Creak on the Stairs

Hush dry your eyes
The armies of night
Won’t break down the door.

Everything will be alright
The dawn is just hours away
The light in the sky
Is coming to play.

But first check under the bed
For any ghoul that slipped through
The crack in the wall.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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A Rainy Night in the City

 

photo credit: 138.365 via photopin (license)

photo credit: 138.365 via photopin (license)

The streets are sorry now,
Bleeding colours in the night.
Streetlights and cobbled paths,
Laughter and footstep heartbeats,
Fading as the city weeps.

 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Hiraeth

hiraeth:
(n) A deep, wistful, nostalgic sense of longing for home;
a home that is no longer or perhaps never was.

photo credit: Silent House via photopin (license)

photo credit: Silent House via photopin (license)

This is not the place
Where the river flows
Rerouted to a moment of déjà vu
Over some other town.
Where the leaves were a different green
Growing on different trees.
The past was another shape to this
And the stranger I ran into
Had eyes a different shade of blue.

This is not the room, back then
The sun shone in a different light
With windows on a different view.
There were more reds in the sunsets
Back in that other place.
When it shone on lazy summer paths
Wandering through those dragonfly lanes.
And that stranger I ran into
I remember eyes a different shade of blue.

This is not the skin, the feeling is not the same.
The fields of wheat we walked through are gone now.
Just a ghost remains of the golden hue
That holds the moment in my mind.
That road, pavement pools sparkling in the rain,
Takes me past the turn
But never back to the door of home.
Never back to the stranger
With eyes that were a different shade of blue.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Lotus Eaters

 

photo credit: Lotus via photopin (license)

photo credit: Lotus via photopin (license)

Gentle sway, summer breeze,
These moments alone
In a crowd when thoughts leave me be.
Just the sound of laughter, clinking glasses
And a child’s cry combining
With the wind that whispers through the trees.
The sun is in your eyes I know
Obscuring your thoughts from mine.
As effective as an eclipse
This bliss that floats in the air
On summer nights like these.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Tightropes

Balancing,
Unsteady movements,
Sweat dripping from my brow
Falls
Down, down.
No safety net,
As inconsequential as sweat,
That could be me.
I imagine the fall.
As I struggle to balance
Struggle to keep it all in
Maintain my calm.
Because I can’t go back
I must go on.
 

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Amnesia

She’s falling,
Memories drift away.
All the pills in creation
Won’t save her.
These failing reminiscences
She clings to can’t bring back
The brightly coloured yesterday now gone.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

These Silent Stones

'The Artist's Halt in the Desert' by Richard Dadd http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode

‘The Artist’s Halt in the Desert’ by Richard Dadd http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode

I travel alone through this desert
Though my companions are many.
The silent stones around this oasis
Weep tears into the water

While moonlight glistens upon my fears.
False memories, these heartbeat melodies
Are the ghosts listening outside the circle
Beyond the fire glow, out in the dark

Shadows of the night. These desert sands,
An hourglass with eternity running out
A warrior’s fight with demons not of his making,
Surround me becoming part of my being.

I travel in silence, but never alone
While comfort and solace lurk round the oasis.
The darkness relents with the kiss of the dawn,
Earth rotates and day begins again.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Mob and Me

photo credit: Sirheo Shape via photopin (license)

photo credit: Sirheo Shape via photopin (license)

I don’t understand
The mob, or perhaps it’s just
That I look at the victim
After a lynching
And ask who is next?
Wondering if there’s a chance
That the mob will pick on me.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Dust

photo credit: Glitter Storm via photopin (license)

photo credit: Glitter Storm via photopin (license)

Will you remember tomorrow
Will you tremble in fear,
With future memories forgotten
Echoing down through the years.
They say we are all just star stuff,
That dust we were and will be again,
Passing by on this cosmic trajectory
Bound for destruction, all matter the same.
Are we all rotting
From moment of birth, just decay.
Are we all muffled screams
Moments of pleasure, wet dreams.
Is this just pantomime,
No forever, just today.

Stillness

 

Foetal,
Legs curled up beneath you,
This chair a womb of tears.
Crying for its absence,
Heart beating no more.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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