Would You ?

When you hear that mother cry, would you stop and find out why? Or would you just walk on by? When that man in the doorway is high, would you bother or carry on by? When that man needs food for the day and has nowhere but the street to lay, would you stay and pass the time of day? Would you turn the other way?

When a heart is breaking would you bother about the making? Would you walk by and leave a child to die and not hear their desperate cries without shedding a tear from your eye? When bombs hit far-off lands, do you try to wash your hands and hope you never go anywhere near those desert sands? When the rains don’t come upon another man’s plains, is all you can do is say he is to blame?

Would you love and cry and hold a man’s hand as he dies, or would you leave him to die alone. In whose name do you walk by too scared to even try? Is it that you don’t really care so long as you are still there? What if it was you, would you expect helpers all in a queue? Would you cope with being alone no friends no family no one at home? If you stand on top of that building, waiting to jump, would you hope someone will ask you why or would you expect them to just walk by.

Dyslexia 5

Brain unclouds as the mystery peeks out from beyond the dark shrouds, the hidden gem tucked deep inside, a secret hide. The end of a long ride; the turning of the tide. No longer need to hide, life taken in my stride. Embarrassment lifted, pressure shifted, memories sifted, brain explained.

Change of behaviour long ingrained, dyslexia no longer reigns. No need to explain or feel ashamed, esteem regained, demons slain, back in the game. End of the pain that made me look so lame, now pulling out into the fast lane.

Assistive devices, mentors advise, seeing me with different eyes. Electronic wizard, no more word blizzard. Understanding still demanding but life commanding.

©All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2018

Dyslexia 4

Chains of ink laid onto the page, what they say is hard to gauge. Mixed up brain always the same; mixed capitals and lower case fall to the paper with diminishing grace. Letter after letter word after word the sentences chase.

Grammar so grim, hiding within the limes on the page, the result of the war I wage. Full stops and commas missed out quotes, extra spaces in inks long laces, pure genius appears in places. Always persistent never consistent but trying oh so hard.

Lost in stories of dragons and demons so gory, knowing the shine will be removed from the glory as I edited the story. Spelling, the telling sign of how my brain was designed. It didn’t matter that I finished on time, the presentation was the crime.

©All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2018

Dyslexia 2

Red, yellow, pink, purple, green, what colour shall I have my screen? Will my words be clearer to see? Will they stop jumping and dancing for me? Will that ruler, line by line, help to read this page of mine? Will I see large gaps that I swear aren’t mine, even though I took my time?

Amazed at what I see, line by line working methodically, the same way each time. Did I really manage to write that down, staring at the page I give a frown? Missing spaces, too many places, missing words, double inserts, over and over I correct the page.

Knowing I have missed something builds my rage, I should know this at my age. Terrible writer no hope sage, defeated by ink on the page, common words hard to engage.

©All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2018

Dyslexia 1

Jumbled words, backwards letters, oblivious to homework setters. Sore hands straining to write, every word becomes a fight. Maximum effort, results so poor, wishing he could run out that door.

He Can’t keep up no matter how fast he goes, his speed and effort never shows. Imagination runs riot to get those words in poetry and prose.

He is Looking around, everyone has finished, his self-belief slowly diminished. Trying his best like all the rest, yet his best is not as good, he needs a rest.

His teacher says he could do better, it says so in his school report and the parent’s letter. Dyslexia running through his veins saps his energy and hides his brains, all his effort is in vain.

© All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2018

Serial Killer

In the shadows of the night, hidden from the moon light by the dark, stands a man cloaked in black. His blade sends a glint of light as the beams from the moon bounce back. This man of darkness is not here to fight.

Dark destroyer, killer in the street, not the kind of guy you want to meet. Yet dark is the alley where he strikes the blow and crimson life does flow. This man you never know. Never seeing his eyes, he attacks from behind. Leaving you oozing in blood and mud and street crud. Life ebbing out of your body and clouding your mind.

Into the night the stranger goes, where he is, no one knows, he could be your friend or just your foe. laying there dying in the street, a passer-by crying at your feet. Wondering how many other victims he will cheat and carve them up like pieces of meat.

Months pass and there are no leads to the man who makes innocents bleed, then, from the shadows he strikes again another victim savagely slain, blood spreading across the ground washed to the drain with the rain, soaking the ground.

Serial killer again and again no motive nothing to gain. He kills again and again, communities terrified they will end up the same. Streets deserted no children playing games. He lurks in alleys out of sight waiting and watching people pass in the night stalking his next victim then fading into the night.

© All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2018

They Know You Know

They know, yes, they do, they know just how to get to you. They know how far you will go and that you won’t say no. They know, you won’t tell, they know you won’t make their life hell.

They know how to hurt and to cut and they know you are in a rut. They know who to pick on, and who will let it carry on. They know they will get away day after day and they know it won’t matter what you say, you’re the one who will pay.

They know their confidence will grow and they know they never reap what they sow. They know that you have died inside but they bring their mates for the ride. They know you want to hide, that you are weak because you cried. They know, you know.

© All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2018