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.

Say Something Simple

photo credit: Alex Hiam MeadowWalk-Barn1 via photopin (license)

Say something simple
In words of one syllable,
Don’t blind me with science
Just tell me the truth.
For this mystery divine
Don’t run around me with rhyme
Just put it simply,
Just tell me the truth.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 21 June 2018


photo credit: d6v1d Tiger & Turtle via photopin (license)

I want to be in a steady state
Once in a while.
To take a break from the up and down,
The rollercoaster of fear and forgotten dreams
And shattered plans. Once in a while.

Not taking it all lying down.
Not a unicycle loop the loop
But a steady state at a steady rate
Not speeding up and slowing down
On a steep incline through life.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 22 September 2017

Creating Waves


Be like the river,
Be like the sea,
You’ve got to keep moving
If you want to be free.

 © 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 2 May 2017


photo credit: Nullfy from! Ring Of Power! via photopin (license)

Balance can be achieved.
For those with balance, I have seen.
Yet there is no balance in me.
They say balance can be found
In the sound of a babbling brook,
Or in the infinitude of silence
In the night between the stars.
They say balance can be reached
By striding out taking a few easy steps.
By taking a few gentle, calming breaths.
By reaching out, taking hold of Your hand.
Yet still, I’m falling,
Though I never reach the ground.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: Bee via photopin (license)

photo credit: Bee via photopin (license)

The bee dances
To signal the hive
Where they may find

Everything and nothing for

Says the dance.

© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

30 November 2015

Where did it All Go Wrong?

Older doesn’t necessarily mean wiser

Gruesomeness Warning (Clicking on the Link Reveals a Colour Picture of the Adult Me)   

Here we are as promised my poetry collection has been published and is available via Amazon for Kindle and as a paperback. I am really pleased with the look of the Kindle version and the mere existence of a physical book I have written, though it does feel a little like an out-of-body experience holding a book filled with my own words. I would describe it as pleasantly freaky!

Anyway here is a link to the book Wreckage hope you enjoy it.

Thank you all for your kind words and support on the blog over the last three and a bit years I really wouldn’t have wanted to do it without you all.

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Alchemical Reactivity


© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

It is fitting that I came across this old blog post (originally posted 18 May 2015) now just as I am releasing my first poetry collection. As it was the first announcement on the blog of that goal. Back then I believed I’d have it released before the end of 2015 and I also intended to have some short stories included in the collection too – well both the timescale and the structure have morphed over time.

Part of the reason it changed and became all poetry was the vain hope that once I’d completed it I would have got all this poetry/feelings nonsense out of my system. A vain hope indeed – despite my continued assertion that ‘I am not a poet. I am a human being’.

It has taken so long either due to perfection or anal retentiveness. I’ll leave it to others to decide which of those two is the most dominant trait in my personality.

What I can say is back many years ago when I first thought one day I will write a book I intended to dedicate it to  ‘The Detractors, Doubters and Critics’ with the epithet ‘Fuck You’. But what I have come to realise was that the No. 1 detractor and critic of my work was me myself.

So the book’s dedication is now a far more positive statement and directed to a far worthier group of people. Because in the end the self-criticism was self-defeating and my harshest critics out in the real world are not the audience this collection is intended for. Because whether this shifts one copy or a million I am proud of my work. It is not perfect, but then it does not have to be.


Now here is the original post Ode to Ode Writing from way back in 2015:

Ode to Ode Writing

I am not a poet

I’ve decided to put together a collection of stories and poems; hopefully it’ll be ready to go some time later this year. But that is not the point of this post.

The real point is, when did I succumb to this poem writing infection and even to start aspiring to be a poet.

It’s kind of embarrassing isn’t it, this feelings malarkey, if I am writing fiction I at least get to put all the slushy stuff in the mouths of a character. Poetry doesn’t allow me that luxury, most of the time. The majority of the poems I have written, appear to me, as honest reflections of who I am.

I was originally going to call this post “Bungee Jumping” but I’m not sure there is a rope attached to my legs when I ready myself, pen in hand, to jump into the abyss.

Scary isn’t it?


© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.



Of Grace


photo credit: Holly Norval Lifted by the light via photopin (license)

A momentary feeling
Of grace in the chaos,
Of calmness despite
This slow descent
Into catastrophe.
Just a glimpse
Into another universe
Like a stumbled upon path,
An oasis of plenty
In the forest,
Appearing out of the mist
On an April morning.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


UN-Living is Easy

I could un-live in unison
With all those dwelling down holes.
Lost within the rhythm of the swamp
Unwilling to swallow the poison
Offered by the medicine man.
Staying trapped inside the wheel,
The eighteen ’til seventy-five comfort
Of a paycheck and a pain deep in the gut,
And the bitter acceptance that the boss
Really does get paid to know less than me.

 © 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

 One of these mornings
You’re going to rise up singing
Then you’ll spread your wings
And take to the sky
Summertime, Porgy & Bess