Pauper’s Grave

Day 21 of my review of the last 12 months and a poem about perspectives …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Mabacam What’s My Next Move? via photopin(license)

Can you hear me?
Does this emotion make a sound.
If I drop a pebble in the ocean
Will it make my father proud?
Is this disconnectedness
Our common ground.
Is this losing streak
The change in luck we need.
Is this the seed, the beginning
Of the final act, my friend.
Will I get the signal through
The interference. Will the DJ play
My dedication across the dying ground today.
What if the perspective shifts
And what was hidden
Becomes plain to see,
And what was visible
Starts to disappear,
Drowning beneath the waves.
Rifle loaded, target acquired
In the crosshairs for a headshot again
And only those from the dead ground will be saved.
Can you hear me?
Does this emotion make a sound.
Is all that remains just shadow
And dust and memory.
With every heartbeat counting…

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Nothing to Declare

Day 20 and a poem about perception …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: h.koppdelaney Observer via photopin(license)

Reaching out for something
As if it might be
Poisoned, the antidote
Is not getting you through.
Just tied up in the wires
As they tighten the screw.
No one is fighting for you.
The desires are passion crimes
And nothing will get you through.

Searching for anything;
Most holy last orders
With spirits at the bar.
Making confessions
As fast as you can
But it won’t save you.
Reality is bruising,
The ghost don’t believe in you,
And nothing is an illusion.

Holding on to nothing
As if it’s a lifebelt,
That’s going to save
You from calling out –
But nobody’s listening,
It’s a pointless wish list.
Nobody is breaking through.
The mirrors are all one way,
Nothing is echoing back to you.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Pulsar

photo credit: KJ Photographie ***** via photopin (license)

Travelling seventy miles a second
As sunlight explodes through the trees.
Wind fire blowing through the neurons
Carried on the autumn breeze.
And it’s good to be alive,
Blood pulsing, raining fire,
As the journey flies beneath the wheels.
With the trees as golden as desire,
Roadside sentinels, as my chariot drives me.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Wildflower

Day 19 and a poem from June, and I was obviously in the mood for giving out advice when this one was written …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: garryknight Uranium Geranium via photopin(license)

Be a wildflower in a garden of roses.
When one door closes
Kick another one open.
Be little girl, whatever you want to be.

Be a daredevil on a tightrope,
A beacon of hope,
The last rays over stormy seas.
Be little girl, whatever you want to be.

Be a dancer without any music.
And if you dance to a tune
Make sure that you choose it.
Be little girl, whatever you want to be.

Be a horse galloping free.
Running wild, kicking up dust,
Trust yourself, do what you must.
Be little girl, whatever you want to be.

Be a wildflower in a garden of roses.
Be your own kind, something new –
Rambling free wherever you choose.
Be little girl, whatever you want to be.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Lover’s Steps

Day 18 of my review of the last 12 months and we have a poem about moments …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: ulisse albiati A picture of Dorian Gray via photopin(license)

Belly laughs and lover’s steps
Upon the stairs,
Emotional devotion.
Sentences intertwined like limbs,
In the chaos of calming breath;
The aftermath.
Stillness
Conspires with the electricity
Of touch.
This aftermath
With sheets disarranged, soliloquy of destruction –
Is this the scene of crime or a passion play,
Where husks of human flesh lay spent.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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The Sea and the Stars

Day 17 of my review of the last 12 months and a poem about one of my favourite locations the sea …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Vitor Pina Dancing with the waves via photopin(license)

The drama of the sea keeps calling to me,
The wild rugged coast threatens to hug me in close.

With the crash of her waves and spray in my face
The sea could reach out her arms
And enfold me within, offer me balm.

As up the siren creeps and carries me down deep,
To the dead calms beyond light of the stars.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Waiting for The Elation

Day 16 and here is today’s contribution “Waiting For The Elation”

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Silentmind8 _D3S9110-2 via photopin(license)

Waiting,
Forever waiting
For the elation
You promised to bring.
The promise you made
To pay the bearer
Of this broken heart.
I didn’t want diamonds,
Never asked for money or gold
For they won’t keep me safe from the cold,
But you promised a kiss.

But you left me
Waiting,
Forever waiting
For the elation
You promised to bring.
Waiting for you
To pay the bearer
Of this broken heart
With a kiss.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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A Theory of Everything

Day 15 and some musings on the universe

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: new 1lluminati naked singularity via photopin(license)

The world is always going to let you down.
That’s what gravity is
Millennia of disappointment
Tying people to the ground.

The stars don’t know why they are shining;
The planets don’t know where they are going,
They haven’t got a clue,
They’re just wandering round and round

And round and round.
Restless nomads stumbling blindly in the dark,
Fumbling for enlightenment, for meaning,
Unaware of what surrounds.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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All is Well

Day 14 and a contribution from my storytelling blog. That particular blog On The Broken Road has been rather quiet over the last year as most of my story rather than poetry efforts have been focused on a larger fiction project. This is in addition to battling to complete my poetry collection Wreckage and my academic endeavours. This is why I really admire all of you attempting NaPoWriMo (and succeeding I hope) for not only having the belief in your ability to write that number of words but also sticking to the one project. Because while I am getting much better at completing drafts of stories and poems, I can never guarantee I’ll be working on the same thing two days in a row. To prove it here is a poem based on a character and location from a story.

On the Broken Road

photo credit: Michelle Hebert | Art & Fashion 2008. Menacing Garden via photopin(license)

I’m a coffee addict and a guilty pleasure for me is to sit in a coffee shop relaxing. I usually try to justify this downtime by doing some work while I’m there.

Today I was actually meant to be revising for an exam though (which is another story). I could not settle though, perhaps I was too much on tenterhooks waiting for an expected phone call to concentrate but the study juices were not flowing. So I put down my text book and picked up the story that began here as Watchers. I have written before about the combination of caffeine and creativity (Misbehaving) but today for some reason I could not seem to get up and running.

When Watchers first started it came over to me at least that the writing was direct and…

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Make-Believers

Day 13 and a poem of thanks to all the wonderful creative people out there …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: donnierayjones Thinking Inside the Box via photopin(license)

To the pretenders,
The make-believers,
The dresser-uppers,
The dreamers,
This goes out to you.
The singers,
The poets,
The actors,
The writers,
For making dreams come true.
Those artists
And dancers
Making it up,
Making believe it’s come true.
To everyone out there, thank you.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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