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

Pillow

Scarlet lipstick and black liner leave their stain on the pillow of pain, that has seen the world through the eyes of its owner, the damp stained case trimmed with lace, soft comfort for salty teared face, pushed deep in, to muffle the cries, hugged tight in arms of trembling night. Holding the pillow to smother the sight of make up running like a zombie in a fight.

Yet that pillow no secrets it tells, no matter how much she swells, just hints at the turmoil within her head, where she lay down and her tears spread. Flowing locks on soft silent rock, absorber of the shock.

Curled in a ball on bed covers she sprawls unleashing the pain as tear drops fall. Absorbing the lies and the hate and the hurt, of men that just see her as a bit of skirt, the pillow stays loyal no matter how much she soils. Never runs from her in her hour of need never answers back or states it’s needs. Yet, her fears it surely reads, confidante of soft scented joy. She pummels and abuses but never destroys. The pillow of choice she laid her head on to go to sleep and get over that boy.

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

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

 

Heart Thief

Your pulse is racing, what are you facing, door opens, you are embracing. Candles in silver holders sit on the table, perfectly laid, willing and able. Pour a drink, none alcoholic, it helps you think. Sitting opposite gazing into his eyes, wondering what behind them lies. Your lips red with cherry wanting so much to soak his with your passion. But, you hold back, put up a wall, you have been here before, memories not good at all.

Your body language says I want you, your head says he will use and abuse you. Pour another drink and laugh at another joke, small talk and charm, if only he knew what harm they would do. Then comes that moment you dread the one you played over a thousand times in your head. He reaches in to kiss you.

Your spine tingles and knees go weak, as lips meet first, then tongues of fire, full of desire, you pull away as it’s stored in the mire of undesired of memories burning on a funeral Pire. Your head is in a spin you want to draw him in but that would be a sin. Replay unhappy memories this you didn’t want to see. It’s time to make your excuses and leave. Your heart pounding and sense of relief you have escaped from the heart thief.

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017