, let me cry.

You don’t have to understand why or know how I feel inside, just let me cry. You don’t have to act like a spy, trying to find clues to why, just let me cry. If your shame and embarrassment get in your way and you feel you must run away, then thats ok! just let me cry.

Oct 14, 2018Nov 1, 2020 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, bomb, cold, death, doubt, lost, love, neighbourhood, poem, Poetry, poets, tears, Uncategorized, words

Would You ?

When you hear that mother cry, would you stop and find out why? Or would you just walk on by? When that man in the doorway is high, would you bother or carry on by? When that man needs food for the day and has nowhere but the street to lay, would you stay and pass the time of day? Would you turn the other way?

When a heart is breaking would you bother about the making? Would you walk by and leave a child to die and not hear their desperate cries without shedding a tear from your eye? When bombs hit far-off lands, do you try to wash your hands and hope you never go anywhere near those desert sands? When the rains don’t come upon another man’s plains, is all you can do is say he is to blame?

Would you love and cry and hold a man’s hand as he dies, or would you leave him to die alone. In whose name do you walk by too scared to even try? Is it that you don’t really care so long as you are still there? What if it was you, would you expect helpers all in a queue? Would you cope with being alone no friends no family no one at home? If you stand on top of that building, waiting to jump, would you hope someone will ask you why or would you expect them to just walk by.

Oct 4, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds 21st Century Dyslexia, anxiety, Blog, Blogger, doubt, Dyslexia, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, poets, Uncategorized, words

Dyslexia 4

Chains of ink laid onto the page, what they say is hard to gauge. Mixed up brain always the same; mixed capitals and lower case fall to the paper with diminishing grace. Letter after letter word after word the sentences chase.

Grammar so grim, hiding within the limes on the page, the result of the war I wage. Full stops and commas missed out quotes, extra spaces in inks long laces, pure genius appears in places. Always persistent never consistent but trying oh so hard.

Lost in stories of dragons and demons so gory, knowing the shine will be removed from the glory as I edited the story. Spelling, the telling sign of how my brain was designed. It didn’t matter that I finished on time, the presentation was the crime.

Oct 3, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds 21st Century Dyslexia, anxiety, Blog, Blogger, doubt, Dyslexia, lost, poem, Poetry, poets, tears, Uncategorized, words

Dyslexia 3

My Mind races in overdrive, this is when I come alive, I’m not constrained to a box. My Mind is like a wily old fox. Let my mind run riot amongst your flock smashing through the traditional rock.

Blue sky thinking, networking and linking, disorganised thinking, yet business astounds as ideas abound and turn the system upside down. Dyslexic creativity taking inspiration from all around.

Brain wired differently, memory fails on important dates, like all the dyslexic greats. Dumping words on my paper, there form absurd, twisted writing, turning, moving, correcting. Yet my words still don’t flow, missing spaces mixing cases, blind to words until they are heard.

Oct 1, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds 21st Century Dyslexia, anxiety, Blog, Blogger, doubt, Dyslexia, poem, Poetry, poets, tears, Uncategorized, underground, words

Dyslexia 1

Jumbled words, backwards letters, oblivious to homework setters. Sore hands straining to write, every word becomes a fight. Maximum effort, results so poor, wishing he could run out that door.

He Can’t keep up no matter how fast he goes, his speed and effort never shows. Imagination runs riot to get those words in poetry and prose.

He is Looking around, everyone has finished, his self-belief slowly diminished. Trying his best like all the rest, yet his best is not as good, he needs a rest.

His teacher says he could do better, it says so in his school report and the parent’s letter. Dyslexia running through his veins saps his energy and hides his brains, all his effort is in vain.

Aug 24, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, doubt, poem, Poetry, poets, short story, Uncategorized, underground, venomous, words

Venomous Poet

Venom spitting poet, on paper with ink he sows it spitting, words in sheep like herds, serving aces changing faces. Firing bullets like cannon balls smashing into walls, angry sage of the modern age firing fury onto blank page.

Take no prisoners please or offend, word Smith creating fire to send, rewriting lines that twist and bend, strengthening the message they send. Melodic movements spitting ink like blades cutting an ice rink. Building the verse row by row, winding up and letting go, machine gun speed to sow the seed talking of killing, Satan and greed.

