Knowhere

photo credit: Marco Ascrizzi P1070949 via photopin (license)

A man took a bus
Went searching for his heart.
He’d left his home of forty years,
Packed a bag – filled it with memories
And assorted other dusts.
He watched as the driver pulled out into traffic
And joined the motorway.
He watched as everything he’d ever believed
Dwindled through the window
Of a bus bound to nowhere. Until all that was left
Was a collection of smudges on the glass.
Like a dim, shadowed, constellation of stars.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Atlantis


I watch the waves with the sound turned down,
Safe on my sofa, anaesthetised from the drama.
While the News Reporter mouths pleasantries about the disaster.

Meanwhile in the background, out of focus,
The island slowly sinks beneath the surface.
Out of mind, swallowed by the sea.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Where I Begin

photo credit: Isengardt Sleet via photopin (license)

The chill shock of the spring rain
Soaks me to the skin.
To the bones of me;
The place where the I begins.

Rooted in this barren ground
Petrified by the memories,
And the past I have buried within.
For I prayed to hold my mysteries

And take them to my grave.
For what does man have but his sins.
His secret companions in the dark
With the fatal poison of their sting.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Flight of the Moon

photo credit: Luz Adriana Villa A. Noche de luna llena – Full moon night via photopin (license)

Shimmering satellites
Sleep in an unwoken sky.
While primitive thought creeps
Through shattered streets.

Slithering dreams and unkempt memory
Disappear from sight.
Take to the wing.
When at dawn night withers and dies.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Nearly Midnight

photo credit: Daniel Ari Friedman Markov Blanket via photopin (license)

Sickening images puncture the illusions of my dreams
They call it reality. Violence and destruction, as poisonous as it seems
And they call it progress. Raping foreign lands
To plant a flag and claim dominion over minerals buried in the sands.
And they call it evolution, to sift out what is living
Because where’s the profit; when a man in Hong Kong
Is willing to pay a million for a freshly harvested human heart.
They call it economics; cutting down the forests; tearing the Earth apart.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.