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.

 

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

Teenage Gangsters

Hanging around on street corners with you fighting hound. Looking for an incentive to maim and pound as your mates all gather round. Bandana over your face, hood up to hide as you know you are a disgrace. You want to rule your turf think you are in charge on this earth.

You are no Gangster or a prankster you are just a thug, being a mug. Uncover your face and show us your case and get your life up to pace. If you were a real Gangster you would be dead a bullet through your head.

You pick on the vulnerable, to make you look big, hoping people will fear you in the black gear. Distribute drugs for dealer thugs and skinning up to keep up. Off your face with drugs and drink you start trouble before you blink. Cannabis makes you stink, you’re not the hard Gangster that you think.

Teenage wannabee, laughing at authority, hanging with your mates seeking your own fates. Knives in pockets, killing is a badge of honour, then pop another pill you can’t cope with the thrill. Up in court tell them you snort and that’s why you don’t behave as you ought. Sent to prison your esteem has risen. Now you think you are a proper Gangster but soon find in prison you are a little boy, just their toy. Don’t cry for your mum cos she can’t come to your defence, you won’t repent until a real Gangster makes you heaven-sent.

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

Whisper

Whisper in your ear, hoping you might hear, smelling your perfume as I enter the room, holding you close to make the most. Again, I whisper, I love you, in your ear, deep in sleep I hope you subconsciously hear.

Watching every breath you take and count the ones that are fake, watch your chest rise and fall, I so want you all. I watch you turn, squirm and wriggle, in a dream you let out a giggle. I put my arm over your shoulder and cuddle in tight, spooning in the middle of the night. 

I whisper again as I feel your silk skin, you just fart and pull a grin. I pull you further in, feeling the warmth of your body, intertwined body and mind. Creating heat from heads to our feet, drifting in and out of sleep. 

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

Shadow Land

When I am alone, in the crowd, I feel the black dog come down from the shadow land. It’s shadow moves with slight of hand, doesn’t leave a foot print in the sand.

Depression grips and rips and tares, when the shadow land comes to bare, to cloak you in fear and anxiety, never leaving you to just be. The shadow land is in your head, where awful things happen and you always dread. Shadow lands, where no one is friendly and won’t hold your hands. Where deep fear is cast along the ground and hurt lays all around, where hearts never mend and dreams bend and the shadow land never ends.

The medication drops and the alcohol pops to hide you from the shadow land. No one sees, no one hears you are the one with the keys. On your knees a broken man in the shadow lands.

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

Giants

In this land of giants where people are defiant. Lives the most enormous giant who is the most defiant. He lives in a tree that’s bigger than you and me. And eats boys and girls for his tea.  When he speaks he spits from his cheeks and you think he has sprung a leak. He is very strong but meek, some think that’s a sign that he is weak. But make no mistake he has a mean streak. 
The giants they also look up to him and he looks down with a grin, through the hairs on his big square chin. Now when they walk and dance and prance their feet are so big the make such a din, and leave such a mess to live in. 

Now one of the giants, had friends to stay not for a week but a week and a day, they made such a racket and cost him a packet they were banished to lands far away. In the night when giants are fast asleep all laying in a heap, for warm to keep. They snore so load they scare the clouds so they rain upon the crowds. And when they stop snoring and a breath they are a drawing they suck up the clouds and the sun so no one can have fun. 

If you were a defiant giant what would you try to do? Especially in your big shoes and a big pair of trousers too. Would you use a ship as a canoe or would you bath in Sydney Harbour with soap causing such a lather?

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

Nomad 

I am a nomad no fixed abode, always on the road. Moving from place to place never knowing what I may face. My home on my back my hole world in a pack, always going forward never looking back. Nomadic and free I can be me and people will say who’s he. No one knows me just let me be for I have places to see.

Odd jobs for a couple of Bob, food and a bed to lay my head. Lasting friends that I will never see again, life with no pain. Walking miles agony and smiles, keep moving, never stay still, come and go at my will. Hot and cold I walk so bold no one to have and hold, just memories and stories of adventures that unfold. 

Very content in Hut or tent, but sleeping out under the stars noises echo from afar. Sand in my shoe, and the twilight hue, sunsets clue. Maybe one day I will meet you. Find a safe place to hide my face and sleep until the day is new. 

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, flash fiction, piper, poem, Poetry, scotish, scottland, short story, Uncategorized

The Piper

The piper stands so very tall, kilt and pipes at first light, on the battle field he leads soldiers lines. He pipes them ahead, wailing bagpipes scream a tune warning armies the Scots are coming soon. Guardsmen in a platoon fight and charge to his tune, played into battle from first light to noon. The mighty brave piper marches across the battle field his pipes his only weapon, no sword, gun or shield.

As they near the enemy, the pipes quicken time, almost daring to rhyme. Then the piper is cut down in a hale of fire, dropped still piping in all his attire, brave hero leading men across the mire.  As the piper hits the ground shouts go out from all around a Scottish army rises up,  heads for the enemy as they have taken their cup. Wild savages, ravage the kaki clad enemy.

No soldier feeling fear, never wondering why he is here, charging up the hill very austere, enough anger for the piper who fell, who has no tale to tell. On top of that hill where men will kill, will forever be the resting place of the hero with no face, who piped the pace with courage and grace that lonely soldier in a shallow grave, still playing Scotland the brave.

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

Anxiety

Secret feelings flash in your head, mulling over all that was said. Blaming yourself, filled with dread, head still running lying in bed. Insecure low demure, long road to get a cure. Want to run, but legs on stun, no let up when darkness comes. Anxious to please, the day I want to seize. Heart beats fast, sweating palms, why won’t my feelings calm.

Antidepressants, there’s still no effervescence, side effects not pleasant. Counselling room once a week, finding it hard to speak, stony silence, eyes gaze internal struggle it’s such a muddle, would prefer a cuddle. Reading books about black dogs and fog, read someone’s blog.

Mental health label of stealth, stigma seen as an enigma, dangerous person, things with you will only worsen. Media hype a load of tripe, branding all for actions of a group so small. See me as I am, not as the only man, talk to me like I’m all right, honestly, I don’t bite. Help me from this dark shadow into the light, where I can be me and feel alright.

 

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

I Wonder

I wonder what it feels like to put my arms around you when I’m feeling blue, tucked up under the covers just me and you. I wonder what it would be like to hold your hand as we walk barefoot across the sand. I long to stare in to your eyes and hear contented sighs. I wonder what it would be like to feel your bare skin, to laugh and joke while drinking whiskey or gin. I long to see the sunlight glinting in your hair, and imagine what you feel like when I am not there.

I wonder if you dream as well and if you would really care, I long to see your inner side and your artistic flare. I yearn to see the moon light flicker off your dress, to ask you on a date and hope that you say yes.

I wonder if I feature in your dreams at night, I never thought I ever would but now I think I might. And do you see my name and wonder if we would be right, is it just a pipe dream in the cold harsh reality of light. Would you return my phone call and send messages of love, written with your fair hand in a silky glove?

I guess what I’m asking is would you feel love, could we be together like two snow-white doves, when the dark days come around would our love still be sound. I often sit and wonder what it would be like to go out for a day, sunbathing in a field nibbling on some hay. Finally, I wonder if you would even look up when I say I want to sip from your cup.