Taboo

Loving her always, you’re in a daze constantly berated never praise. She is tired, over worked, it’s just a phase, one of those days, excuses for her were made. Hidden temper, don’t upset her, all your fault, it will never halt. The person staring inside, you wished would just burst out and cry. Fists and feet and nothing to eat blood from your lips as you keep them zipped. Calm on the surface, smooth it out, you don’t want her to scream and shout.

Shouting insults, you don’t deserve, from the woman you love and thought you deserve. Never happy always right you haven’t got the energy for another fight. You take the beating and verbal spite, she’s not bothered if it’s day or night.

One last straw, you can’t take anymore, pin her down emotions are raw. This is the last time she attacks you for sure, you want to hit her but that behavior you deplore. Imaginary line drawn so fine. it’s too far this time, what you do next, your life will be defined. Get off her tell her to leave. you want her to live you can’t let her die. you sit in the corner and start to cry. She really doesn’t see why. She takes her stuff and leaves you feeling rough, the door slams and you’re all alone. Shattered and scared at the top of the stairs. go to bed with the smell of her still there

©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

Pat the Dog

Poppy the dog is no ordinary pooch, although, when you see her in the garden having a mooch you wouldn’t know that she is so special. She brings happiness and love to adults and children, who pat her and talk to her and run their fingers through her soft curled fir.

Displaying her jacket, she earns not a packet, of that she gives not a jot, for she has something to give and gives it to all, it means such a lot. She has many friends, in fact quite a lot, they all look forward to the Pat Dog slot.

The sight of the labradoodle helps patients improve by oodles as they feel her soft fluffy coat. She loves the attention and the happy times, so I hope she will like this rhyme, cos she is truly a wonderful dog, more affectionate than any mog. So, poppy, when I have finished writing this poem, I’m going to put you on my blog, cos you are a fantastic dog.

© All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

 

The Spy that Loved Me

Follow me down to the wire where I am, what I do, you always enquire, of your checking I tire, trapped in the circle like a funeral Pyre. I wish you would go and let me be free instead you are constantly monitoring me. I once let my emotions run free but never thought you would bring me to my knees.

The shouting and scowling and balling us out, safe in the knowledge we won’t walk out, and if we do you will protest your love and claim you will meet him above. All I ask for is to be loved. To be trusted to stay true, can’t you see I only loved you? now I’m not sure whether that’s even true. I want to be free to just be me, it’s not about who I’m going to see it’s all about you stifling me.

So, pull up your anger and soften your voice, come here and love me it’s really your choice, listen to my heart and hear my voice before you leave me with no choice. I’m not scared of being alone of having my freedom in my own home. Of thinking and feeling and being whole once again not having to play these stupid games.

© 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.

Past Midnight

Past midnight when noises are impolite and horror and doom loom in every sight. Past midnight when some are waiting for their plight, many will give up the long fight. Past midnight the darkest sight room lit atmospheric hit. Rolling clouds and tightening shrouds, owls and foxes shout aloud.

Shivers run down your spine, checking around to see what you can find, hoping you get back home just fine. Past midnight, the haunting time, when memories and thoughts combine, helping to pass the time. Clock flicks around in blurred glow, watching midnight come and go. Past the witching hour when ghosts and devils scour and the new darkness devours, lying awake listening to cracks and bumps until the small hours.

Heart races, imagined faces, mysterious places, longing to make it to morning, you try to stop yawning wishing the day was dawning. The shadows shrink and slowly nighttime sinks and devils and ghosts are a distant memory, to which you play host. Relief at the sun, night thief, darkness retracting its teeth to leave the joy of a new day to dance and jump and play. But, you know the darkness is all but finished and has only temporarily diminished, for tonight the darkness will return and in your mind, you will burn

 

 

​Pinball Day

I feel like a pin ball, bounced into an arena where there are obstacles to trip and bounce you around, pounded from pillar to post not really knowing the host. Flashing lights make it seem so bright, but, when you bounce back its far from right. For a minute you are winning and all your points start to add up, then you realise you are sold a pup, your are catapulted back up the board to where you started. 
Progress is slow, why don’t they know, when you get to the end the barriers won’t let you go cos they only throw and give you a new way to go. Then in a hole, trying to get out and even then you get ejected with naught. 

Then hit the wall and hope you fall in the right place, it’s a disgrace, concentration on their face you are just part of the rat race, never able to play an ace. Points racking up stroke of luck gets you out of the muck, then straight down the middle into a hole to be catapulted straight back out, with a clout, you want to shout, to do it all over again. It’s always the same totally insane.