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

Election

election-voting-vector-734450

No MPs just candidates peddling their lies and messages of hate, now the election has a date when we all go to rate. Will they buy bombs, or give money to moms? Will they look after the old or just leave them out in the cold.

They all say their words but some are absurd, when they win they pretend we never heard. Promises made and then reneged, social class becomes a farce, when politicians get paid so vast. The gap is massive but we stay passive and let them rule the roost.

War on the world and war on the poor while they keep money sitting off shore. Money is their driving force not people of course, they would sooner you walk than have a car of course.

Low tax and no tax hacks, yet they charge us more to fund their wars. who is paying for this pain? the usual people they are all the same, they want to make you feel ashamed. what about people who moved to Spain, what have they got to gain? will they move home again as their money takes a drain.

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

Pushing Through

Thinking-man

Pushing through for me and you, making tunnels in what we do, clean the house, polish a shoe all done for me and you. Watching out for the dew on the grass, time to raise another glass. Walking along hand in hand wanting to be in nether land.

Having a dream that we are a team, sit in the bath to keep us clean. Never explaining what we mean by love, like a glove that fits so snug it never comes off, however much you pull and tug. Nights by the fire on the rug wrapped in a blanket all nice and snug.

Staying awake all night long wondering what went wrong, why we were together for so long; on the radio our favourite song, we used to dance to it on nights gone. We thought we were so strong, how could we get it so wrong? Then all of a sudden, it is gone, no heart, no love, no song.

 

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

Summer Days

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERASweaty, sticky, tacky heat; talking about the change in weather with everyone you meet. Rotary fans and ice cream vans, people making holiday plans. Windows down on cars and vans, babies out in pushchairs and prams enjoying the heat with their mams.

Barbecues start to be used, sausage and chicken and burgers, finger licking; Washing it down with a drink of your picking. Flip flops and shorts; summer dresses; children in swim wear, hats on their hair, playing for hours without a care.

Venture out, if you dare, sun cream on your body hat on your head, protection from sunburn, going red. Larger and lime or grapes from the vine. Bottles of water not from the tap, checking the forecast on an app and looking for the seaside on a map.

Then comes the night, all sticky and hot pyjamas on or maybe not. On top of the duvet the breeze on your knees all the pollen has made you sneeze. Lack of sleep daylight creeps on the bed in a heap. Get up early, out of bed you leap. Into the cool shower to raise you from your sleep.

On with the shorts and vest, you are already a sweaty mess. The summer is here to stay, you want to make the most of every day.

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

They Just Stare

You sit there upright in your chair and people just stop and stare. They talk to me like your not there as though talking to you they don’t dare. They don’t see the pain in your face they think you should always have good grace. Then there’s the others who want to race even though they couldn’t keep up the pace, they will only remember your chair they haven’t even registered your face. 

Then come the questions you know the ones I mean, will she get better and how long it’s been, obviously  the person they haven’t seen. We tell them we have children, they are very keen then comes the question we all dread the one we play back time and again in our head. How do you manage you know to have you know to do it. I wish they would go. I can’t help the reply I say it so Rye, at your age I thought you would know. That did it a direct hit, now they are feeling a bit of a tit, now they start to go . But it’s not long before the next bit of a bore asked do you know so and so.  

They think you must know cos he is like you must be some kind of queue, maybe they think there is only one or two so you know them all and they know you.  The person is behind us in the queue so no chance of make a u and getting away fast and some peace at last. It’s almost like your from a different class, not really an adult or a human but then what gives them the right to ignore you and treat you like an animal in a zoo. I wish they would all see you as you. 

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

​Power of Waves

I like walking on the beach watching the tide amble it’s way in, filling rock pools and breaching sand castle walls, as it fizzes and bubbles and crawls. The coldness of the sea make calf’s go tight and feet sink into the soft sand below. The sea advances with no stopping jumping and hopping as it raises it’s game twice a day it plays the same. 

Waves get larger and stronger white tips across the rabid sprawl as they hit the sea wall. Spray flying into the air dampening any who dare. Then comes another wave and the water flare.  Crashing on rocks and groins and piers, sound of whooshing in the ears. 

Cold mist forms, the sea fret roles in land.  So thick you can’t see your hand. The mighty force takes its natural course.  

Then the tide starts to turn the fret recedes and the sun starts to burn as the sea is on the turn. Dragging it’s treasures back down deep rubbish and shells it wants to keep. Deposits stones and crabs and shells as the sea slowly back swells. White peaks fade to a foam, drawing down the beach all the way home. 

The sand is wet and cold where the sea took hold and rock pools glisten so bold. Seaweed and kelp lay on the shore like the aftermath of dragons at war. Then come the bathers the children and more and seagulls still happily saw above the newly replenished shore. 

The sea goes back to its place,  gently washing the sand with all its grace. Trickling back  with every reach showing off more of its nice clean beach. No trace of the immense power that was there the last hour. 

