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

Sea Float

Floating in the sea, head and body calm legs scurrying, hurrying, kicking, keeping me afloat, waves lift my weightless waterlogged load. Free floating bobbing in harmony with the waves, salty moisture penetrating my lips cold numbness of the sea extracting heat from my head to my feet, sun warming my face, life moving at a slow pace. No panic no fear just floating here.

I spy no land and swim to nowhere, just treading water in the tranquility of mystic mire, in the middle of somewhere, daylight fading, sun setting on distant horizon. Night is still with the rush of the sea, moon glistening light show, just for me. Night makes me weary, I try to stay awake, keeping my head from going below the wake. Soon, I drift into disturbed sleep, waking at the cold of waves from the deep, hitting my face in this tranquil place.

Day light breaks early, painting its yellow glow on the sea below, warming the air on the horizon as its warmth rises. Body numb with cold, shivering out of control. I start to slide under every large wave, cool relief from the sun’s burn. I slowly go lower and lower no panic no regret just cold and wet. Head right under in deep dark yonder, what will be I wonder. From each wave, I re-emerge, sunlight glistening on Sea surge. Then finally one more wave takes me down to a dark murky grave. No breathing no heaving, just gentle glide to the depths of the sea where my body can hide, until one day its washes up on a beach on a morning tide.

© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Your Choice

All alone, nowhere to call home, sofa surfing, nomadic loafer. Anger rises no surprises, hounded by your past, how long will it last? Used by all, scarred as you fall, free for all society maul. Making bad calls.

History shaped you; pounded you and raped you, brought you to your knees, just wanted to please, now life of sleaze that disagrees. Once again on your knees, not praying to a god. but, struggling so on you plod. No job, not the type to rob. Life taken and shaken, future forsaken. Life of drugs replaces the hugs. Anger smashes love crushing olive branches from a dove.

Advice not taken, path mistaken, lonely walk to who knows where, flitting from place to place as people care until you scare, then you are not welcome there. No money to hold your flat, selling this and that, surviving the only way, you know how, living in the here and now, no routes just any old how.

Take your chances on the streets, soon if not now. You can beat this turn it around pick your life up off the ground. Only you can live this life and only you can change your mind. Recognise when people are being kind and don’t upset with your constant whine. It’s up to you to put that life behind.

 ©All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

Lost on a Mountain Top

Wandering, lost in the mountains, thin air slowing breathing as much as it dares. Lost in rock and boulder and crag, energy beginning to lag. Pain in my body, fog in my mind, a way out I try to find. Every step becomes a grind close to the edge of lost with time. Busting my spirit to drag my body, occupying my mind with thoughts of hot toddy.

Stumbling, exhausted, every step of the way, trying to find a landmark to show me the way. Night falls on rock sprawl, into my sleeping bag I crawl. Fully clothed with hat and gloves cold tries to take me from the ones I love. No sleep in the night, no end to pain in sight, running knowledge in my brain until first light. Cup of tea and bite to eat, my body craves more of the heat. Deserted ridge no one shall we meet, weary body stumbles to its feet. Reluctant steps one by one taking whatever will come. Then in the valley I see some cars, I must let them know I’m not far, as I shout, the words come out and echo around the outcrop. Did they hear, will they soon be here? I sit on a rock, this is where I stop stuck on a mountain, not knowing how to get off this rocky top.

Then, to my surprise, I see a pair of big eyes and a wet nose, where he came from I don’t know. He sits by me keeping me warm, barking my presence to the rescue team, like a horn. Soon, I was surrounded and with questions hounded, before I was led off the mountain and thoroughly grounded. Glad to be down, in the warm and dry, small tears in my eyes as I have a cry, don’t ask me why, but I’m now down, off this high.

 

©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

Life Machine

I know you are there, all I can do is stare at the inside of my mind. I’m still alive, to tell you I strive, but, I can’t make you see I’m still alive. No movement I make, you hope I awake, laying here is not the person you know, I look like a fake. Tears in your eyes as you start to cry fearing that I have died. I feel you squeeze my hand, I want to squeeze back but I’m paralysed, trying to find a way back.

This wretched machine keeps humming, keeping this piece of debris running, wires and tubes from my body protrude, my life support, my food. I’ve seen the light, the tunnel of flight, but I have fought to stay here with all my might. I want to tell you I’m alright, that I will continue the fight until I can be with you again tucked up in the moon light.

I still see the day and know everything you say and do, I’m watching everyone and every move, I know how you feel, how the kids are, I even know you banged the car. I wish I could open my eyes and see where you are.

Days of rolling around in my own brain, powerful drugs that kill the pain, its driving me insane. In my mind, I wrote a poem for you, I hope one day I will be able to read it aloud too. I see you are weary, you need sleep too, come lay with me until the day is new.

©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