Markey Mark Symmonds 21st Century Dyslexia, anxiety, Blog, Blogger, Dyslexia, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, poets, short story, tears, Uncategorized, underground

Dyslexia 5

Brain unclouds as the mystery peeks out from beyond the dark shrouds, the hidden gem tucked deep inside, a secret hide. The end of a long ride; the turning of the tide. No longer need to hide, life taken in my stride. Embarrassment lifted, pressure shifted, memories sifted, brain explained.

Change of behaviour long ingrained, dyslexia no longer reigns. No need to explain or feel ashamed, esteem regained, demons slain, back in the game. End of the pain that made me look so lame, now pulling out into the fast lane.

Assistive devices, mentors advise, seeing me with different eyes. Electronic wizard, no more word blizzard. Understanding still demanding but life commanding.

©All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2018

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

Heaven

Angels floating on clouds, rescuing the dead from their shrouds leaving the bad to the Satan clan, angels take the sole of good men. They soar to the sky with the big wing span, a succession of souls from women children and men. Skyward, they fly through invisible sky to the utopia on high.

Then, the pearly gates emerge, their purity in the sun glistens and all the souls listen to hear the name of their loved one. Families reunited, spirits get excited, to see them again. Now they are all angels in a heaven so calm, where nothing is bad and no need to be alarmed.

Before Saint Peter, they are judged, all their life and every grudge. What have they done that is good? did they help someone when they could? Will he change his mind and chuck them out and send them down to eternal hell? can they think of a reason why he should?

Then, comes the judgement, the bad outweighed by the good and suddenly they’re in God’s neighbourhood. Will they see the great principal himself or will he be around, but cloaked in stealth? Who will they know? where can they go? can they just sit there and grow? For they have been chosen to sit with the spirits and watch the world as though they are in it.

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 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.

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

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

After the Storm

After the storm comes the quiet, a gentle state a relief from the overnight riot. After the storm comes a gentle breeze cooling the moment, a subtle ease. Freshness in the air, as the newness of the day flares, debris strewn everywhere, battle scene of despair. After the storm, the smell of revitalised grass and trees, gentle day breaking free.

After the storm, the isobars swirl, never deciding which way to turn, pressure low, a temporary state after the storm dissipates. After the storm, the heat starts to rise simmering slowly in the background, gathering momentum over old ground. Heating up in small chunks, waiting to be the main act, once again at the forefront.

After the storm, equilibrium, back to the norm, the usual form, but now it’s getting warm. Pressure building to a crescendo until the heat boils over and the day heads to another night storm. Light night sparks, thunder rumbles and tumbles across the plain, water drenches the ground as the storm begins to pound. Exerting its power all around, electrifying, terrifying. Damage once again strewn all around, feelings abound, doors bang the thunder is gone. After the storm, comes the remorse then the divorce.

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.

 

©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

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

Past Midnight

Past midnight when noises are impolite and horror and doom loom in every sight. Past midnight when some are waiting for their plight, many will give up the long fight. Past midnight the darkest sight room lit atmospheric hit. Rolling clouds and tightening shrouds, owls and foxes shout aloud.

Shivers run down your spine, checking around to see what you can find, hoping you get back home just fine. Past midnight, the haunting time, when memories and thoughts combine, helping to pass the time. Clock flicks around in blurred glow, watching midnight come and go. Past the witching hour when ghosts and devils scour and the new darkness devours, lying awake listening to cracks and bumps until the small hours.

Heart races, imagined faces, mysterious places, longing to make it to morning, you try to stop yawning wishing the day was dawning. The shadows shrink and slowly nighttime sinks and devils and ghosts are a distant memory, to which you play host. Relief at the sun, night thief, darkness retracting its teeth to leave the joy of a new day to dance and jump and play. But, you know the darkness is all but finished and has only temporarily diminished, for tonight the darkness will return and in your mind, you will burn

 

 

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, 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, 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.