I Dream

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

I dream of a time where the world won’t cry
Of lives where good folk don’t have to try

I dream of a place where we all might breathe
One negligence doesn’t make us leave

I dream of a whisper that tames the rest
Of my darling’s eyes in our little love nest

I dream of this and that and of it all
It’s a nightmare really that masks my fall


Thank you for reading

Richard

Haiku – Rock in the Water

Photo by Artyom Kabajev on Unsplash
Photo by Artyom Kabajev on Unsplash

Rock in the water
Diverts the flow of the stream
Giving it purpose


Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

Drifting on a Dream

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash
Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

We drift upon this river called time eyes open, ears listening, fingers grasping, without ever a clue as to what we wish to see, hear, or touch. There is no true understanding of the rising moon, nor of the galaxies spinning. The sun is just a candle in the sky. The wind in the meadows may whisper and the froth-topped waves evoke something embedded from genetic memory, but what remains moot. Rain on the window glass dares closest to an elusive truth. The ghosts of the past confirm this. We cannot understand this dream we drift through, or it world be no dream at all.


Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

Translucent

Photo by Rob Laughter on Unsplash
Photo by Rob Laughter on Unsplash

Eyes look

But do not see

Beneath this skin

The real me

All pain and sorrow

And sodden heart

A mind in turmoil

No work of art

Just desperate really

So reticent

To be centre stage

Not translucent


Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

Sandals Required

Photo by mohammad alizade on Unsplash
Photo by mohammad alizade on Unsplash

The rain came down like a broken shower in an unrelenting deluge. The world turned to one of rippling glass. I laughed for the whole world to hear.

The stoplights reflected like strawberries in a grocer’s window. I stomped and stamped until they were flat.

The red made way for an amber uncertainty that flashed a false dawn across the tarmac. The sudden gold dazzled, and I was glad of my sunglasses.

When an emerald green brilliance shooed the amber away to remind me of the land my ancestors had come from so long ago, I sang.

“Are you alright?” asked the woman in the raincoat. Her husband attempted to drag her away, but she seemed as determined as me.

“Couldn’t be better.”

She frowned at my sodden shirt, the shorts plastered to my thighs. When her eyes dropped lower still, she shook her head.

“Leave him to it,” growled her husband.

I kicked at a wet dream and smiled my richest smile.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

I owed her something. So, I leaned in close like the lover she wished for, and I told her.

Now, when it rains, there’s two of us out splashing in our sandals. But only we know why.

The End.


Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.

Raindrops, We Circulate in

Image courtesy reza shayestehpour on Unsplash.com
Image courtesy reza shayestehpour on Unsplash.com

Water

💧

Wash this life away
In liquidated atoms

Submerge

💦

And swim as others
Laugh as others

🌊

Bubble

☁️

Mouth agape and smiling
Sleeping in aquamarine

☔️

Nirvana

💦

An abyssal dispersement
Of another’s fluid dream

🌧

Rain

💧

The cycle renews
Whether wanted or not

🌏


Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

Published! Sleeping with the Lies

I’m very pleased to have had my second piece of writing published with Gobblers and Masticadores. My story is titled Sleeping with the Lies. I hope you get the chance to pop over to this wonderful magazine, which is full of varied content, and have a read of my contribution.

Thank you for reading

Richard

Magenta Moments

Photo by Joey Nicotra on Unsplash
Photo by Joey Nicotra on Unsplash

The fade from dusk to permanent night passed in shades of doom. I deserved every bit of darkness, most men do, but was ever thankful for the moments before. I think it was a gift, a final farewell, an ‘at-least-he tried.’ And I did in my own way.

I had waited in my bed with the curtains flung wide. The window glass was dirtier than I would have liked, smudges like spectres haunting the pane, unmoving, critical of all I’d done. Yet, these questionable fractions of a life made torrid departed as the sun failed to illuminate them, blending into the background as I had for all my eighty years.

