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

Coffee

cup of coffee

Make it large or make it small maybe short or maybe tall, drink it at home or in the mall. Coffee can be had with love and even when you are in a mood best of all you can have coffee with your food

Black, white frothy or flat have it alone or with a friend for a chat. Morning afternoon and night coffee any time is just right

It keeps you awake and bright, it calms you down when you have had a fright in the middle of the night.

Coffee can be wrong or right dark or light in a mug or from a cup calm you down or pick you up. Coffee is fine any time.

 

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

Bogged Down

 

brain-fog

My head is like quicksand today trying to write but it won’t come. No water flowing, ideas coming then going, my brain is just a sponge full of grunge.

My pen keeps moving but it’s losing the battle to make a poem rattle. loads of ideas in between my ears but can’t get them on paper tonight.

My brain is in a bog and I need to write my blog, but it’s just a clog, my brain is a fog it’s such a slog. So, forgive me today if you don’t like what I say. I can’t guarantee what will appear from the fog but whatever it is it’s on my blog. Oh, how I hate brain fog and being stuck in this bog.

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

Love Is

Affection

Love is fluid yet does not move, love is here with me and you, love can conquer any woe but love can also go.

Love is a feeling in your head sometimes it lands up in your bed. Love is all about words but not everything has to be heard.

Love is about being in tune thinking the same thing when you are not in the same room. Love is about me and you.

Love is about being strong and weak, love never reaches a peak but love can leak. Love is there even when we don’t speak.

Love is tactile and free love is full of glee. Love is all around us and gets in your hair and love gets everywhere it hits from head to foot and never tarnishes with soot.

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

Death Crawl

Moving along against the wall he could barely manage a crawl. Rain soaked coat he crawls through the puddles, his mind is a muddle. He knows not what happened but dreams of a cuddle.

Each move harder than the previous all the effort could be in vein his blood flowing freely washed down the drain. Life ebbing from his body rivers of red stain his hands and feet upto his head it flickers he may soon be dead.

Flash backs of family of happy times of little children and nursery rhymes. He crawls another couple of feet like a sodden calved piece of meet. He sprawls face down  his face in his hands curls up in a ball thinking this is the end of it all.

It’s not the way he wanted it to end on a dirty road  body releasing it’s crimson load. He opens his eyes and let’s out a cry got to get home he really must try. Onto his knees hands out in front each movement taking all his effort to make a distance so short.

Round the corner there is his door only a few feet more.  A car pulls up they open the door there are two cracks and he lives no more.

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

Our Heroine

hoodie-banOur heroine Alice Del Mar retrieves a flashlight from her car, hearing gunshots from afar. On with the light breaking the night, she takes flight not knowing what will come into sight.

More shots across the park she lights a cigarette with a spark. The torch beam sweeps the park not knowing what she will find. More gunshots rip at the air she is working blind.

Heart beating faster and faster senses in overload she is a long way from the road carrying her heavy load. Sweeping the paths to the lakes not knowing what’s at stake or what carnage the gunshots leave in their wake.

Onto the woods all dark and mysterious she realises this is getting serious. Night shrouds the woodland, how she wishes she was part of a crowd as the gunshots are getting loud.

Suddenly her flashlight spots a figure in the middle of the light. There was a man in a hooded top taking aim and pulling the trigger wanting to have a pop at a beautiful fox. He turned the gun on Alice del Mar she wants to run but won’t make it to the car.

She freezes not knowing his next move, would he shoot or scoot. The alarm in his eyes and shaking of his arm raises Alice’s inner alarm she knows she may come to some harm. She turns off the torch and gets down on her haunch and ready to move away. Alice is not sure if she will live anymore and if this will be her last day.

On the floor to the right of her she feels a large stick, it’s in her hand with one gentle flick as she hears the dead man’s click. The gun has run out of rounds. She is up off the ground and onto the gun with her big stick two punches and a good hard kick.

The gunman falls to the ground ammunition spread all around. He’s writhing in pain trying to retrieve the gun again. She brings down the stick and starts to pound. She screams and screams but no one’s around.

She runs into the night driven by adrenaline caused by fright not lead by the beam of her flashlight. She keeps on running until the woods are out of sight, the car is ahead she is using all her mite.

She gets to the car, unlocks it and falls into the seat, gasping for breath and feels the heat. She gets on her phone to report home and ask for the police to meet. Our heroine Alice Del Mar has made it back to her car. This is her biggest adventure so far.

