Mac 10

Spray and pray the gangster way, the little boys play, making their way owning the day. Settling arguments, making them pay, violence and revenge, Mac 10 takes the day. Deadly spray, hope and pray, life ebbs away.

Black clad, bandana, bad cussing and fussing street talk, killing on the sidewalk, Mac 10 trying to make them men. Hip hop and rap, street culture and crack. Mac 10 to end the deal rat a tat tat bullets spat everywhere.

No one was there, turn a blind eye letting kids die and mothers cry for ones who lie. Don’t break the code the silence mode mac 10 will keep you quiet. Death and fear the daily diet, wheeling and dealing, robbing and stealing. Life freewheeling, fast cars failed three R’s crime pays dangerous days. Mac 10 to graves it lays shortened lives in shallow graves.

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Permeable

Solid ground not permeable from liquid and drudge, needing much rain to turn to sludge. Saturation of moisture softens the surface, takes away the debris, refreshing the life and changing its flow where it ends is not for us to know. The more water falls the softer the surface gets, until it blends into its very core, opening ever spore. Softening every cell its own unique well.

Layer upon layer stripped away, deposited across vast expanse forming stacks of loam and sludge, deposited where ever it roams the ground to intermingle and permeate, to infiltrate into the heart, the centre the core, of its new-found host, better able to handle this intruder, extruder earth mover. Deposited until it is time for it to complete its journey: dissipating, dissolving ever evolving until once again the water runs clear.

Minerals, rock and solid stock, channel the residue to drains and plains where it’s absorbed again, pure and clean lubricating the scene, too little to saturate or change its hosts state just making it more adaptable more resilient to the flood of liquid to decay its surface, dissolving as part of this cycle ever-revolving. Waiting for the molecules to freeze, creating a hard-exterior, baking, drying, disappearing at midday when the sun is high, able to cope, more to come from this flood of stained life, sodden water streaming life creating and altering with its blunt knife.

©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Your Arms

Where did that love go? where was the connection, devoid of affection? all that’s left is reflection. No arms around me when I needed you most, when I couldn’t ask for your hug, you never saw the need, all alone just me. Feeling helpless and rejected needed to be connected.

Too much to bare, I sit and stare in the chair tablets and alcohol, life on the edge, no one to Pull me back from the impending black. You hid upstairs hoping it would soon end, all I needed was a friend their arms to lend, to be held tight through the night. On the phone to someone unknown, kind Samaritan hold my hand, tell me who I really am.

Wedge driven in our lives, I’m not sure why I’m alive. Yet another day to strive to give it my all, treated as a fool, used like a tool. Feeling unloved, uncared for, sick of this war, no one to look out for me, just a wreckage feeling so lonely, a rusting frame driven insane but still in the game. Suicide had nowhere to hide, I could have tried but once the tears had dried I knew I could not escape this lonely place, as looking after you all, I had to face guilt about what would be if you had all lost me. I don’t like this responsibility; the scar won’t heal with any amount of poetry. All I wanted was very simple and easy yes all I wanted was your arms around me. Saying that I am OK as me, arms that could set me free, to help me just be.