There’s a pivot, a hinging of self, when you realise, it will happen to you, it won’t last. All those years of pretending Death a visitor to others, slumped. Reality hit. An unorthodox life — a good word that, I always thought — for an otherwise pointless existence, was over. I gritted my teeth, said I was ready, glad to go. I was neither.

This moment came at ten o-clock one September evening as a bat whizzed past the glass, looped in a fluttering, flittering arc and came to rest on the outside ledge. It stood there on two legs like the world’s ugliest doll.

I squinted like the old fool I was, as if in doing so, the bat would disappear. But it didn’t disappear, not yet, anyway. The leathery creature tapped a tiny claw upon the glass to a perfect percussion, and then waved its almost transparent wing like a thrown shroud. I’d have ducked if I’d had the energy.

I was a skeptic and always had been. Omens were for others, and fate didn’t apply. I was beyond such things. People told of the ridiculous to bring false amazement to their otherwise inept existences. And, yet, here I was with such a story to tell, with no time to tell it and no one to hear it screamed.

The bat grinned as I shook my head, and then flew away.

I was a goner. I was about to meet my maker, or his darker self, if I was realistic. Bats did not do what the little one had, and chests only felt this much pain before they burst.

I contemplated pulling the telephone closer, stabbing those three particular numbers in an effort to save my skin, but instead, pushed it off the sideboard.

I settled into my pillows as best I might and watched the last light fade.

Everyone knew that dusk came in grey and left in black. There was no reason for any different. Still, I wanted to die with my eyes open. Closing them would give whoever found me something to do.

There was a mountain in the distance and a forest I couldn’t see. I imagined it all spiky haired spruces and pines, all ancient oaks and weeping willows.

That’s when the tears came. All the years I’d lived there, or rather inhabited the place, as I never really lived anywhere, and I’d never walked among them. What a pity. What a waste.

Every saline drop hurt to shed. Every slug-like trail stung my skin. Until it didn’t.

I woke with a start and a stab to the chest.

I was still in my bed and, if judged by the rasping breaths ghosting across my bedroom, alive. And yet…

Magenta moonbeams blazed from outside, filling my room with unnatural light. The night cringed at its brilliance, as did I. All those things, all those bits and pieces of paraphernalia accumulated in a tedious lifetime, be they sat upon shelves, the carpet where I’d kicked them, even the posters on the wall, shone in that rarest of colours. Not red. Not purple. A brilliance somewhere between what was never really seen in real life, yet everyone knew. This magenta moment was mine and mine alone. It was my colour. It was my gift.

I smiled.

I waved.

There was no reason for it other than unadulterated joy. The magenta light pooled in my eyes, coursed into my open mouth and into my lungs, streamed around my veins. There were no golds, no blacks, no lava reds, none of those colours associated with the world beyond. There was only magenta. There was only me.

They came through that bruise in forever, all those I’d known. They came because in age and befuddlement I’d forgotten, twisted, corrupted a life well-lived. I was never worthless, dangerous, useless or the rest, just long-lived, too long for the rest of them. There was my father, mother, brother and sister, too. Rebecca was laughing; she always laughed. There were classmates and colleagues, brothers in arms, sharers of medals and more. And somewhere at the back, there was you, Alice.

She wore magenta lipstick, my Alice. It accentuated her lips, distracted others from the beauty that was the rest of her. But not me. Not ever. I’d remembered it until the day I died. Just like I promised.

The End


Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

100 Word Stories: The Spiral

Photo by Daphné Be Frenchie on Unsplash
Photo by Daphné Be Frenchie on Unsplash

The Earth does not spin, nor does it travel around a burning sun: The Earth falls. I know this better than most.

It’s a slow descent through time and space, one that drags our spiralling universe down, like two children holding hands on a helter-skelter. One without the other is just an object, but two, and the scene has purpose.

I do not wish to fall, yet, I am. We all are. The collective has no choice in the matter. This is the way of things. Still, I wish with all my heart that I wasn’t first down the slide.


Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.