 

Markey Mark Symmonds poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

The Funny Man’s Mask

depression-hurtsBehind the jokes and laughs the Funny Man’s Mask, lays the real face, one of despair which the funny man will never share. Depression and anger all go away for a few hours a day when the funny man comes out to play.

Without his mask, he has little to say and wishes that black cloud would go away. When on stage there is laughter and rage and the happiness is let out of its cage.

It’s all an act just a pretence, just to earn a few pence. He makes us happy for a short time then he’s back to his solemn state as he goes home again.

Next time you see the funny man out in the street ask if life is ever so sweet or does that black cloud come down to his feet. Is he wearing his Funny Man’s Mask? Just ask.

Markey Mark Symmonds poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Clown

Funny hat, stripy trousers, big shoes and a coloured wig this is no ordinary gig. This is the clown who runs up and down face painted white like the poor devil has had a fright. Sad face highlighted in red and those big eyes that some people despise.

Juggling with water and doing silly tricks, riding a bike over imaginary sticks and falling down because he is a clown. Children laugh and get a bath when the bucket of water is tipped on them. Now some hate the clown, it gets them down when they know the circus is in town. Some people get scared and start to frown, don’t worry it’s only a clown.

Markey Mark Symmonds poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Wash Day

washday

Hey hey its washing day all the clothes are on their way.

Fill the drum and twist the dial, press the button and leave for a while. Sort out the clothes colours whites and cottons too make sure the pockets are empty of money and tissues. Four piles all on the floor washings becoming a bit of a bore. When the loads finished open the door pick up the sock that fell on the floor.

Into the basket, the wet load goes. finding the wash ball for detergent is a bit of a game but its needed to do the job all over again.

Now let the dryer take the strain you can’t put it on the line it’s starting to rain. So, time for a coffee while you wait for that gurgling noise as the machine starts to drain. Then repeat over and over again and again every week is more of the same. Sometimes you sit and watch the drum spin, sometimes you wish you could get in.

Oh, how the clothes smell fresh and you have managed to clear all the mess. The dryer has finished the clothes are all hot shirts and trousers and sheets for the cot. Then you wonder if next week will be the same and if they will notice if clothes are washed again or not.

Markey Mark Symmonds poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Graveyard

cemetery_overview1

In the ground row by row stand headstones and crosses some with names and couples and heroes, some plots of people we don’t know. Adults and children who will never grow but who’s memories will never go. Young and old death makes no distinction all of them laid in the cold.

People come and pay their respects leaving flowers, windmills and candles, for some a visit is too much to handle.

The lawn is kept so neat and tight, lights shimmer in the dark of the night. Each grave tells a story of darkness and light holding back the tears is a bit of a fight but you have to keep the grave looking just right.

You talk to your loved one but they don’t respond, just leave you with memories now they are gone. Although they are dead and have gone away visions of better days’ flicker through your head, replaying scenes of happiness and dread and all those words never said.

Peaceful and tranquil the graveyard becomes, full of sisters and brothers; dads and mothers. Quiet contemplation maybe a prayer anything to make you feel they are still there.

Markey Mark Symmonds poem, Poetry, political, Uncategorized

​The Country Decides

It’s been announced that the country will decide, to stop politicians override. Now we will here what will and won’t be and all hold our breaths to wait and see. What will each party try to be and more importantly what will they do for you and me. 

Will it be one issue on which they all fight or will they make out we are all alright? Will they face the real truths or hope to keep them all out of sight? 
They will debate on TV morning noon and night, claiming it’s not a fair fight. While the people wonder what is our plight and try to decide who will win the right.

Endless debate on whose wrong or right, will it be a landslide or will it be tight and we will stay up late on that counting night. Maybe we will go to bed happy and content or maybe, full of dread and Some will be hoping Brexit is dead. 

But remember if it’s blue or red someone will be leader and at the head, chosen to deliver what they said. The papers will criticise how they have lead.  Opposition may change and their leader be estranged and they will reflect on loses and gains as someone new takes the reins. Maybe they will just burry their heads.

So when the time comes don’t sit there and gloat, get out and cast your vote, cos it don’t mater where that cross is you wrote; it’s your right to decide our plight for which or grandparents fought and so you aught to make your mark like they did, even if of this government we don’t get rid.