For Pennies and Passion

photo credit: keith ellwood Limoges Busker via photopin (license)

Old man sits on the corner
Accordion strapped to his being.
Fingers dancing lightly upon the keys
The squeeze box sings,
The bellows pumping.
As if for the old man
Without the music
He would not be breathing.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Monday

For six days I will live,
Just not today
If that’s okay.
On other days I will thrive,
Rise and shine
Give my best,
But not today.
I need to rest

Escape the rat race.
Engines, raw,
The blood and thunder
Carnivores.
The fight to survive
This urban wasteland
From dawn to dusk
Until this day is
… Laid to rest.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Tumbledown

photo credit: dharder9475 117/365: Dark before light via photopin (license)

It all falls down,
Crumbles about my bones.
Heartbreak and tears stripped away
Leaving me bare.
Nothing left but hope,
I am reborn
Knowing that you’ve entered the room.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

These Ships

photo credit: Immagini 2&3D The Land of the Brian Boru via photopin (license)

These ships are sailing
Leaving behind everything we’ve ever known.
The lights, the familiar sights are receding,
Departures sadness as the horizon
Hides us from home.

These boats,
These boats we are burning.
For these bones will not be buried
Beneath the turf of our island home.

The surf and the waves
And the storms on the seas,
And the funnel cloud of infernal steam.
Take me away,
Borne away from where I long to be.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Flurrying

photo credit: Dmitry Karyshev first snow via photopin (license)

Flurries
Of worrisome weather,
Caught between hello and goodbye.
A day that don’t know
If it’s coming or going.
Came in like a lamb
But now it’s having trouble deciding
Whether to go out on the town
Or out with a bang.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Hungers

photo credit: Tortured Mind Broken Soldier 1 via photopin (license)

The forces
Beyond your view,
In another consciousness
Sat in another room.

The pilot of other ships,
Soldiers on the other side;
Non-combatants have no choice,
All are part of this war.

All looking for new sadnesses,
While still waiting for old tears to dry.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Curriculum Vitae

photo credit: Magdalena Roeseler via photopin (license)

I’m a nice guy in a quiet way,
Unshowy, without being grey.
I’m a star in the daytime
Outshone by other lights in the sky.
I’m not a saint or a sinner
Just average Joe muddling things up
But aiming to get the big things right.
I’m looking for happiness,
Contentment? Whatever that means.
A dreamer, searching for something
And somewhere to realise my dreams.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Now Lost

Grey eyes, all grey-eyed,
The will-o’-the-wisp
Inhabitants of the sepia past.
Yet these phantom,
Long-forgotten footnotes in history,
Are the foundation stones
Of how I have come to be.
The desertions, the petty cruelties,
That gold coin flung afar
To sink forever within the mire.
All just threads and plots passed on
To become mythology.
Like the tortures
Of inferno, and Iron Lung –
All have played their part
In my neuroses and minor crimes.
And yet my hopes, my dreams…
Or call it what you will
My native gift, my elemental spark –
Something
Recognises as the source
That same grey-eyed river,
Which I can glimpse,
Through maelstrom mist sometime
Out of the corner of my eye,
Like reflections in the mirror.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Crossing the Rubicon (Small Mercy)

photo credit: eduardomineo 26/7/2009 via photopin (license)

Mercy.

Pleading to be heard
Within these four walls,
Outside in the world.

Senses
Overloaded,
Hiatus
Deserved.

Searching for the right words,
In these pages
Reaching out to the world.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Paper Tigers

photo credit: jaci XIII Peeking via photopin (license)

Papering over the facts
Sliding over the emotion
In search of the cracks.
Searching for something
Like a butterfly wing,
A nod in the direction
Of the beauty
Of the well constructed lie.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.