Absurd Words

Give a poet a word, something quite absurd like lemon curd, OK that’s two words. What can be done with lemon curd, that uses and twists and turns words, that makes them rhyme in perfect time. Poets can play with its use, turning it to radioactive slime; using it as a cleaning product to get rid of dirt and grime. Letting it run through their hands like alien sticky slime, but, then there is a favorite of mine, slap it on hot buttered toast and eat them one at a time.

Give a poet a word or a phrase and they will play for days and days, fitting it in poems, different ways, but sometimes their mind will go blank and at the paper they will stare, until a new idea comes to bare, something abstract they might dare to write, with flare that will ignite passion, no word ration.

Then one day someone will say, bet they can’t write one about this. The poet will writhe and twist and turn and discern, using everything they have learned. Oh, how they wish they had never started, when will it end, it will drive them round the bend. Suddenly, the penny drops and out of nowhere an idea flops. Ink drops start to flow as the poem starts to grow and grow, it just ebbs and flows, this heady prose, where it stops no one knows.

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

I am Detective

I am detective, some say defective, I will find your story, however gory, I read your mind and always you I will find. Tricks of the trade, hiding in the shade, covering your tracks, never going back. I will find you and your crime, come and get you through all the grime.

I am detective, new perspective, attention to detail, hot on your trail. I know nor care what or where, I will find you and the evidence there. Tell your lies, wear your disguise, I won’t compromise, I know it’s you I can see it in your eyes.

I am detective, the last one alive, I am coming after you, nowhere to hide. Rain or shine it makes no difference, there is no barrier no hindrance, for I am detective one of a kind, scruffy rain coat, brilliant mind. Your soul I will find, all day I grind to make a living, to catch you in the land of the living. I will not stop until off this planet I pop, and when I retire I will be reflective for I am detective.

©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Missing

You are missing, gone from sight, we are all worried about your plight, no trace of you, just simply disappeared, no note no reason why you are not here. Did you take flight and leave for a reason, did you think we would see it as treason? We’re you taken and driven away one day, where is the ransom note? you never took your coat. Are you wandering as a lost soul, are you in bits or is your mind whole? We have looked and appealed on TV for you to come home and live happily, but, to no avail, no happy ending to this tragic tale. Are you alive or living in a dive.

Maybe you left the country and are living pretty comfy? Maybe you are dead that’s what many have said, but I have put that thought at the back of my head, I don’t want to deal with that dread.

Did you choose to go? maybe you have plans I don’t know, maybe, you are just going with the flow somewhere that you don’t know. Days tick by very slow, weeks and months come and go, yet we still live in hope that someday you will show. I hope you turn up before we both go, it would be tragic if we didn’t know.

We hear of sightings all the time, we think we get near and you will be fine, but it turns out not to be you, just someone like the picture they drew. Alone at night in our bed we run through all the scenarios in our heads trying to work out where you might be, and why on that day you weren’t home for tea. Then comes the call we wanted to hear, yet the one we had come to fear. Your voice we wanted to hear for just over a year. The tone on the phone is not yours, it says they found you then there’s a pause. The next voice we hear is yours.

©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Riddles In My Head

Lying in bed solving riddles in my head, replaying my inbuilt recording of everything that was said. The stillness of the night, no sound or light, every night it is the same ongoing fight. Bring me your light shining so bright, so I can see what I did right, to see the answers I need by the time the day is light.

 Hostage to history, to long lonely nights running flashbacks through my internal sight. Don’t let me go through another night, deciding what’s wrong and what’s right, contemplating whether I should stay or take flight.

 Hold me and shake me with all your might, stop my memories from inflicting blight. panic sets in as I close my eyes tight trying to cut out the thoughts of what might have been, stopping the tape of all I have seen. Erase me from the prison hell, that is taking place in this shell. My anxieties I need to quell, its 2 in the morning, your asleep and there is no one to tell, only me wrestling with Satan in this living hell.

© All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Your Arms

Where did that love go? where was the connection, devoid of affection? all that’s left is reflection. No arms around me when I needed you most, when I couldn’t ask for your hug, you never saw the need, all alone just me. Feeling helpless and rejected needed to be connected.

Too much to bare, I sit and stare in the chair tablets and alcohol, life on the edge, no one to Pull me back from the impending black. You hid upstairs hoping it would soon end, all I needed was a friend their arms to lend, to be held tight through the night. On the phone to someone unknown, kind Samaritan hold my hand, tell me who I really am.

Wedge driven in our lives, I’m not sure why I’m alive. Yet another day to strive to give it my all, treated as a fool, used like a tool. Feeling unloved, uncared for, sick of this war, no one to look out for me, just a wreckage feeling so lonely, a rusting frame driven insane but still in the game. Suicide had nowhere to hide, I could have tried but once the tears had dried I knew I could not escape this lonely place, as looking after you all, I had to face guilt about what would be if you had all lost me. I don’t like this responsibility; the scar won’t heal with any amount of poetry. All I wanted was very simple and easy yes all I wanted was your arms around me. Saying that I am OK as me, arms that could set me free, to help me just be.

Do I ?

Do I live in your heart or is it just a resting place, just at the start? Do I flow through your body as a life force weaving its certain course, showing no remorse? Do I beat in time with you and in your body, meet? Do you breathe me in, taste me just like gin, bath in me till I’m in every hollow, in me do you wallow?

Do I flicker in your head before you go to sleep in bed, thoughts that stay with you moving through your body free falling like lead? Do I slide under your skin coating your body with a layer so thin? Do I sit within your ear silently, do you hear me and do you see me through those eyes, through those salty tears stored up through the years?

Do I come to you at night when your fears come out to play, or will you choose to face them alone and push me out the way? Will, I be in your soul when you face the hardest days and will that soul let me roll around in your haze, bringing peace and harmony when you are in a daze? Will you take all of me, not just what you see, and spread me around yourself like a suit of armour made to protect your health? When the day is long and life is but a bore will you call my name, asking of me for more?

Communication Breakdown

I try to communicate with you but you just get in a rage, doesn’t matter if I try to speak or put it on a page. I talk a lot but no one ever hears, my voice only echoes back through my ears. I could shout from a mountain top, it would not leave a blot, would it really bother you? cos you don’t give a jot.

My voice echoes inside this empty vessel trying to make you hear but you may as well not be here, my voice travels nowhere near. All I want is for you to hear, to speak without fear, without ridicule and for you not to sneer. So, when the words come out all the same it’s because I’ve said them over again.

Your attention I must gain this saga is becoming in vain, to say what I want to say, nothing inside my soul but anger and dismay. My thoughts are only decay, communication is such a tough game to play, its driving me insane again and again, overloading my brain.