Passchendaele

Hail and rain, mud all around, machine gun clack, no turning back Passchendaele. Men dying in bullet hails, shouts and painful wails, Passchendaele. Over the top to certain death 6000 men lay in the mud, oozing blood, Passchendaele.

Edgar Mobbs, hero of the hour, over the top for to a machine gun stop, cut down in his prime, dying in thick sludge and grime, hero second to none, Passchendaele. Men of rugby will be playing no more, casualties of war, Passchendaele. War on unprecedented scale, men never came back to tell their tale. Passchendaele.

Families cry and wail, Their love ones fall on foreign ground, many of them never found, just memorials of that horrific killing ground, Passchendaele. Forests grow and peace flows, in this tranquil place where that battle took place, Passchendaele.

©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

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.

©All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

D Day

Landing craft, fore and aft, full of men and boys poised to land guns in hand, close band of fine men. The start of overlord, the allied sword, men onboard to liberate a country, ready to maraud, engines hum in the darkness, thoughts turn to wives, kids and mums.

Landing crafts fall short of the beach, but still the aggressors they must breach. Ramp lowered boots pound first man out takes a round, into the sea, boots full of water pushing on, lambs to the slaughter. Guns firing everywhere, muzzle flash of yellow flair, everyone knows they are there.

 Soldiers topple into the sea like brittle skittles one, two, three. Single mind to win the battle to liberate these people treated worse than cattle. 4,000 allied soldiers die in the ensuing battle heavy guns pound and machine guns rattle, explosions all around, men cut down. Cold blood runs in the dark sea, bullets and shells rip them apart they know they are in hell and that’s just the start.

 

 

Agents of Darkness

The agents of darkness strike again inflicting misery death and pain. Plots to kill injure and maim all don in a dark Lords name. The dark Lords weave their evil across their Web, recruiting its agents brainwash their heads.

Lords of darkness agents of death, wreaking havoc on the enlightened, running Scared and Frightened as the Chase To find The Dark Agents tightens, dark agents’ operations heighten. Lords of darkness creating a mess, from an unknown address, you send your agents to do your Dirty deeds up and down the country where ever they need.

Cowards in the extreme, make women and children scream how can they be so mean. Dark agents hoping they will never be seen, to die they are so keen, to be free they don’t know what it means, carnage and mayhem at the scene, under what stone have you been. Oh, agents of darkness who are in such a mess they cause such distress, now we have to clean up this mess.

Don’t snuff out the light, keep up the fight, the agents of darkness know their plight. Hunt them down, take their malice and spite. For we will not bow or give up the fight to live in a country the way we know is right. Lords of darkness you will get bored, why don’t you weald your own sword and stop preaching a fraud? |To defeat the agents of darkness light must come to shine on us all night

Deserted Street

Men and boys say good bye all know the reason why. Called up to serve in a war they don’t deserve on the front line, not reserves. Whole Streets fighting together as a regiment. Swathes of streets empty of men who will never return. Desolate streets no dads to greet, no sons to hug mums, just dear Johns, to all the friends you meet.

Workers side by side, they all came for the same ride, work as a team one unbreakable seam, and go down with a scream. Waste of men and boys who will never know life, but briefly met strife. No guns fired or fixed Bayonet charge, the enemy is still at large. Longing for home, their bed and clean sheets, seeing their families again and walking down those deserted streets.

In their heads, their family implanted safe return not taken for granted. Over the top their turn to drop, an entire street, downed by men from an unpronounceable town. Leaving heart ache in a deserted English Street. Mothers cry, children wonder why, when the officer drops by house after house on the same Street, tears and sadness at each one they meet, finally leaving the deserted Street.

Boots in the Hood

Boots on the ground soldiers deployed in towns, to stop the bombers coming around. Police with guns protecting kids and dads and mums. No need to run more boots can come patrolling in the mid-day sun.

Their uniform pristine and green, berets black, Red and green. Loaded guns rarely seen, urban warriors fit and lean. Preventing terror from those who are keen. Film scene comes to be, will it work? we will see. At least we can still be you and me.

Spectre of death fading breath, parents bereft nothing left where their children stood, just guns and boots in a neighbourhood, turn back time they wish they could stop the disease, that murders with ease here at home and overseas.

Stiff upper lip, though it stings like a whip, this disease spreading drip by drip. Solid lives can’t be destroyed by bombs or knives cos our bond is strong like man and wife. To stop us living free, you will have to take every life. Cos, we will fight to the end and will not bend, but will defend this way of life from low life and scum, we will never succumb, if there is a beat in our heart you will never tear us apart, we will fight you with all our lion heart.