Burning Desire (Ice Cold)

photo credit: Daniela Hartmann (alles-schlumpf) My Heart Goes Boom via photopin (license)

photo credit: Daniela Hartmann (alles-schlumpf) My Heart Goes Boom via photopin (license)

I’ve known my enemies longer
Than I’ve known my friends
And without this enmity
I’d be left hollowed out, empty hearted.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.



Consorting with the Enemy

photo credit: Lammyman Rita Hayworth via photopin (license)

photo credit: Lammyman Rita Hayworth via photopin (license)

‘American girls are not like us.’ Violet said.

She stood at the mirror fixing the suspender to her new stockings.

‘My Davey wouldn’t like me consorting.’ Enid replied, ‘He warned me watch me’self with the Yanks.’

‘So they get a little fresh.’ said Violet, as she smoothed the silk down her leg ‘Wouldn’t be good for morale to say no, not after they’ve taken me to the pictures and everything.’

‘It just seems wrong.’

‘It’s only a kiss and a cuddle, poor ducks might die fighting Hitler tomorrow. I’m only doing my bit for the war effort sending them off with a smile on their faces.

‘Anyway what about your Davey? All alone in a strange port you can’t tell me he wouldn’t?’

‘All the nice girls like a sailor.’ I sang.

Violet smirked at my reflection in the mirror as she paused in touching-up her scarlet lipstick.

‘Oh Mo, how could you. My Davey ‘e wouldn’t.’

‘Sorry Enid, we were just having a joke.’ I said, ‘We both know your Davey wouldn’t look at anyone else. Don’t we Violet?’

‘Mmm,’ Violet mumbled, ‘it’s not just the nice girls that like a sailor though.’

I didn’t think I would have been friends with Violet if we had not been billeted together. “All fur coat and no knickers” Mother would have called her, but she was at least a spot of colour amid the drabness, a welcome distraction from Enid’s moon-faced earnestness and constant talk of her Davey.

‘What do you find to write in that diary Mo?’ Violet asked, ‘Scribbling away all the time like the Daily Mirror, is any of it about me?’

Violet had stood back from the mirror to turn side to side and view herself from all angles.

‘Of course it is Violet,’ I replied, ‘every single word.’

Violet turned around to face us now, arms spread wide.

‘So girls how do I look, will I make old Winston proud?’

‘Ooo just like Rita Hayworth,’ Enid sighed, ‘my Davey took …’

Violet stood at the door, giving us a “V for Victory” sign before slamming the door shut behind her.

We listened to the sound of Violet’s feet as she descended the stairs.

‘I’ll bring you back some candy Ducks.’ She shouted, her voice echoing through the wall.

Enid grinned at me, the only thing she loved as much as her Davey was chocolate.


© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


This little story developed out of an exercise I did on a course I went to earlier this year. Combined with a snatch of conversation overheard in a coffee shop; while I don’t know what exactly the person I heard speaking thinks is different about American girls, I’ve left it to Violet to express her opinion on the subject.



photo credit: demonstration via photopin (license)

photo credit: demonstration via photopin (license)

Put down your prejudice

Put down your desire for revenge

Put down your pride in knowing you’re right

Put down your manifesto

Put down your holy book

Put down that god’s on your side

Put down who was the slave, who was the master

Put down your slogans, your slurs, those signals of virtue

Put down your flags

Put down your envy

Put away the why-fors and whats

Put down what peace will cost

Put away concerns of who started the war

Put down your right to the land

Put away those back room deals

Put down the colour of your skin

Put down the purity of race

Put down your historic superiority

Put down your badge and your riot shield

Put down the divine right of kings

Put down your right to bear arms

For pity’s sake pull up a chair

And just talk to me.


© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Looking Back

photo credit: Portal via photopin (license)

photo credit: Portal via photopin (license)

This is the first part of a poem which  I’m still working on. This first part was prompted by the above image though as it grows it seems to be moving on to deal with other things but these opening lines feel like a poem on their own. Hope you enjoy.
Moments of pleasure
Glimpsed through the prism,
Of the looking glass.

Drunken revels,
Passionate nights,
Barefoot walks, wet sand sticking between toes
Because our shoes got lost

In running for the joy
Of the new morning.
The impossible light
That clings to the curves,

The shadows, the reminiscence
Of your footsteps.
That lead away from me
Along the stretch of beach

Towards the incoming tide
Becoming lost in the sea.
Drowning beneath the churning waves
Just as they now fade within my memory.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


Stubborn Stains

photo credit: via photopin (license)

photo credit: via photopin (license)

Lingers above the tide line
Where no wave can wash it clean.
Beached, abandoned beyond redemption
No healing water comes for me.

Scarred, a tear in the fabric
Just a remnant of the maelstrom.
Rags and regrets
Are all that clothe me.

Flotsam and jetsam,
Bare bones and embarrassment,
Torn sheets forgotten
In this illusory peace.
False hopes take flight with the morning
But the past stays earthbound here with me.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


A Dot on the Screen

A dot on the TV screen
Disappearing into infinity,
The lights blinking out.
4am, insomnia rules.

Outside the closed curtain
The fox roams the street alone
As the approaching dawn
Creeps closer. The night time is ending

A new day is descending.
Skeletal hands squeeze tighter
Around the throat of the world,
The dark breathes its last.

Fox scuttles away for the shelter of the shadows
A nocturnal creature immune to the lure
Of the beckoning day.
The great pretending that awaits

My sleepless body.
I think of the fox asleep in her den
As I splash ice water onto my face
Washing away the pretence of sleep from my eyes.

How happy for her
To escape into the earth
Away from the pain exposed
To the scrutiny of the sun.

The make-believe world of the insomniac
Of having to say “I’m okay”, when I’m not.
When I know if I could only sleep
There’d be a chance I could dream this pain away.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Forever is Falling

photo credit: 111/365 via photopin (license)

photo credit: 111/365 via photopin (license)

The petals are falling,
The leaf turns brown,
Seems the world is dying
As the rain comes down.
This illusion is over
It could never last,
With a garland of roses for the loser
Forever summer has past.
I feel the world is drowning.
On and on, the rain falls down.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Weaver

photo credit: The Web via photopin (license)

photo credit: The Web via photopin (license)

And The Weaver starts spinning
She’s got you in a daze
Trapped you from the first moment
That her hips begin to sway.

Her motion beckoning you nearer
You’re longing for her touch.
It’s like your breathing is failing
And falling is not enough.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.