blogs – Page 2 – Rhythm of the Ink

Sep 19, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, bullying, Gangs, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, poets, tears, underground, venomous

They Know You Know

They know, yes, they do, they know just how to get to you. They know how far you will go and that you won’t say no. They know, you won’t tell, they know you won’t make their life hell.

They know how to hurt and to cut and they know you are in a rut. They know who to pick on, and who will let it carry on. They know they will get away day after day and they know it won’t matter what you say, you’re the one who will pay.

They know their confidence will grow and they know they never reap what they sow. They know that you have died inside but they bring their mates for the ride. They know you want to hide, that you are weak because you cried. They know, you know.

Aug 24, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, doubt, poem, Poetry, poets, short story, Uncategorized, underground, venomous, words

Venomous Poet

Venom spitting poet, on paper with ink he sows it spitting, words in sheep like herds, serving aces changing faces. Firing bullets like cannon balls smashing into walls, angry sage of the modern age firing fury onto blank page.

Take no prisoners please or offend, word Smith creating fire to send, rewriting lines that twist and bend, strengthening the message they send. Melodic movements spitting ink like blades cutting an ice rink. Building the verse row by row, winding up and letting go, machine gun speed to sow the seed talking of killing, Satan and greed.

The poet slices up the verse written like a witch’s curse, voodoo doll of prose and verse, vicious words, ideas absurd, mighty ink trying to be heard. Warrior poet slaying demons, recalling of lines like a sermon. Writing poet struggling to grow, it starts to slow as ideas go, losing his flow in tales of woe. Ammunition all spent no quarter lent, message clearly sent.

Sep 14, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, Poetry

Roll Over

There were ten in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over. So, they all rolled over, one fell out, as he hit the floor he gave a shout.

There were nine in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over So, they all rolled over and one fell out as he hit the floor he banged his snout.

There were eight in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over So, they all rolled over and one fell out as he hit the floor his teeth fell out.

There were seven in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over So, they all rolled over and two fell out as they hit the floor they rolled down the stairs as a pair.

There were five in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over So, they all rolled over and one fell out as he hit the floor he didn’t shout as he knocked himself out.

There were four in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over. So, they all rolled over and one fell out as he hit the floor he rolled out of the door.

There were two in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over So, they both rolled over and neither fell out so the little one gave the other one a clout, as he hit the floor rude words came out.

There was one in the bed and the little one said,” now I have the bed to my self I can I can lay here with my arms spread” roll over roll over, you will be pleased to know my poem is over..

Aug 30, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, doubt, flash fiction, love, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Heart Thief

Your pulse is racing, what are you facing, door opens, you are embracing. Candles in silver holders sit on the table, perfectly laid, willing and able. Pour a drink, none alcoholic, it helps you think. Sitting opposite gazing into his eyes, wondering what behind them lies. Your lips red with cherry wanting so much to soak his with your passion. But, you hold back, put up a wall, you have been here before, memories not good at all.

Your body language says I want you, your head says he will use and abuse you. Pour another drink and laugh at another joke, small talk and charm, if only he knew what harm they would do. Then comes that moment you dread the one you played over a thousand times in your head. He reaches in to kiss you.

Your spine tingles and knees go weak, as lips meet first, then tongues of fire, full of desire, you pull away as it’s stored in the mire of undesired of memories burning on a funeral Pire. Your head is in a spin you want to draw him in but that would be a sin. Replay unhappy memories this you didn’t want to see. It’s time to make your excuses and leave. Your heart pounding and sense of relief you have escaped from the heart thief.

Aug 4, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds army, Blog, Blogger, death, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Passchendaele

Hail and rain, mud all around, machine gun clack, no turning back Passchendaele. Men dying in bullet hails, shouts and painful wails, Passchendaele. Over the top to certain death 6000 men lay in the mud, oozing blood, Passchendaele.

Edgar Mobbs, hero of the hour, over the top for to a machine gun stop, cut down in his prime, dying in thick sludge and grime, hero second to none, Passchendaele. Men of rugby will be playing no more, casualties of war, Passchendaele. War on unprecedented scale, men never came back to tell their tale. Passchendaele.

Families cry and wail, Their love ones fall on foreign ground, many of them never found, just memorials of that horrific killing ground, Passchendaele. Forests grow and peace flows, in this tranquil place where that battle took place, Passchendaele.

