The End of the Echo

Sounds recede and then
Only silence remains.
Only silence and pain.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Flood Tide

Day 20 and here we have a poem about obsession …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: amsterdamfan My Own Insanity via photopin(license)

If we should drown
Then we should drown together.
If these emotions should overwhelm.
If these waves should overturn,
Should capsize this flimsy craft.
Send me down to Davy Jones.

If the Arctic current of an icy sea
Should wrap its frigid limbs about the fragility of me.
I ask no more than to stretch out my hand
To feel my fingers entwined with yours.
To know, that we will go down together.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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The Feels

Day nineteen of my review of the year and a poem about the unbridled power of strong emotions …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Josu Sein VUESTRAS SILUETAS (TRIÁNGULO DE AMOR BIZARRO) via photopin(license)

Hit me in the feels,
hit me where it hurts.
Make me fall in love
or fall apart.

photo credit: Omegapepper “Bedroom” via photopin(license)

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Knowhere

Day eighteen of my review of the last twelve months and a poem about life and the changes it can bring …

Made of sticks and stones

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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These Truths Are Mine

photo credit: jeri leandera gazing through time via photopin (license)

An invention,
A creation,
Nothing to see.
An enigma,
An illusion,
A fantasy.
Something
And nothing
A mystery.

The mask
Behind which I hide;
The smile
Behind which I hide;
The wall
I’ve built and
Behind which I hide.

The truth
That cannot be denied.
These lies are mine;
Yes, this is me.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Where I Begin

Day seventeen of my review of the last year and a poem from may musing on the nature of existence …

Made of sticks and stones

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.

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Flight of the Moon

Day sixteen of my review of the last twelve months and a poem from May about what is probably my all time favourite subject for poetry, that draws me back time after time …

Made of sticks and stones

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.

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The Missing Pieces

Day fifteen and a poem for the missing pieces …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Vortexas32 IMG_2625 via photopin(license)

The silhouette still hides the soul.
The target can blind you
To the meaning of the goal.
And the missing pieces make you forget
How complete is your imperfect whole.

Though you may shatter, curse yourself
With seven years of bad luck
Pick yourself up. Ask for a little help.
Remember riches are weighed
In more than just their value as wealth.

All blessings glitter, not only silver and gold.
What is the day, without the night.
What is the warmth, without some cold.
What is the smile if not watered by a single tear.
What am I if separated from this troubled soul.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Clay

Day fourteen of my review of the last twelve months and a poem from April about human potential and adaptability …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: eleda 1 Guess the movie???? via photopin(license)

I cannot contain this existence
Within a single soul
A unified whole
When I do not know
Where these wings will take me
Or if the footsteps of the future
Will shake the ground from beneath my feet
If the environment will force me to transform
Into something different
Shocking
Luminous
Brand new
So do not ask me
Where I have come from
For how can I know
For the past has changed me
I am different than I was then
And I may change once again

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Signal Fires

Day 13 and a poem about the bonds of desire …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Fan.D & Dav.C Photgraphy The eyes are the windows of the soul. via photopin(license)

Your deepest desires
Have undressed me,
Brought me here.
They’ve tied me to your soul
With an ache that won’t let me go.
Restrained by emotions that flame
Eternal, a flame that’ll never be consumed;
Forever burning, on and on.
An inferno dressed in velvet, draped with silk.
Lips parting; tongues of flame.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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