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, 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, 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.

 

 

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

Subclass 

Media tells us you sit around all day on your ass lambasted cos you are a subclass. No real value no real worth why were you put on this earth. You don’t work you are seen as a jerk no right to live to be, to survive seen as a skive why are you alive. 

You did not choose to be in that chair, fate put you there, people stop and stare glad they are not there. Why should they care they have not been there. They think they know the pain, think it’s all a game and you are lame. Society would sooner embrace fame while for the subclass nothing will change. Seen as not normal you must change cos you don’t fit our stereotype cos we listened to all the hype. 

No one gives you a  chance for your life to enhance and  let you be the best you can,but please remember you are more than an empty can, you are a fellow man. So while they sit in their ivory tower, trying to exsert their power. They should think about how they would manage if they had sustained this physical and mental damage.

You are tough and never complain when it’s rough even when your body has had enough. Yet you get up every day, no prospect of any pay, medicines swallowed all day just to keep the pain at bay. It’s all just another day, you wish it wasn’t this way but it will never go away. So don’t judge or  throw people  away as you could be them one day. 

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

This World

shutterstock-Love-HateIn the cold dawn of light, in this world full of hate and spite where no one knows who is wrong and who is right. In this world of fantasy and flight where everyone is on a ladder trying to reach a great height where all the world comes into sight and little children no longer fly their kites.

In this world of death and destruction where image is more important than love, where we can find no doves. In this world where is the love, where is the living being, in this world that is all seeing.

Where do you and I fit in? where can we make a din or will it be committing a sin just because we are not in. Leave your hate and don’t rate you never know your fate. Love thy neighbours and beyond. There is no magic wand just love and hate that collide. Love is what we should try.

In the cold dawn of light, in this world full of hate and spite where no one knows who is wrong and who is right. In this world of fantasy and flight where everyone is on a ladder trying to reach a great height where all the world comes into sight and little children no longer fly their kites.

In this world of death and destruction where image is more important than love, where we can find no doves. In this world where is the love, where is the living being, in this world that is all seeing.

Where do you and I fit in? where can we make a din or will it be committing a sin just because we are not in. Leave your hate and don’t rate you never know your fate. Love thy neighbours and beyond. There is no magic wand just love and hate that collide. Love is what we should try.

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 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.