Reckless

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I cannot control the rage sometimes.
The rage that burns me up inside sometimes,
Twisting my gut, shaking my sanity.
This anger that threatens to consume me sometimes;
Burning recklessly out of control.
Until there is nothing left
And I loathe the power it has over me.
Yet sometimes all I want is to let it take hold,
Let the fire take it all.
 
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 13 December 2018

From the Belly of the Beast

photo credit: C Searle Vortex 3 via photopin (license)

I have a strange, uneasy feeling,
A tsunami of emotion
Raining down on me.
A love/hate thing
Tearing me apart.
From the inside,
From the depths
Deep within the dark.
A wave of shadow –
Creature from my subterranean soul –
My other self, this unquiet heart.

© 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.

I Can’t Write Anymore

The title of this post may sound brutal but, then, the title isn’t exactly true either. Yet it is what I have been telling myself pretty frequently over the last couple of months.
Usually, it involves looking at an empty page, flinging my arms skyward, cursing, before exclaiming “I can’t write anymore”, “I’ve lost the words” or something similar.
During this time I’ve only written two poems and I wrote hardly anything poetic during September. Well, I wrote one poem during the month but at most no matter how many times I read it I could only categorise it as inoffensive. I can’t feel any more enthusiastic about the words than that. My response to my own work is lukewarm. I apocalyptically opine that I have been deserted by my Muse. Though I occasionally think I can hear her laughing behind my back as I stare at the flashing cursor on the naked flesh of the computer screen.
But then this is what I do. I always used to resent the time I spent writing poetry while I was trying to keep up my daily word count in my fiction writing. It took me a while to accept that I needed to have the creative escape hatch of writing a poem unconnected to the story universe I was writing in while I figured out the problems within the fiction. Sometimes though I used to write a poem connected to the fiction, cementing the atmosphere of a story location in my mind or allowing a character a chance to express themselves outside the restrictive form of sentences, paragraphs and chapters.
But still, in my mind, it was only sentences, paragraphs and chapters that mattered when it came to word count. And a lack of word count was one of my favourite things to beat myself up with as a writer.
To that end can writers not share on social media messages such as “… written 5k words today, best day ever whoop, whoop… ” or complaining “… 11 am and have only written three chapters so far today… ”. Because I can’t relate with that, the more relatable message for me would be “… really pleased, with today’s score Chocolate Biscuits eaten 7, Words Written 8 …”. That’s the sort of message that resonates with me.
Yes, I’m very happy with the chapters that I have managed to write during September and October. I’m especially pleased with the opening sentence of one particular chapter …

… yet I stress myself over my lack of output when I need to look at my creativity more holistically.
I know I need to be kind to myself, yes quite a lot of the time my creativity, the poetry especially, comes out of the stresses and anxieties within my life. But if I focus too much on the negatives I risk shutting out all the other avenues of creativity for occasionally I write about sunlight and warm feelings. Too much darkness will only lead me into a dead-end of zero creation. Word-count is not my friend because I know I need time away from one creative coal-face occasionally to recharge my batteries. And finally if I wake up in the morning and write five-hundred words relating to a completely separate project in a storm of creativity that is because that is the strand of my subconscious that wants to communicate at that moment, I shouldn’t try to silence it and having ideas on one topic can lead to more ideas in time on other projects as long as I am patient with myself, because I need to make-believe. And I need chocolate biscuits too but that is a separate story.

© 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.

I Will Not Go Down

“there is a crack in everything,

that is how the light gets in.”

Leonard Cohen

I will not go down,
These depths must be the deepest.
While this darkness is at its completest
I will hold fast. I will make a spark.
I will last out until dawn.
Until I can feel the warmth and the light
And this body becomes real to me again.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Internal Combustion

photo credit: Claudio Marinangeli OKIMG_9199 via photopin (license)

This engine power always
Fails me at the wrong time,
Just as I reach the hardest part of the climb.
When the destination is almost in sight,
Beyond the next incline, around the next bend.
So far, I have done everything right,
So it seems. I have come much farther than before, after all.
But still, here am I marooned so near to the end
When I have almost earned my reward. To see the place with the clearest view.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Vertigo

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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.

Deep Rooted

photo credit: Stanisław Krawczyk abstract 1 via photopin (license)

This lethargy roots me to the ground,

Ties me down. Anchors me here

Unable to escape these mistakes.

Forces me to watch as the drama unfolds

Like leaves on a tree in the first light of spring.

 

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Breaking Through

For the 10 November here is a poem about the anxious mind and keeping hope alive …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Jason A. Samfield The Absences of Light via photopin(license)

The grey clouds swirl around my mind
Like a million dark thought butterflies.
A cascade of believings before the facts
Chasing me through this subconscious realm
Up and down these roads, to hell and back.
Making me forget to look up occasionally
To see that the clouds do break
The sky here and there.
And in the distance through the haze,
A hint of blue is sneaking through,
To remind me that better days are coming soon.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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