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

UFO

Bright lights in the sky, wondering why, strange globes in the night travel at speed at a height. They are not a plane or helicopter, silent glow slows to a potter, then up and down like a yoyo they go, where they are from we don’t know.

They come in peace to explore our planet, landing on sea sand or granite, governments stay tight lipped, not letting the truth slip. Is it a space ship or just a balloon, they are scared that they will spread doom? Scorch marks on the ground, all around, never say what they have found, is it real or a sinister deal? Government project that may become real.

Orbs in the night hanging like a kite, they are not from this planet but then they might. What will they learn about us, do they discern, up in the sky, making sharp turns, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Why do they come here? I wish I knew why, maybe, it’s the government hoping no one will pry, as they engineer a super craft and start to test fly?

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

My Colour Pallet

My pallet is full of colour, some very bright and some very pallor. My colours show up every day, come rain or shine, sometimes murky and sometimes divine, all the colours are all mine. Some come through and really shine, when life is treading the right line, showing up like spring time. Sometimes they arrive on their own, sometimes with other colours they rhyme, fighting to decide which one is prime.

Some colours of mine are dark and mysterious, washing out the colour, leaving a murky wash where light no longer shines bright, blending into the night hiding the beauty out of sight, sometimes it spoils the mood, other times it sits just right. On the page, the colours fight to make it clear who is right.

My colours are a wonderful sight, blinding bright, then fading with the light. People debate which colours they like and which colours blight. For some the bright is always right and what they want to have always in sight. For others, the darker greys and murky haze is what they see every day, even when my blues fade away. All my colours are here to stay, changing place day by day, I can’t choose how they lay, but, if you don’t want to see all my pallet my picture is not for you, so go away and find a pallet anew.

 

 

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, bullying, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Anger Cage

Soft and gentle as a lamb kind to women and any man, do no harm conscience alarm. I won’t do you any harm, I will lead you with grace and charm. I will do good and help you be understood, help kids grow up into adult hood.

But burning inside of me, just waiting to be unlocked like a spring, is an anger that I can no longer anchor. An anger buried deep within it won’t let anyone in, but it’s bubbling and wants to burst out of the tin it’s safely in. Defensive tactics to bodyguard this feeling, let no body open the tin.

Pent up Inside, wanting to go and hide, I want to release this anger into a whirlwind. Let it out of its cage feel the full rage, hurt and destroy not with my emotions toy, I want to treat them like they treat me I want to set my anger free.

Eating a hole inside of me struggling to be and wanting to get free, I hold it down like some sort of crown yet the result is always the same, it’s the way I play the game. Yet if i set my anger free and brought those haters to their knees what shame and blame would be brought on me, if only they could see.

My wild side I continue to hide and carry on swimming against the tide, made to feel my anger should hide and take everything in my stride. So, if you one day find an empty cage that’s battered and broken and frayed, look for my anger as it will have escaped. Look over your shoulder and inside your soul, cos my anger, through you, might be taking a stroll. And if you find it roaming around, replace it in the cage without a sound or my anger will be back around.

 

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

Summer Nights

Summer night, gentle light stroking breeze, breeze summer ease. Garden lounge, friends around, fluffy clouds. Birds singing upon the wing and chirp with glee amongst the trees

Children in the distance, play all day finding each other and running away. Smell of cut grass, pollen and rape seed, soon for us to feed, silver lights cross the sky, planes carrying passengers and cargo way up high.

Lowering sun casting shadows across houses trees and meadows. Long drinks in gardens green, looking out over tranquil scenes.

 

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

Senses #4

The taste of your lipstick as our lips meet and tongues flick.
The taste of your hand, as I kiss it like sand.
The taste of salt as I kiss away the tears.

The taste of food laying on a table, providing you are able.
The taste of beer on a hot summer day, relaxing and fooling in the hay.
The taste of summer as fresh as fruit salad.

Let me taste the spring water running through the hills.
Let me taste fresh bread, made from the flour ground in the mills.
Let me taste the seasons and long charming days.

