space – Rhythm of the Ink

Oct 5, 2018 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.

Oct 4, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds 21st Century Dyslexia, anxiety, Blog, Blogger, doubt, Dyslexia, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, poets, Uncategorized, words

Dyslexia 4

Chains of ink laid onto the page, what they say is hard to gauge. Mixed up brain always the same; mixed capitals and lower case fall to the paper with diminishing grace. Letter after letter word after word the sentences chase.

Grammar so grim, hiding within the limes on the page, the result of the war I wage. Full stops and commas missed out quotes, extra spaces in inks long laces, pure genius appears in places. Always persistent never consistent but trying oh so hard.

Lost in stories of dragons and demons so gory, knowing the shine will be removed from the glory as I edited the story. Spelling, the telling sign of how my brain was designed. It didn’t matter that I finished on time, the presentation was the crime.

Sep 22, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds balloon, Blog, Blogger, neighbourhood, play, poem, Poetry, poets, Uncategorized, words

Bubbles

Bubbles floating in the air, young eyes stand and stare. rainbows popping in the air. Smokey bubbles burst with a puff wispy white against the backdrop of night.

Bubbles floating at every height, children running jumping with all their might. Little faces full of glee playing with bubbles until its time for tea.

Linking bubbles making new shapes, over the ground they make their escape. Then comes the biggest bubble of all, gently blown until it falls, still that pack of bubbles entertains and enthrals.

Sep 20, 2018 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, cave, cold, death, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, poets, Uncategorized, underground, words

Cold as Ice

Cold as ice, no fun no vice. Locked in your mind-set, stiffened, rigid. No give no play not tempted to stray.

Comfortable land of certainty, no joy, no glee. Tunnel vision, ahead you see, bypass emotion the attraction of the ocean. No emotion, icy steel, always on an even keel.

Wounds fester, never heal, underneath that ice-cold layer that never peels. Time squeals, yearning to bellow into deep voice, but the heat of the moment hits the ice-cold layer, never thawing.

Bleak winter’s cold tears seep into the molten core, deepening the coldness, never to melt like before, never to leave those rocks so bare, so sore. Fossilised emotions on the frozen wastes of time.

Aug 27, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, death, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Killing Machines

Motors quietly spring into life, propelling the killing machines like clockwork scythes, wreaking havoc and trouble and strife, knowing no value of human life. Robotic motions showing no emotion, just forward motion to the enemy they march, through water and mud and railway arches the machines come alive to dominate the world they strive.

Chopping and flailing, and shooting at will, humans cut down like butter, blood oozing through the gutter, yet not a word do they utter, not a murmur or stutter, just bodies adding to the carnage of death and clutter. Those machines of death marauding in a land of weak feeble tribes.

Metal networks of destruction; death of a race, unrelenting, uncaring, unfeeling, charge of the death machines. Hour upon hour the country they scour more bodies pile up by the hour. East to west, North to South, machines push on to continue their rout. Then, as if they had finished with the earth, they all disappear into the sea, leaving a sneak preview of what the world would soon be.

Aug 23, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized, words

Obscured Light

The bright sun gives way slowly, to a dark grey creeping moon, darkness will be here soon. Rays of light flicker from the ever-advancing moon, changing the shape of the sun, as coldness descends, on a summers day, when the moon and sun are both out to play.

The moon blackens as it continues its journey across the face of the sun, obscuring light as though night time has sprung. Crowds form on sun drenched mounds, waiting for the moon to complete its rounds. Dark glasses and pinhole cameras to stop optic burn, as mums and dads and children watch this spectacle, of which, in school they learned.

A full on Solar Eclipse, sun forming shapes of ellipse, until, all that is left is the cold and dark, with the hue of the odd sun beam raising a spark. Then, from the dark, the sun starts to emerge from the edge of the moon, right on the verge, shimmering heat rays as the day starts to burst into colour, slowly heating the ground as the sun slides around. No sudden burst of celestial light, just slow evaporation of the night, until day is restored in full sunlight.

Jul 15, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds army, Blog, bomb, death, flash fiction, lost, Poetry

Descimated

Shape shifters flitting in the shadows, alleyway to doorway they stalk their prey, anyone who after curfew strays. Dogs bark in the fog of destruction, wasted planet of dis function, disfigured mammals roam the streets, looting what’s left to eat.

Black cars roll up and down the street; counting the numbers of people in retreat, the mas unprovisioned stampede to nowhere just a place in time, that didn’t heed the warning signs. Vapor spurts from disused silos, the kind of place where no one goes, what went on there, only a few know, we just remember the blinding glow.

Children piled two deep in the street as what is left of their mothers weep, while shape shifters creep taking bodies on the cheap, People of gods pray in the street to have mercy on the crops and wheat. radio signals crackle to life, some have made it and kept their lives, no music to stream just recalled screams of a world on its knees.

Streets of deserted homes, fires still burn at the edge of the street, no water for the flames to meet, just an unsettling intense heat. More metal falls from the sky mushroom clouds, flashes burning the eye. in the distance, a baby cries its last tears, it probably won’t make it out of here. Men in masks arrive to burn those are not alive. Riding the streets an epidemic risk the actions are brutal and very swift.

It’s time to leave this forsaken place and take my chances in a land of waste. Hiding by day and scouting by night, making use of anything that I find, using whatever comes to mind, constantly watching for signs of life, or attacks from behind. no one is kind, they are all for themselves, smashing windows and looting shelves, lawless and powerless the rule of mob. No home, no food, no job; just trying to survive, to thrive in this wasteland barely alive.

Jul 9, 2017 Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Meteor

Bright light, explosive energy, flying heat across night sky, meteor on a race to nowhere, way up high. Millions of miles from the earth, powerful atoms at your birth. Spinning and rolling through the galaxy, streak of light in celestial flight.

Mighty energy with no destination travelling through our constellation, reaching for the dark matter of deep contemplation. Waiting for the crash into a planet triggering catastrophe on fragile life. Broken fragment, burning out and adding to the debris in the vastness of space. No pace, just floating junk in space, along with waste from the space race. Burning orb, your energy absorbed, spectacle of fire, look up and admire.

Funeral pyre, life denier, crater creator, predator of the sky, no real purpose as you prowl the night sky, looking for somewhere to lie, some where you can extinguish and die, to rest for millions of years in a place in the sky, final resting place away from prying eyes. the rest of your days spent in an ash haze until you are discovered and once again amaze.