Thank you to Ariel Chart for publishing this poem in their September 2017 edition

Jun 24, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Pat the Dog

Poppy the dog is no ordinary pooch, although, when you see her in the garden having a mooch you wouldn’t know that she is so special. She brings happiness and love to adults and children, who pat her and talk to her and run their fingers through her soft curled fir.

Displaying her jacket, she earns not a packet, of that she gives not a jot, for she has something to give and gives it to all, it means such a lot. She has many friends, in fact quite a lot, they all look forward to the Pat Dog slot.

The sight of the labradoodle helps patients improve by oodles as they feel her soft fluffy coat. She loves the attention and the happy times, so I hope she will like this rhyme, cos she is truly a wonderful dog, more affectionate than any mog. So, poppy, when I have finished writing this poem, I’m going to put you on my blog, cos you are a fantastic dog.

Jun 24, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Life’s a Beach

Buckets and spades and dark sun shades, deck chairs form a promenade. Children in hats play in the sand digging with anything including their hands. Mum’s and dads and aunties and uncles’ grandads and nans all sit around the beach watching the children just in reach.

Sand castles and ice creams, fizzy drinks, bags of chips to linger on the hips. It’s a day at the beach in the hot roasting sun, nice place to be when the week is done. Rest and relaxation and a bit of fun especially when the shopping is done.

There is no tide no place for to hide, but there are some fairground rides, we travelled not far not even by car, and you will never guess where we are. The beach is not by the sea no cockles and winkles for your tea, the beach isn’t miles away you don’t need a caravan to come and play. For this is a beach on my market square, couldn’t believe it’s was right there, so after shopping it’s onto the fair then the kids build castles and throw sand everywhere, hat on my head I’m on a deckchair, relaxing my body without a care.

Jun 20, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, political, short story, Uncategorized

Revenge

Revenge is sweet and means you are not beat, turning up the heat your aggressor to meet. Yet is your enemy really there, are you really aware? Do you know who the aggressor is or are you just acting while in a tiz.

Forgiving them is the hardest thing, blaming is an easier game. Lashing out at any one who is about because your angry and can’t shout, is not the way to go about. Your fear is misplaced you act like your aggressor, lashing out at anyone who gets in your way, come what may.

When you sit in your cell locked away, this is the small price you must pay, think of the victims who live with this every single day. When humanity is stretched at the edge and it begins to fray, just walk away and come back another day.

Jun 19, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, death, flash fiction, lost, love, poem, Poetry, political, short story, Uncategorized

Aftermath

No homes, no aid from a government decayed, food and clothes and shelter a community has paid, where was the establishment to come to their aid, to put lives back together, they lost everything they made. Ten pounds per person, the insult worsens, where is the money donated by other human persons?

A room for the night warm and safe, is that too much to ask; when if you miss a holiday flight, hotels abound; four hundred people with nowhere to live, the irony is profound. The scandal of abandonment, leave them to rot, community cohesion has decided not. Government officials make their excuses home they go to a warm bed and behave like recluses, there are no reasonable excuses.

Subclass comes to the for rocking the country to its core, too big a gap between rich and poor, all because you draw the short straw. Victorian values heaped on the poor. This should not be happening not even in war what do we pay or taxes for. Kill all the subclass make them weak, don’t give them houses they desperately seek. Rich man’s world turned upside down by a blaze in a block on the other side of town.

Jun 16, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Celestial Strobe

Full moon against the black sky nature telling us lies, no wolves cry, just a bright moon against Black sky. Rippling shadows across the orb, light in the clouds to absorb, celestial strobe, large lobe glows in the night. Visions of light and sensory masters, fragile moon hanging so bright without the hindrance of street lights.

Orb of wonder shining in sun’s slumber, black velvet backdrop, secrets not unlocked. Cratered moon come visit again soon, shine your light on the canvas of night until you sleep in broad daylight, crouching down out of sight turning out your precious light.

Oh, precious moon have you taken flight, now you hang out of sight, will you be back to beam your light. Will you come to cast shadows of night, running across the sky showing your nocturnal flight. Light up the dark glow like a spark to eat through the black on your long night hack.

Stars a twinkle in your mighty presence, specks of light candle bright, floating at death defying height. Through the cloud and thick night sky, their lights with yours they vie, like the sky is starting to cry, daring us to see what we can spy, picture framed by the night sky.

Published in the first edition of Hidden Constellation August 2017