The poet slices up the verse written like a witch’s curse, voodoo doll of prose and verse, vicious words, ideas absurd, mighty ink trying to be heard. Warrior poet slaying demons, recalling of lines like a sermon. Writing poet struggling to grow, it starts to slow as ideas go, losing his flow in tales of woe. Ammunition all spent no quarter lent, message clearly sent.

Aug 30, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, doubt, flash fiction, love, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Heart Thief

Your pulse is racing, what are you facing, door opens, you are embracing. Candles in silver holders sit on the table, perfectly laid, willing and able. Pour a drink, none alcoholic, it helps you think. Sitting opposite gazing into his eyes, wondering what behind them lies. Your lips red with cherry wanting so much to soak his with your passion. But, you hold back, put up a wall, you have been here before, memories not good at all.

Your body language says I want you, your head says he will use and abuse you. Pour another drink and laugh at another joke, small talk and charm, if only he knew what harm they would do. Then comes that moment you dread the one you played over a thousand times in your head. He reaches in to kiss you.

Your spine tingles and knees go weak, as lips meet first, then tongues of fire, full of desire, you pull away as it’s stored in the mire of undesired of memories burning on a funeral Pire. Your head is in a spin you want to draw him in but that would be a sin. Replay unhappy memories this you didn’t want to see. It’s time to make your excuses and leave. Your heart pounding and sense of relief you have escaped from the heart thief.

Aug 26, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds army, Blog, Blogger, bullying, doubt, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, political, short story, Uncategorized

View from the Shadows

In the lonely shadows I hide, watching two worlds collide, scared to venture outside. I live with pride, that I am not part of what’s going on outside, part of the animalistic joyride, of sheep that swim with the tide. I’m happy in this lonely place where I hide.

Some nights I have cried and to find a reason I have tried, but no reasons come to mind, why people should hurt fellow man kind. The actions of hate are just outside my gate, no sign it will dissipate. People shouting cussing each other and their mother, no respect for each other nor religion or colour.

I look from my hide out, from my long lonely shadows, safe behind strong doors and windows. Watching the animals to and fro as the battle scars sows, where it ends, who wins, no one knows, just hatred row on row. Tear gas and burning cars, sticks and stones, co-ordinated on mobile phones. I still hide, all alone, watching the hatred roll down the road until it is back out of site mistakenly thinking that’s the end of the fight.

Aug 16, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, doubt, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized, words

Absurd Words

Give a poet a word, something quite absurd like lemon curd, OK that’s two words. What can be done with lemon curd, that uses and twists and turns words, that makes them rhyme in perfect time. Poets can play with its use, turning it to radioactive slime; using it as a cleaning product to get rid of dirt and grime. Letting it run through their hands like alien sticky slime, but, then there is a favorite of mine, slap it on hot buttered toast and eat them one at a time.

Give a poet a word or a phrase and they will play for days and days, fitting it in poems, different ways, but sometimes their mind will go blank and at the paper they will stare, until a new idea comes to bare, something abstract they might dare to write, with flare that will ignite passion, no word ration.

Then one day someone will say, bet they can’t write one about this. The poet will writhe and twist and turn and discern, using everything they have learned. Oh, how they wish they had never started, when will it end, it will drive them round the bend. Suddenly, the penny drops and out of nowhere an idea flops. Ink drops start to flow as the poem starts to grow and grow, it just ebbs and flows, this heady prose, where it stops no one knows.

Jul 11, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, doubt, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

I am Detective

I am detective, some say defective, I will find your story, however gory, I read your mind and always you I will find. Tricks of the trade, hiding in the shade, covering your tracks, never going back. I will find you and your crime, come and get you through all the grime.

I am detective, new perspective, attention to detail, hot on your trail. I know nor care what or where, I will find you and the evidence there. Tell your lies, wear your disguise, I won’t compromise, I know it’s you I can see it in your eyes.

I am detective, the last one alive, I am coming after you, nowhere to hide. Rain or shine it makes no difference, there is no barrier no hindrance, for I am detective one of a kind, scruffy rain coat, brilliant mind. Your soul I will find, all day I grind to make a living, to catch you in the land of the living. I will not stop until off this planet I pop, and when I retire I will be reflective for I am detective.