Goodnight My Darling Universe

…and finally here’s Day 30, goodnight.

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Deep Space 1 via photopin (license) photo credit: Deep Space 1 via photopin(license)

Interference,
Static hiss,
A hundred different inputs,
A million alien sounds.
When all I’m looking for
Is a simple sign of life,
Intelligent or not.
Carried on the ether
Across the universe.
A flickering beacon
Firelight tale
Told to a child.
Tucked up between the covers,
Not digitised or pixelated
With tie-in merchandise,
No static hiss
Nor interference
Just once upon a time.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

View original post

Bee

photo credit: Bee via photopin (license)

photo credit: Bee via photopin (license)

The bee dances
To signal the hive
Where they may find
Happiness.

Be
Everything and nothing for
Eternity,

Says the dance.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Parting Glass

Day 28 of the Review 30

Made of sticks and stones

If angels should pass upon this road
After I’ve long departed.
If you should hear them in the night
In the rustling of the leaves.
If you should speak with one of them,
Its voice, a half-remembered sound.
If they should ask,
What did his days on Earth achieve.
Then raise a glass with the angels
And speak only of the good times.
If after I have gone
You should ever think of me.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

View original post

The war, the peace

Day 27 and a wish for a kinder world

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Kyats via photopin (license) photo credit: Kyats via photopin(license)

Remnants of the war,
Leave the children crying in
An uneasy peace.

Bringers of freedom,
Peddle new tyrannies
Like cotton candy

And sugar coated
Lies are still lies
In the mornings light.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

View original post

Twenty-three pairs of chromosomes

photo credit: Axlaxes via photopin (license)

photo credit: Axlaxes via photopin (license)

What if everybody else is as screwed-up as me.
What if my behaviour is just normal for here.
Perhaps this is not spontaneous combustion
And just the confirmation I’m human

Like a mental gravity weighing me down.
Would any aliens that happen to pass by
Know that we are all cracked, twisted and broken.
Maybe there should be a sign up high in the heavens,

“Planet Earth – you gotta be crazy to visit here.”

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Code of Chivalry

Day 26…

Made of sticks and stones

"Waterhouse, The Lady of Shallott, 1888" by John William Waterhouse - http://www.artble.com/artists/john_william_waterhouse/paintings/the_lady_of_shalott/more_information/analysis. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.Waterhouse, The Lady of Shallott, 1888” by John William Waterhousehttp://www.artble.com/artists/john_william_waterhouse/paintings/the_lady_of_shalott/more_information/analysis. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.

I would die for thee, my Queen;
If you would but glance my way.
Reach my hand beyond the veil,
Where no man has right to quest.

Take up my lance and fight
The Dragon and all the hordes of hell
For the favour of my Lady.
If for an hour, I could walk with thee,

Through the Green Wood upon the emerald sward,
Where flowers bloom in faerie bowers
In the star shine of that eternal land
Where power undimmed forever reigns.

I await for, but a single, word.
To take up my lance against the Infernal foe,
My Queen. For your honour, for the chance
To joust for your favour.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

View original post

Doll

photo credit: * * * via photopin (license)

photo credit: * * * via photopin (license)

What am I to do with you my little china girl.
Don’t want to watch you breaking apart
When I see another heartbreak on your horizon
That I know will make you cry.
When I see you hanging out
With that Mr So-Wrong-For-You guy.
When I know he’s going to let you fall
And shatter you into a million pieces
My little china girl.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Masks

Day 25: Some fiction for you. If it all goes dark and I disappear after this post don’t blame me blame Microsoft – Windows 10 has hijacked my computer and decided to download itself.

Made of sticks and stones

(166 words)

photo credit: Club Fierce: Algorave (My Panda Shall Fly) via photopin (license) photo credit: Club Fierce: Algorave (My Panda Shall Fly) via photopin(license)

Domino took off her face and placed it in the box along with all the rest.
The thin membrane mask writhed sinuously. She had worn all of the twenty “faces for everyday life and all social occasions” now, and as she looked closely all the masks seemed to be malfunctioning to various degrees. Twenty sets of eyeholes stared sightlessly up at her from faces that seemed to exhibit everything from a nervous tic right up to snarls and violent spasms.
Even worse they were guaranteed to provide a “radical reinvention” of the wearer’s natural look but to Domino they just looked like her own face, just her face on a really bad day.
‘I’ll have to send them back.’ She said, to the reflection in the mirror ‘Otherwise that’s six months wages down the toilet.’
The…

View original post 37 more words

As Silence

photo credit: Dusky via photopin (license)

photo credit: Dusky via photopin (license)

There are lights out on the water
Moving towards us across the dark sea.
Maybe they are spirits, the last of the angels
The howling winds their tormented song.
Or perhaps it is Armada,
The Enemy come to invade us,
Laying siege and then ruin if we dare to resist.
But for now they’re just lights on the ocean
And until the morning it’s too dark to see.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Green fingers

Day 24 for those who struggle to get anything to grow.

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: squish via photopin (license) photo credit: squish via photopin(license)

The tomatoes are still green and are starting to rot,
While the marrows remain the size of a pea.
The runner beans can barely manage a crawl
And the spring onions might be ready for Christmas.
I’m doing alright for all manner of pests,
Slugs I’ve got those, as big as your car,
And beetles and all kinds of mites.
My apples have maggots,
The pears just have mould.
Meanwhile the plum tree
Lies down on its side,
Complains of the cold
And asks to see a Tree Doctor.
But when I look out of my window
At the X-rated horror show garden
To see what else has died in the night.
I can say with justifiable pride
At least the weeds turned out lovely again.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

View original post