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

Sun Haze

The sun rises in my eyes it’s always true and never lies, just hangs there in the sky. Blinding light, power to make you sneeze, struggle for breath and start to wheeze. It heats you up lifts your mood ultra violet It extrudes, exploding heat rays give way to atmospheric haze. Oh how I love these long hot days, barbecues and children play, to hot for indoors to stay.

Not mid summer it’s only May making the most of each sunny day. Evenings turn to chill, sitting out late is a lovely thrill, cooling down with long cold drinks, sun sets in orange red skies as glasses clink. Water seams a cold relief but cooling from the sun is only brief.

Off to bed to rest my weary head to hot to sleep, lay on the bed in a sweaty heap, until the early morning when through the curtains the sun once again does creep, after its short night sleep. Down stairs I must go to sit in the garden all alone hearing the owl and the chorus of birds, bleating of sheep in fields in herds. But all is peaceful and no one stirs.

The power of the sun is immense and warm it’s not gone much past dawn as the new day is born. Then comes the storm, thunder and lightning, crashing rain, washing the air on its route to the drain. In the aftermath of the storm comes a cool fresh air cleansing the day making it easier for the heat to bare. Oh how I love those long hot days, but soon will come winter and it will all be a haze.

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

Giants

In this land of giants where people are defiant. Lives the most enormous giant who is the most defiant. He lives in a tree that’s bigger than you and me. And eats boys and girls for his tea.  When he speaks he spits from his cheeks and you think he has sprung a leak. He is very strong but meek, some think that’s a sign that he is weak. But make no mistake he has a mean streak. 
The giants they also look up to him and he looks down with a grin, through the hairs on his big square chin. Now when they walk and dance and prance their feet are so big the make such a din, and leave such a mess to live in. 

Now one of the giants, had friends to stay not for a week but a week and a day, they made such a racket and cost him a packet they were banished to lands far away. In the night when giants are fast asleep all laying in a heap, for warm to keep. They snore so load they scare the clouds so they rain upon the crowds. And when they stop snoring and a breath they are a drawing they suck up the clouds and the sun so no one can have fun. 

If you were a defiant giant what would you try to do? Especially in your big shoes and a big pair of trousers too. Would you use a ship as a canoe or would you bath in Sydney Harbour with soap causing such a lather?

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

Storm

Dark clouds rush to form in the sky, darkening like the end of the world is nigh, it won’t be long until you are in the storms eye. Cold wind blows to cool your soul, sun shine disappears into a black hole. Rumbles echo on distant plains, soaked by torrential rains. Then a crack and a shard of light flashing across the sky like it’s electrified

Count the time from bang to flash, wait for the crash,  then into the house you dash. Thunder louder and louder, lightning forking to the ground, picking targets all around. Then comes the soft pita patter of rain, cooling the earth in village and plain.  Louder the bangs quicker the lightning this storm is getting frightening.

Rain torrential, saturating the ground, rivers of water flood the drains, overflowing the puddles do not go. The storm is over head, there’s pressure in your head, black clouds provide a shroud, lightning splitting the cloud.  Then the banging starts to subside and lightning strikes have now where to hide, rain eases and subsides. White fluffy clouds glide, Sucked along by the power of the storm. The wind dies down,  the freshness of a new day, here to stay

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, cave, flash fiction, lost, poem, Poetry, short story, underground

Underground

Lost in a cave underground, over a hill and under a mound. Darkness is my biggest fear and everything that I can hear. I am unarmed no gun nor spear, just me and the cave and plenty of fear. Dark cloaks me so I cannot see, my lantern is dead it’s just dark and me. Moving forward as fast as I dare, not knowing where, not going back further down there

I crawl along on my hands and knees feeling all the rocks and gullies. One wrong move and I’m over the edge, perched upon a tiny ledge. Water dripping on my head, oh how I want to be in my warm bed. Ice cold rock so slippery and wet, I haven’t gone 10 feet yet.

Spiders webs entwine my face, I wave them away with great haste. Time stands still at this slow pace, dirt and grime all over my face. Then up ahead, did I see light? I rub my eyes to check I am right. My knees are so raw, my hands are so cold, I’ve been here for hours, I hope someone has told.

Echoes and scurrying all around as rats and insects run on the ground. I push on up the ledge, not daring to get to near the edge. The light gets brighter the hole may be big, I cannot scurry as I am too big. I lay on my stomach as the roof closes in, through the letterbox I wriggle in. I can see light ultra-bright streaming in from a height.

I hall myself up with all my mite, heading towards the beam that cuts the night. Lighter and brighter the cave starts to get, I get excited and start to fret, I need to calm down I’m not out yet. The last part of the ledge is full of grime but I can stand up and make better time. I head to the light as fast as I dare, wondering if anyone will be there.

 

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

Meditation

 

 

yogaSitting in silence in the middle of the room, eyes are shut but colours come with a boom. Empty my mind of the daily grind but wonder what I will find. Music rifts drift seeping into my soul, rain drops trickle onto a metal bowl. my body has long since left it’s just me and my thoughts and my shallow breaths.

I let the nothing flow over into my head, no words are said, just images of the past. Rose garden with fountains and trees, where nothing moves fast. Victorian ladies wander with parasols like lost souls. I  drink from the fountain, water pure and cold, lit by the sun glistening and gold; this is an image I want to hold. My brain has escaped my body is cold, yet I feel safe and bold. It’s time to leave the garden via the gate, as I come down from my meditation state, paradise will have to wait

Slowly counting myself down, back in the room in the centre of town. Back to reality and all its gloom, settled mind, its back in the room. Light in the head, in a bit of a daze, the rose garden is now just a haze. Back to reality and life’s tangled maze

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

Shadow of Doom

horsemen2

 

In the dark and desolate land, I felt someone take my hand. I shuddered and my heart quickened as their grip on me thickened. I’m rooted to the spot turning cold from hot. Shadows engulf me, darkening the night, they left me wondering, as I could not fight. Fear was here and I dare not peer at your face, I’m just rooted in this one place.