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

Beautiful Day

20080619095031_blowing_windWind blows through shimmering trees, blossom flies up to the sky with the bees. freshly cut grass makes you sneeze, children playing with dirty knees trees turn green for as far as the eye can see.

Birds pick at insects and worms before departing on isotherms. the wind lifts them to the sky on their wings, carrying food and shiny things, to their nest where babies sing.

Blow the clouds across the sky, where aeroplanes fly. Look at the shapes floating way up high, soon, this beautiful day will be done and the night will be nigh.

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

Beyond Fatigue

Tired woman are sleeping

Body heavy mind light, sleeping anytime but not at night. Beyond the fatigue my body goes, no sleep will make it go, hard to move feel so low, where is my get up and go. When will this melee pass? I don’t know it’s becoming a farce laying here waiting for it to go

Beyond fatigue lives a place full of nothing. A place where the mind rests and colours stream in but timeless like on the edge of sleep but heavy in the limbs and longer to wait. I must try to move, to generate some energy to fire me up. It won’t come in bundles, just enough for me to stumble, to move around and lay down with this sensation washing down my body slowing me to a trundle.

A good night’s sleep won’t see it off as I nod off with half-finished mugs of tea and coffee relics of an afternoon nap why won’t my energy come back.

 

 

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

Space 

In the outer depths of space no one can see your face as you race to get back to the place you call home. 

In the glow of tomorrow no one knows where you will go. Can any one hear you scream as you sit facing a dead screen.

Something is pulling you through the air your in space and nothing is there pulled further and further into nowhere. Siting shaking strapped in your chair on your way to somewhere outhere. Craft spinning like a ball running down a bowling hall . 

Planets pass and fade to stars your now past Jupiter and Mars. Hurtling towards the stars. Lost in space we have gone to far. Asteroid burning from afar no one knows just where you are. 

The radio is long since dead just you and your thoughts running through your head. Arms like concrete legs like led. Ground control think you have long been dead. You don’t know what lays ahead. What ever it it is it will never be said . This science discovery will never be read. 

No place to run no laser gun, no fun. Just waiting for death to come. Racing towards the sun. Hotter and hotter the capsule gets, temperature rising  you start to sweat. Close my eyes and think of the moon hoping this nightmare will end soon. 

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

My Brew

Hand grips the wooden handle. Other angles the glass under the brass spout in anticipation of the nectar that will flow out.

Arm pulls down to release the brew then lifts to pull a new. The froth Wells up as it hits the bottom of the glass and then through its self will pass. White frothy head forms on top of this fermented hop, sitting on dark brown like the king with a crown.

The glass stands on the bar contents settling ready for my lips to pass. The first sip strong but smooth my dry throat it will soon sooth. More I drink it’s so smooth, wipe the froth from my lips I don’t care if it goes on my hips.

Down the edge of the glass the head sticks slowly sliding to meet the brew. Then the glass is tipped he bottom is see through, its time to order another brew or two.

The pump delivers more liquid to the glass and is exchanged once again for brass. This pint is real class savour each mouth full don’t let the taste pass, slowly the brown king with its crown goes down.

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

Apache

apacheA big wind fills the sky dropping out of the storms eye, dust cloud to shroud, ready to deploy its lethal crowd. Down goes the ramp to start the decamp, thirty men fresh out of camp. Out they go to and froe; left and right into the night covering the arcs in case of a fire fight.

Heads down and up goes the storm, big wind lifts to the skies, clouds of dust, sting the eyes. Night goggles down its green all around, now they can see the role of the ground. Up on their feet, they start to move out, talking in sign, no need to shout.

Then comes the crack of enemy fire, a large explosion from a trip wire. Everyone’s down returning fire, movement up ahead, five hundred men wanting to fill them with led. Grenades and rockets crash to the ground bullets are seen whizzing around. The enemy is to big they have brought to few men for this gig. The order is given to give ground, back they start running, boots and hearts pound.

Every man running into the night trying to avoid capture they know their plight. Into ditches left and right, zero sights for the impending fire fight. The radio operator gets on the wire asking headquarters to send some hell fire. One by one the bodies fall then comes the deadliest sound of all. Click, click the ammunition is spent and in the enemy hardly a dent. More and more the enemies might, hammers at the men on the run in the night.

Up goes the order to stand and fight they know this would be their last night. Fix bayonets prepare to charge eyes wide open the battle is large. Next comes the order to engage the enemy, 30 angry men with fire in their belly, charge. One by one they are cut down, the last man falls as he reaches the crown of the hill, to the noise of the apache ready to kill.

The apache strafes with all its might, hellfire missiles light up the night, Hundreds of soldiers run with fright but no one is safe from Satan’s might. It comes in for another pass sweeping the grass left to right. Then the ground becomes still, off goes the apache back over the hill, back to base with news of their kill. Graves are dug and bodies tagged and put in the ground small wooden crosses lay all around this killing ground.