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

Senses #3

Touching your body with all its curves, soft gentle skin to match your linen.
Touching the soft cotton of your dress my finger and thumb your hemline caress.
Touching the silk of your sheets, nicely laid with little pleats.

Touching your hand, I feel so grand, soft and warm a beautiful form.
Touching your cheek, soft as you speak.
Touching your face, a warm embrace,it feels like lace.
Touching your lips,your eyelids dip,as I use my mouth to take a sip.
Touching your soul, you as a whole, I’m slowly losing control.

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Beautiful Sights

Speak to me only of love.
Speak to me only of care, tell me you will always be there.
Speak to me of open minds, leave alone the bigoted grinds.
Speak to me of perfect days, of sunshine and heat haze.
Speak to me of empty minds, waiting to fill with things divine.

Speak to me of truth not lies.
Speak to me in equal measure and unlimited pleasure.
Speak to me of unfound treasure, in more than good measure.
Speak to me of tiny child, infant so innocent, tender and mild.
Speak to me of your desires, how you want to take them higher.

Speak to me of golden sands and lazy days holding hands.
Speak to me of sea and surf, being at one with the earth.
Speak to me of bright stars and moons, which disappear before noon.
Speak to me of all these things, of living and breathing human beings.

Speak to me of earth, for I have only heard curse.
Speak to me of all things good, what is going on in the neighbourhood.

For I cannot see the beauty around or the thrills that shape and astound. All I see is the gloom of the dark and old ladies mugged in the park. Free my mind from dark thoughts and catapult me into the light so I may see beautiful sights.

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

Words

Words tell a million stories, some believable and some absurd, scaring you to the core with just one well-placed word. Words can define you or undermine you, be true or false. Words can kill you and hurt you inside as they punish you and deride, kicking you in the side, beating over you like a tide giving you nowhere to hide.

Words can sooth and bath you in glory, make you lose yourself in a good story. Words can tell you, you are loved, fitting like your favorite glove, keeping you warm and happy, only nice things do you see. Words cause wars, ripping apart worlds by scores, words that are full of hate, designed to berate. Words of religion tell of what went before but lay others of god raw, say no more.

Words are funny making you laugh, like a hyena or even a giraffe, they make you laugh out loud, or chuckle back in side, where your happiness and humour safely reside. Words can rhyme although if they don’t it’s not a crime, words can make something chime. Words can give introductions but can also cause destruction and abduction. Words can describe pungent scents and flowers, words can make you hungry and your mouth savor.

Use words wisely and for good as you know you really should. Don’t be miserly, write plenty, let your pen work until your mind is empty.

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

The Fair

Flashing lights and music pumping in the night, it’s an unmistakable sight, the fun fair at night. Candy floss and toffee apples, sweets and treats of all kinds sit on the carts waiting to warm fair dwellers hearts. Helter-skelter, rubber slide, climb up the side then glide down with good grace, picking up a respectable pace.

 Bumper cars flash around the track, young man jumping on the back, from car to car he goes, spinning the wheels to young girls’ squeals. Waltzers spinning around and around up on a wave and straight back down, G force pulling your face out of place as the car picks up a pace, fairground staff spinning you all over the place. The rifle range with tin cans stacked, after your turn they are still intact, hook a duck so easy to do, guaranteed a prize no matter how you do.

 Burgers and chips, savory dips and cans of pop to wash on top, children’s eyes light up at the sight, day or night any time is right for the fair.

 

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, bullying, doubt, flash fiction, lost, love, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Communication Breakdown

I try to communicate with you but you just get in a rage, doesn’t matter if I try to speak or put it on a page. I talk a lot but no one ever hears, my voice only echoes back through my ears. I could shout from a mountain top, it would not leave a blot, would it really bother you? cos you don’t give a jot.

My voice echoes inside this empty vessel trying to make you hear but you may as well not be here, my voice travels nowhere near. All I want is for you to hear, to speak without fear, without ridicule and for you not to sneer. So, when the words come out all the same it’s because I’ve said them over again.

Your attention I must gain this saga is becoming in vain, to say what I want to say, nothing inside my soul but anger and dismay. My thoughts are only decay, communication is such a tough game to play, its driving me insane again and again, overloading my brain.