The Route

Route 66, East to West

Peddle to the floor

Hair a mess

Driving a daydream

Nightmare or more

Is this forever

Where the road is the law

Passing the steers

Who nod and agree

Each carrying less

Than my mental debris

Faster and faster

Just fumes for a bride

The Pacific, it beckons

Blue seas open wide

For miles and miles

And then countless more

This Vultureless carcass

Beyond nature’s laws

Deserts and mountains

Blue skies, vast and true

My improbable notion

Of a hitch-hiking you

Swamped senses struggling

Unable to cope

They grow worse by the yard

God! Hand me a rope

And suddenly there

As air touches sea

My smiling persona

Now failing on me

The route ends

My velocity… does not


Thank you for reading

Richard

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Twice a Lie

A muddled middle, a gut feeling

Cause external confusions

The mind powering thought

The heart driving reaction


A palaver of misdirections

Inhibits both extremities

Neither sure of the other

And both unwilling to change


There is a me in the mixture

A corporeal being 

Unsure of sense’s accuracy

Debilitated by a palpating core


And so back to the gut

Those unquestionable drives

Go with the instinct 

And damn heart and head


They Both Lie

A Matter of Mattering

A Matter of Mattering

I had doubts. When the nights came, the bedroom walls pulsing out like ripples growing further and further away from my bed, those doubts amplified to the beats of my hollow heart.

Echoes, I called them. The echoes of a misspent life had come a calling. They would never leave. No matter how hard I pressed the pillows to my head, those residual murmurs remained. Sweeping in across oceans of night, they haunted my island self. There was nowhere to hide. I didn’t deserve to.

Time: a relative concept, more so still to the timeless. I was timeless, a salient detail my demons knew. There would never be respite from my tormentors. Never!

When sunlight came sweeping through my curtains like filtered candy, I opened my eyes. Another night over. Another night done. Breathe, my mind said. Breathe, it repeated, as it was wont to do at each new dawn. Just breathe.

One hopes for evil to pass, prays for it even. One imagines those doubts dissipating like broken clouds to never regather. And, sometimes, when the darkness was dismissed for the daylight hours, I thought it possible. I’m me again, my brain promised. I’m me. That’s when the voices came.

’You don’t really matter,’ they said. ’See you tonight.’

When Two Are One

When Two Are One

Regardless of the provocation, I resisted. Although my fists balled so tight that I thought my fingernails to burst out of the back of my hand in sprays of crimson, I bit back the pain and sought the meditative calm of Zen. But, as always, my temper was not mine to control. One word from you and I poured upon them like a tsunami of pent-up rage. No one was spared. No one cared.

The child, a young boy of perhaps ten, looked from them to me and back again, smiled, then took back his lunch box.

They expelled me, of course they did, but justice had been served. She took me in, or so I told my parents, gave me a job and respectability. I’d have done anything for her, fought armies, braved monsters, loved. I didn’t, but would have.

When I woke one day to find her gone, I collapsed. Not a word written or verbal had warned of it. Not a clue to my desertion did she leave. All that remained was a single voice in my head where once there’d been two. I hated its owner. I hated me.

The Sorry Syndrome

It was not an admission of guilt, but a cry for help.

Words didn’t come easy to Simon. Most children learnt early that a ‘Sorry’ whether meant or not would alleviate situations that otherwise might end with a slap. Sorry was a get-out clause written into childhood law. Sorry was the most perfect word ever created, one I used with over-eager indulgence. Simon, however, couldn’t say sorry no matter what the circumstances. I often thought he wanted to though. The word would sit on his trembling lips like a bad-tasting vegetable, perhaps, a turnip or a jagged broccoli.

When Simon did what he did, the world went crazy. Yet even then, his fate could’ve changed. I’ll never forget the look on his face as he stood in the courtroom. He could’ve said it then and made things right. He could’ve, but didn’t.

I’ve often wondered if his old sorry phobia resurfaced, if it had ever left, or if it was the plain and simple truth that the others had always touted: Simon was nuts.

50 Word Stories: Bathed in Green

Two in the morning and I still can’t sleep. The night stands silent bereft of even cicadas. Everything is still. My bedside alarm blinks in slow motion illuminating a small, green patch of table, then flicks to darkness. When it flicks back, you’re there. You’re always there bathed in green.

The One You Never Knew

Author’s Note: I don’t know why, but I had a sudden urge to write something dramatic.

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The tide rose in my wake determined to wipe me from the granite I clung to; it could not dislodge me. Fingers like limpets pressed to the rock as I scrambled, clambered and crawled. The clear air made fire of a throat used to the liquid nectar of a saline sea, yet still I fought my way towards storm-riddled skies.

To look down upon that which I’d always looked up to played tricks on my tired mind. I felt I might reach across the distance between us, touch your shoulder, stroke your hair, feel the curves of your wetted body pressed to my own. You were perfect, you see, an air breathing angel huddled against the squall. And for one sick moment, I thought to tip you into my domain, dislodge you from your little, brown boat; what a monster the ocean had made of me. Of course, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

And there, as I spied upon she who’d spied down on me, I forgot where I belonged, forgot what I was, forgot time and its consequences. I lingered in gasping breaths until I gasped no more. It was worth the pain to see you whole and to imagine what our life might have been.

When I lost my lungs, night descended. When I lost my grip, I fell. You may have heard the splash, but you’d never have known it me.