American Dream, Iowa Queen

I dream of holding you tight, of taking a dream flight to an Iowa girl who waits for me every night, even though I’m thousands of miles out of sight. Oh, my American dream Atlantic charm radiant beam. How we long to embrace across the ocean face to face.

But, we both remain in different places, separated by vast space, yet we speak every day, we find a way and it hurts when we must go away. Our times are different in the day. You believe in angels and pray that I will come to you someday. I disbelieve but for you I arrive and wish I was by your side.

American dream of walking by the stream hand in hand as sun beams. Of laying my head on a distant shore and knowing that I am all yours. Alas this dream is worth fighting for to see your face when you answer that knock at the door. My American dream, Iowa queen.

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

ACROSS A DEEP BLUE SEA

There is a deep blue sea between Flanders and me, a sea of red lays beyond the blue. Poppies for soldiers who gave their lives for me and you. Between the crosses they still grow, a memory of veterans that never came home.

The last heroes left, pay homage in this foreign land where they once went as boys and returned as men. This corner of a foreign land, of bullets and grass and death on mass. This land where comrades fell and left men with harrowing stories to tell.

For those that came home, they had tales to be told but in their hearts the memories of the fallen they still hold. On battle fields so bloody and cold, of the horrors of war we should never ignore, those crosses row by row, across that deep blue sea, on a Flanders field where poppies grow, where people we never knew fought for me and you.

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Satin and White Lace

A collaboration between Mark Symmonds  and Debra Sasak Ross

Through satin and white lace.
I can still see your face.
Your features I can trace.
No one could ever take your place.

My heart starts to race
As our passion quickens pace.
My hands pull at your lace.
To reveal the satin of your face.

Debra Sasak Ross-MarkSymmonds (c) 11/07/2017 All Rights Reserved

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

Hell

In a murky world, where demons rule and eat and slash and drool over human parts from faraway lands to where this hell fire land expands. The fiery world of Satan, where, humans are slaves and work in caves and the living souls the devil craves.

For they have come here from fires, tombs and graves, each one, heaven they crave. Each human with guilt to bear, something bad sometime, somewhere, that haunts their minds and never heels with time. No matter how much they pray at their shrine.

Satan was watching seeing the evil checking out how far they would go. Now they are here in this kingdom of lost souls, working for the master of evil, yet they still crave for heaven or to be back on earth, so they can put things right at rebirth.

Alas, Satan has got them they are part of his gang, with the baddest of all they now hang. He is their godfather, head of the clan, they are but foot soldiers not even men. Dispensed with at the nod of his head, twice dead. Nothing lays beyond that evil, nothing to rebirth, just the damnation of Satan’s evil on earth.

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

Roll Over

There were ten in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over. So, they all rolled over, one fell out, as he hit the floor he gave a shout.

There were nine in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over So, they all rolled over and one fell out as he hit the floor he banged his snout.

There were eight in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over So, they all rolled over and one fell out as he hit the floor his teeth fell out.

There were seven in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over So, they all rolled over and two fell out as they hit the floor they rolled down the stairs as a pair.

There were five in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over So, they all rolled over and one fell out as he hit the floor he didn’t shout as he knocked himself out.

There were four in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over. So, they all rolled over and one fell out as he hit the floor he rolled out of the door.

There were two in the bed and the little one said roll over roll over So, they both rolled over and neither fell out so the little one gave the other one a clout, as he hit the floor rude words came out.

There was one in the bed and the little one said,” now I have the bed to my self I can I can lay here with my arms spread” roll over roll over, you will be pleased to know my poem is over..

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

When i’m Gone

Like Lord Lucan I have disappeared, yes, it’s weird just disappeared in what I was wearing and my bushy beard. All that is left is this poem, a memory of me you can look at it with glee. Now there is I hope left somewhere deep in your heart, and imprinted somewhere in your brain a memory of me as I was.

Lasting memories of time gone by, of times when we cried and sighed, where truth came between density of lies. Memories of life as you remember it. But what you don’t have is me the real me total me the inside the stuff I hide. You only ever saw the things I have out, the times I held you and the times I had to shout.

You know nothing more of me, except, what I let you see, the part of me that I gave away free, the part that I wanted nothing back for me. I left you with the memory of a nice loving me. Read my words, in my poems, I write what’s deep inside, they give an insight, they tell you how I feel, what I believe is not right and for what I choose to fight. So, in the dark days when life gets you down I hope that what I have left is a candle light burning a glow that helps you remember long ago.

 

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017