Pull me forward with a start, beats missing from my heart. Walk me to the valley of death, an ill wind blows like your breath. In the valley of skeletons and skulls the fear and pain will finally annul, vailing me in your cloak, squeezing me tight, while I choke.

The world is black and the end is near, why did you bring me here? no light is present and this is not pleasant, all I can see is the moon’s crescent. Then as the life ebbs out of me, suddenly, you make me see.

For I will return not as an angel but as the devil, ready to devour and to dishevel. This is the end of the angel in me, now I have Satan riding with me, watching death and destruction with glee. The horsemen of the apocalypse and one of them is me.

Riding my mount with great speed, of the earth I must feed. Destroying with waves from the sea, fire and brimstone set light to the trees, death and destruction for all to see what happens when you mess with Satan and me.

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

Apache

apacheA big wind fills the sky dropping out of the storms eye, dust cloud to shroud, ready to deploy its lethal crowd. Down goes the ramp to start the decamp, thirty men fresh out of camp. Out they go to and froe; left and right into the night covering the arcs in case of a fire fight.

Heads down and up goes the storm, big wind lifts to the skies, clouds of dust, sting the eyes. Night goggles down its green all around, now they can see the role of the ground. Up on their feet, they start to move out, talking in sign, no need to shout.

Then comes the crack of enemy fire, a large explosion from a trip wire. Everyone’s down returning fire, movement up ahead, five hundred men wanting to fill them with led. Grenades and rockets crash to the ground bullets are seen whizzing around. The enemy is to big they have brought to few men for this gig. The order is given to give ground, back they start running, boots and hearts pound.

Every man running into the night trying to avoid capture they know their plight. Into ditches left and right, zero sights for the impending fire fight. The radio operator gets on the wire asking headquarters to send some hell fire. One by one the bodies fall then comes the deadliest sound of all. Click, click the ammunition is spent and in the enemy hardly a dent. More and more the enemies might, hammers at the men on the run in the night.

Up goes the order to stand and fight they know this would be their last night. Fix bayonets prepare to charge eyes wide open the battle is large. Next comes the order to engage the enemy, 30 angry men with fire in their belly, charge. One by one they are cut down, the last man falls as he reaches the crown of the hill, to the noise of the apache ready to kill.

The apache strafes with all its might, hellfire missiles light up the night, Hundreds of soldiers run with fright but no one is safe from Satan’s might. It comes in for another pass sweeping the grass left to right. Then the ground becomes still, off goes the apache back over the hill, back to base with news of their kill. Graves are dug and bodies tagged and put in the ground small wooden crosses lay all around this killing ground.

 

 

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

This World

shutterstock-Love-HateIn the cold dawn of light, in this world full of hate and spite where no one knows who is wrong and who is right. In this world of fantasy and flight where everyone is on a ladder trying to reach a great height where all the world comes into sight and little children no longer fly their kites.

In this world of death and destruction where image is more important than love, where we can find no doves. In this world where is the love, where is the living being, in this world that is all seeing.

Where do you and I fit in? where can we make a din or will it be committing a sin just because we are not in. Leave your hate and don’t rate you never know your fate. Love thy neighbours and beyond. There is no magic wand just love and hate that collide. Love is what we should try.

In the cold dawn of light, in this world full of hate and spite where no one knows who is wrong and who is right. In this world of fantasy and flight where everyone is on a ladder trying to reach a great height where all the world comes into sight and little children no longer fly their kites.

In this world of death and destruction where image is more important than love, where we can find no doves. In this world where is the love, where is the living being, in this world that is all seeing.

Where do you and I fit in? where can we make a din or will it be committing a sin just because we are not in. Leave your hate and don’t rate you never know your fate. Love thy neighbours and beyond. There is no magic wand just love and hate that collide. Love is what we should try.

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

The Comment

comment

Every time I hear that comment it rips into my heart and every time you say it again it tears my soul apart. I am not good at many things in total or in part, I’ve tried it all from chemistry to art. But all the time you undermine and cut into my mind.

I thought when I left school I had left it all behind, but the world sees I’m fat and that’s how I’m defined: my love; my humour; my kindness and my pain all these things are part of me to which you are blind. I’m not asking you to be nice and kind, I just want you to stop cutting into my mind.

Let me leave the pain behind, of my past I don’t want to be reminded yet you bring back my raw memories with every word and obscenity. You seem to know just where to throw those words of hate and spite, that decimate my being and make me all uptight.

You won’t stand in front of me in case I start to fight, with thirty years of hurt in side waiting to take flight. One little warning to you one day it just might

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

Tinnitus 

Sitting here it’s quiet or it should be, Tinnitus is troubling me. The constant wringing in my ear let’s me know it’s still here. When it’s quiet or I go to sleep up it let’s the volume creep until this crescendo peeks with pops and bangs and then it hangs right here in the middle of my ear.

My hearing goes and sometimes i don’t know what you say. Lip reading, getting the gist, back filling and finger spelling get me through the day, helping me know what you say. Talk clearly and steady but please don’t talk like I’m a baby carrying a teddy.

When it’s noisy I can’t hear, just the buzzing in my ear, my hearing aid for which the NHS Paid, helps a bit it makes it fade. But once it’s out the ringing is back like some sort of raid. It’s worse at night when my head is laid and eyes shut tight.

Then there’s a knock or a bang I wake with a fright wording if I should run or fight. No one else heard the noise, I regain my poise and realise it’s all in my head. I lay on the bed filled with dread about the rest of the night ahead.