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. 

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

Day at the Zoo

Monkeys swinging and rolling at play camels munching at yellow hay. Elephants squirting and trumpeting water to wash their back they are safe from slaughter. 
Flamingos all pink stand on one leg like a skater on an ice rink. There is the hippo so big and tough chewing on grass that’s bare and rough. Then on to the bears eating apples and pears brown fury coats and long claws on the end of their big paws. 

Mearkats scurry in a hurry stand tall to be seen by all. Then the lions lazing around until food arrives then they will bound. Majestic mains on this wild cat king of the plains. Leopards with spots lick tiny drops from the leaves through the trees he weaves. 

On to the, reptiles lizards all scaly and still as a statues, a roving eye that’s looking at you. On to the spiders so deadly and big some are that hairy they look like a wig. The crocodile has teeth so sharp one snap from them and your up to your knee I hope he doesn’t fancy me for tea. 

Snakes that slither and slide along their hissing like an hypnotic song. Out into daylight oh so bright there’s the penguins on the right. 

Slipping and sliding into the water they go darting around to and fro waiting for fish that the Zoo keepers throw.

The final animal that we see is not quite as big as you and me. The giant tortoise slow and lethargic never in a hurry, very old these creatures are, to big to hold but carry their shell on their back so bold it helps protect them from hot and cold. 

Now all the people young and old leave in their cars they go off to there homes, a steady flow. What happens at night we don’t know but the Zoo keepers are friendly though. 
 

Markey Mark Symmonds Uncategorized

Silence

When I’m  all alone and dreamy that’s when I start to hear the silence. 

Not absolute, it never is, but quiet enough to have a think. To shut my eyes and have 40 winks. 

The silence washes over me like a warm mug of tea and I sit in my armchair and just stare and just be.

At that moment I am as one with the earth and have disappeared to a land with no noise or fear a land with no tears.

I feel nothing only that I belong and am part of the silence. Part of something big but alas something short lived

Markey Mark Symmonds Uncategorized

Peace

When children cry and governments lie why does no one ask why?

Why do we bomb, kill and fight? Why has the world  not seen the light? Why do countries want to show their might and prove to the world their way is right. Yet they don’t really care about our plight and keep on acting out of spite. Claiming we might sleep safely in our beds at night.

The threat of nuclear bombs with which they can’t fight and awestruck pictures from far of lands showing the destruction that’s in their hands. Previous wars to end all wars Yet still come shock and awe.  

Peace is the only way that we will all live out our days. And all religions will give praise. Peace is why our children live and peace is only theirs to give. No colour, no religion and no belief is powerfully enough to be a thief and steal away the world of peace. 

Yet as we write of loving thy foe, bombers are given the word to go. Bringing terror to our screens this war thing must be in our genes. 

Put down your guns and bombs and shells and all the beliefs that cause us hell . Put then away so we might live and love again and forgive for we are all but one. 

Members of the human race regardless of our skin and face. Stop your fighting and meet and embrace and let peace prevail.

Markey Mark Symmonds Uncategorized

Knives

Long and short thick and thin made of metal and tin fixed blade and folding; mass produced or hand made. First it’s out then it’s in no fuss no din.

Home made or bought from a store shiney new or used before. One lunge and they knock you to the floor.

The knife is a common weapon we all have mums and dads rockers or chavs. Eating, cutting, sawing, gnoring, all the things a knife was ment to be. Now, these are used for killing you and me.

But it is not the knife that kills and mains and life it drains but the person who used it and what was there intent. Were they carrying it for their job or just cos they are hell bent on being a yob.

It’s cheap it’s available and is disposable the weapons of choice to defend your self,  no guns do we carry; no ritual Swords to send us to our Lord but the knife that puts out life is rife.