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.

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

​Pinball Day

I feel like a pin ball, bounced into an arena where there are obstacles to trip and bounce you around, pounded from pillar to post not really knowing the host. Flashing lights make it seem so bright, but, when you bounce back its far from right. For a minute you are winning and all your points start to add up, then you realise you are sold a pup, your are catapulted back up the board to where you started. 
Progress is slow, why don’t they know, when you get to the end the barriers won’t let you go cos they only throw and give you a new way to go. Then in a hole, trying to get out and even then you get ejected with naught. 

Then hit the wall and hope you fall in the right place, it’s a disgrace, concentration on their face you are just part of the rat race, never able to play an ace. Points racking up stroke of luck gets you out of the muck, then straight down the middle into a hole to be catapulted straight back out, with a clout, you want to shout, to do it all over again. It’s always the same totally insane. 

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

Watching You

I see you from afar and wonder how you are. I try to catch your eye so you know that I spy, the shimmer of your hair catches my eye and your image occupies my head as I lie in bed. I want to say hello but the rejection I just dread. I wonder if you are happy or long for someone close to share all your days and make memories you value the most. 

I see your body tattooed and very slim, is thinking about you really a sin? I want to see you on summer days and walk with you in the sun’s haze, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear and be glad I’m here. I want to feel your body the soft warm skin,  the tremor of your pulse as our love sinks further in. I see your face absent of a grin, and wonder what is within. 

Let me hold your hand and walk with you bare foot on warm sand. Let me enrobe you in my arms and smother you with tickets and charms, when you panic and cry let me bring calm, to wipe away your tears and whisper I love you in your perfect ears. 

But I am scared to say how I feel in case you laugh and think that I am daft. Opening up my heart has never been my craft. But if I catch your eye and you see my smile so Rye then know I really want to say I want you to come out and stay. If you find this poem and think it’s all about you, only you know what you must really do. And if you feel the same as I do, then pop over and tell me that you really do. 

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.

 

 

 

 

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

Bomber

Why do you kill hurt and maim, it’s not done in my name, making children die and families cry, so you can be a martyr up in the sky? Yet you are fake, you need a shake, there is no excuse to cause a wake. No motive, no greed, just false belief that makes lives so brief, you can’t justify and live a lie, why should innocents die?

Children sing and dance and have a good time, but you sir are no martyr, you just commit crime, you murder young people then kill yourself, a coward, a cheat a killer by stealth. It’s all about your beliefs and yourself, you are not worthy of death, you are like bad breath, floating away after the main play, not stopping to see the pain.

You are not insane, they have washed your brain to make you think its ok to cause death and pain, for the many people you have slain. So many times, we see this act and here the excuses how lame. But on your family, on your country and on you, you have brought only shame.

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

Little Boy Soldier

Little boy soldier what have they told ya? Kalashnikov on your shoulder, ten or eleven not much older. Did they tell you that you might die and stop you from having a cry and did they tell you the truth about why? It won’t hurt you won’t die and if you do you will be a martyr up in the sky, carrying a gun makes you bolder even though you might not get older.

Why must you die living a lie, no chance to give peace a try. No emotion, no regret, just hardened beliefs kept. Little boy soldier, this gun is no toy it will only kill and destroy men or little boys, it doesn’t care which at the flick of a switch. Running with the boys playing big boys games little boy soldiers a country’s shame

Little boy soldier huge weight on your shoulders, does your mum approve, what have they told her? Where will you go when they come for you? Can you kill them before they get you? Little boy soldier lay down your guns until you are older and can take the burden on your shoulders. Go home to mum while she can still hold ya. Tell her you don’t want to be a little boy soldier marching around with a gun on your shoulder. Never again do you want to see men die, without a tear coming to your eye. Little boy soldier please please cry and ask this cruel world why?

 

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

Chocolate

Smooth as silk, sugar and milk. Cold from the fridge melt in the heat, feels good to eat. Melt on the fingers, in the throat it lingers. Addictive a fix a heady mix, little parcels, slabs or sticks. Milk, white and dark it all creates a spark. Cooking or spreading or grating chocolate heaven.

It’s the quick snack or even a six-pack. The box that nan sent as the present, full of coloured centres packed in little trays, it only lasts a couple of days. Chocolate changes your mood a real comfort food, to refuse would be rude. Belgium Swiss and American to, which one are you? Nuts and caramel Turkish delight, soft centre or hard one is just right, heavy and light.

Eat in the day or the middle of the night any time it’s just right, in it’s wrapper bold and bright. Chocolate cake and brownies too maybe even a chocolate fondue. Take it in a picnic on a visit to the zoo, send to your beau to say I love you, special occasions or just cos you’re bored, chocoholic many bars you hoard. If you have a spat or even loose the cat, getting yourself in a right state chocolate is your soul mate.