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.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 19 November 2017
Day 29 and a poem looking on the bright side of cooler days and inclement weather …
photo credit: Natalia Medd It’s getting cooler every day ) via photopin(license)
The rustle of leaves beneath my feet,
The soft pitter-pat of raindrops on the window.
The post-equinox sun who can barely bother to rise
But dazzles so bright that her light leaves me blind.
The chill of the evening that means I reach for a sweater,
The inclement weather that forces me home
To curl up with you.
This is the glory that comes with the fall
This is the song sung by sweet autumn.
These are the memories I hold in my heart
When winter takes hold and extinguishes the light.
Not of your ending, but how you blazed
With unique beauty and life.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Natalia Medd It’s getting cooler every day ) via photopin (license)
The rustle of leaves beneath my feet,
The soft pitter-pat of raindrops on the window.
The post-equinox sun who can barely bother to rise
But dazzles so bright that her light leaves me blind.
The chill of the evening that means I reach for a sweater,
The inclement weather that forces me home
To curl up with you.
This is the glory that comes with the fall
This is the song sung by sweet autumn.
These are the memories I hold in my heart
When winter takes hold and extinguishes the light.
Not of your ending, but how you blazed
With unique beauty and life.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Javier Díaz Barrera (javierdiazbarrera.es) Últimos rayos del sol de verano via photopin (license)
The sun has a special intensity this time of year
As if she knows that if she did not shine today:
A “if not now, then when” mentality
To squeeze every last ounce of romance
From this brief affair, before she is gone
And we are alone with harsh winter, again.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
This is the forgotten time
Before the fall
That solemn quietude
After the revellers have returned
To their homes.
Before autumn blazes
In a cavalcade of colours
That signify a multitude
Of tiny silent deaths.
This forgotten time
Of the first chill,
Before the real chill
Envelops us in its breath.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Day 28 of my review of the last twelve months and a poem about the fragility of life …
photo credit: Natalia Medd It’s getting cooler every day ) via photopin(license)
Butterfly flutters
In the early autumn sun,
Holding on to life.
When forever is just a day
Every wingbeat matters.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: stimpsonjake In Our Upside-Down World via photopin (license)
Why is the rain cold,
What does the sky contain
For us, is it the future foretold.
Is the sun up there
Swaddled in blankets of cloud.
Does the sun care, has it departed.
Is it a stone hearted deserter
Run away from our worries,
Our directionless scurry. Back and forth,
Avoiding individual raindrops
But drenched by the downpour.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Natalia Medd It’s getting cooler every day ) via photopin (license)
Butterfly flutters
In the early autumn sun,
Holding on to life.
When forever is just a day
Every wingbeat matters.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
The petals are falling,
The leaf turns brown,
Seems the world is dying
As the rain comes down.
This illusion is over
It could never last,
With a garland of roses for the loser
Forever summer has past.
I feel the world is drowning.
On and on, the rain falls down.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Film #swap with Amy Chu via photopin (license)
I’m lost
To the four winds,
Scattered ashes,
Windblown leaves on an autumn breeze.
Longing to be a memory that makes it
Through the darkness of this dying season
That’s forever haunting me.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
