photo credit: Tom Wachtel I stopped via photopin (license)
I stopped on the step and stooped to look at my feet. There was something afoot, but it wasn’t me.

A chill breeze caress,
A shiver for midsummer.
A kiss of winter
Walks in out of the moonlight
From no man’s land, takes my hand.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: KrysiaB La la la!!! 8/52 via photopin (license)

Fall or rise I go on.
Like the ebb and flow of the wave
Lit by the light of moon or sun.
I am the note of the lament or the soaring duet.
I cannot be silenced, I sing my song.
Battered and bruised by erosion
I am the mountain, standing tall in the storm;
I go on.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

What We Can Learn

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What can we learn from the silence,
From the absence of the thunder and roar.
From the separation of the sense from the feeling,
The search for a meaning beyond the blue door.

What is the substance of existence,
The warp and the weft, the disparate threads.
Is the heartbeat just a Morse code call to the dying,
This mortal stardust’s flickering dread.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


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All I need is to walk away
From this darkness and disbelief.
To wake up from this dystopian dream
And reinvent my religion of the self.
Setting the wheel to spinning again,
Taking my chances with this
Russian roulette of a life.
For it feels like a revolution
That nobody fought for, but still in which
Everything worth loving got swept away.
The landscape has become a nightmare I don’t recognise
And all I can do is reinvent myself
Leave the wreckage and walk away.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Goodbye, In So Many Words

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Silence stretches into hours
Like taut threads straining in a hurricane
On darkening streets lashed by rain and hail.
A chorus of broken hearts are the storm winds
Howling with tears. Echoing through walls
Aching within the symphony of silence
Of an abandoned home.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: Interior_Photos Imagination via photopin (license)

Can we make ourselves invisible
Let our bodies wither away
And set our souls free.
Eschew the trappings of reality
And dwell instead within.
For while we have this sweet fantasy,
This magical hideaway,
We are safe here forever
From the darkness that waits outside.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: Glassholic Rainbow via photopin (license)

May our differences unite us.
May they be the bricks and the mortar
Of the road that we walk upon.
May they provide us with the tools we will use
As we build a home for the future.
In a world of many colours
Illuminated by only the one sun.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Essential

photo credit: Petri Damstén Anxiety via photopin (license)

I thought I was lost
Separated from what I thought I knew,
From what I thought was certain.
Everything had been turned upside down
By something too small to see.
That has moved through existence
Like a shock wave rearranging the fabric
Of the alternate reality within which I was held prisoner.

But I was just adrift, alone within the room in which I dwell.
Yet still, here, the essence of me.
A viable entity, arms, legs, emotions;
I possess a voice to cry out in the vacuum.
I am motion, I am a vehicle of recovery
Beaten but not broken.
Sheltering from the rain, numb to the pain
A survivor of the storm.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Stealing Home

When I’m gone,
There’ll be no point
Calling me.
For there’ll be no one here.
There’ll be no one hanging on
The line.
No one waiting around
This time.
No, not this time.

For you’ve been stealing my home
Right out from under me.
Torn the foundations apart.
Along with all security,
My heart –
Torn apart.

The walls tumbling down,
Like tears falling to the ground.
And all that is left
Is the ruin of a broken home,
A shattered heart.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: kennethkonica IMG_8998 via photopin (license)

Flower stems bend in the breeze
As they tease sensuously
The fluttering butterflies and dancing bees
That flit in and out of the nectar’s all-consuming embrace.

The warmth of the sun provides the melody
To the meadow lark’s song.
From morning, through noon
Until the twilight’s last hurrah.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.