These Truths Are Mine

photo credit: jeri leandera gazing through time via photopin (license)

An invention,
A creation,
Nothing to see.
An enigma,
An illusion,
A fantasy.
Something
And nothing
A mystery.

The mask
Behind which I hide;
The smile
Behind which I hide;
The wall
I’ve built and
Behind which I hide.

The truth
That cannot be denied.
These lies are mine;
Yes, this is me.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Signal Fires

Day 13 and a poem about the bonds of desire …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Fan.D & Dav.C Photgraphy The eyes are the windows of the soul. via photopin(license)

Your deepest desires
Have undressed me,
Brought me here.
They’ve tied me to your soul
With an ache that won’t let me go.
Restrained by emotions that flame
Eternal, a flame that’ll never be consumed;
Forever burning, on and on.
An inferno dressed in velvet, draped with silk.
Lips parting; tongues of flame.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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I’ll Do the Same for You

For day twelve of my annual review we have a poem about trust and love …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: clabudak 22Sept(1d)Otnaydr via photopin(license)

If I should fall will you catch me.
In your arms will you hold me
Until the morning, through the night.
Will you see me through the hard times.
Will you see that everything’s alright.
Will you walk with me through the storm, stay
By my side.
Will you reach out when I’m not talking,
Will you speak for me if I lose my voice.
Will you soothe my troubled tides.
Will you be my bridge to peace.
Will you stay here until forever
By my side.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Walking On

Day 11 of my annual review and an encouragement to keep moving on, no matter what …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: h.koppdelaney The only Reality via photopin(license)

Don’t stop, or look around
Don’t let emotion slow you down.
Keep moving honey,
Ignore the laughter of the clowns.

Don’t let the distractions
Distract you from your goal
Or break the rhythm of your steps.
For you’ve come so far

But there is still so far to go.
Don’t let the headwinds
Cry havoc with your mind
And never stop being kind to yourself.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Unknown

Today is Remembrance Sunday here in the UK when we remember those who have died in conflicts during the twentieth and twenty-first century. Here is a poem from last November about the importance of remembrance …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Richard Walker Photography Poppy Field via photopin(license)

Will it be remembered?
In a hundred years more.
Will my grave have fallen
Into despair.
Will they remember how I left
With hope in my eyes, shouting
“I’ll be home for Christmas”.

Will they remember
The mud,
The shrapnel,
The blood
And the cries.
Will they remember the fallen,
The pointless waste of young lives.
Will you remember the place where I died?
 

© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Ghost at the Wake

Day nine of my review of the last twelve months and a poem about the completeness that comes with being trapped in a place that you don’t want to escape from …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Francisco (PortoPortugal) Fantasma / Ghost via photopin All rights reserved by the author

Let me wrap you in silence,
A calmness complete.
Chains made of feather,
In happiness replete.
Let me wash you in an ocean
Wave after wave
Of azure, affectionate love.

Let me make you my obsession
I’ll remain tied to the mast.
You will be my moment
No more future or past.
I’ll be sated, all sensation
Will mean nothing to me.
I’ll be blinded, only you will I see.

 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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The Visitor

For the eighth November, we have a poem about how nature can suddenly remind you that as humans we are just so small and insignificant.

Made of sticks and stones

The sunlight wavers
As clouds scud low
Above the surface of the moor.
A scarred moonscape it seems to me
But what do I know,
For my body no longer feels like my own.
Wind eddies swirl
Alien emotions wash over me;
I’m think this is my planet
Just not my home.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Carthage

Day 7 reviewing my posts of the last twelve months and a poem about the baggage we carry with us as we make our way through life …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Andrew Gibson. The View via photopin(license)

All I have inherited are the faults
That one generation passes on to the next.
I had the intention to succeed, I could have manufactured something true.
But my good deeds were carried out in the wrong context.
My sins are like grains of sand, a maelstrom
Of crimes and misdemeanours, wound tight about my bones.

While my spirit cries out to the fathomless vacuum of the night
About an exile from a home it’s never known.
About how I was the steward of all the darkness that my forefathers shared with me.
And I bear the tribal wounds as badges of pride. All the ancient resentments. The miscellany of faults.
Yet this land could have prospered if I could have shed the shackles of the past.
But instead I sowed fresh seeds in this soil cried out from my own…

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Moon Eye

Day six of my review of the last twelve months and a poem about a long distance relationship …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Rodrigo_Soldon alvorada via photopin(license)

Moon ‘I’ floating on a sea of clouds –
Greeting the fire that waits just beyond the horizon.
I leave the watch of my Midnight Ones to you
O child of flame, my fierce burning son.
I glimpse your restless desire
From across the depths of heaven

That fate decrees should break my heart, asunder.
I forever in the shadow of the passion
That gives your hours their meaning.
Bearer of my hopes and fears I give breath to you
That break the silence of the dark with unblemished light;
As I lay down my head, and close my eyes to dream.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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This Will Be the Moment (New Year Breaking)

Day five of my review of the year and a poem about making your voice heard …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: h.koppdelaney Empty Cage via photopin(license)

This will be the day
This’ll be the moment
I’m breaking these bonds,
Tearing down these cages.

This will be the hour,
To the very second.
I’ll open my mouth,
For the first time
You’ll hear me rage

Shouting from the rooftops.
Gonna shed these shackles.
Kicking over holy idles.
Tumbling your truths
Down into the dust.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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