poems – Page 12 – Rhythm of the Ink

Apr 21, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Death Crawl

Moving along against the wall he could barely manage a crawl. Rain soaked coat he crawls through the puddles, his mind is a muddle. He knows not what happened but dreams of a cuddle.

Each move harder than the previous all the effort could be in vein his blood flowing freely washed down the drain. Life ebbing from his body rivers of red stain his hands and feet upto his head it flickers he may soon be dead.

Flash backs of family of happy times of little children and nursery rhymes. He crawls another couple of feet like a sodden calved piece of meet. He sprawls face down his face in his hands curls up in a ball thinking this is the end of it all.

It’s not the way he wanted it to end on a dirty road body releasing it’s crimson load. He opens his eyes and let’s out a cry got to get home he really must try. Onto his knees hands out in front each movement taking all his effort to make a distance so short.

Round the corner there is his door only a few feet more. A car pulls up they open the door there are two cracks and he lives no more.

Apr 19, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

The Funny Man’s Mask

depression-hurts Behind 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.

Apr 19, 2017 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.

Apr 18, 2017 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.

Apr 18, 2017 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.

Apr 18, 2017 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.

Apr 17, 2017 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.