photo credit: Bruna Pregnolatto Sobre o projeto: A thousand whispers. via photopin (license)
I can’t offer you the world
If that is what you are after.
I can’t go chasing dragons
Or find the meaning of the shadows.
For all I have is my failings,
My pedestrian disasters.
The beatings of my heart
And these whispered flights of fancy.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Honey, I want your love to flow,
Despite the great divide.
The difference in space and time
That separates heart from heart.
That keep different rhythms,
Roll to different beats.
But still, shake with the passions
That flow thickly in this summer heat.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
I look up at your window, the curtains closed,
And wonder if you are sleeping,
Wonder if you are dreaming of me.
Do I ever cross your mind
As I wait out here in the shadows.
Do you even remember the moments
We have shared and how I declared
My undying devotion.
Or have you consigned me to the past,
To a land of lost content.
To a realm of mist and forgetfulness
And half-remembered kisses.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
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.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 29 March 2017
photo credit: Surrealismo: El rostro oculto via photopin (license)
What if the places where it began,
Burned up,
Burned down to the ground.
What if the people who once cheered,
Began plotting,
Baying for blood.
What if the angels, the heavenly host,
Were the demons,
Inside my skull.
What if the sky
Came crashing down,
Swallowing me whole.
What if the fever, seeps through the walls,
No safe spaces,
Just cages for all.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 26 May 2016
photo credit: Thru My Shutter The Tango Dancer with her Dance Muse via photopin (license)
The scent of you alive on the breeze
The memory of your touch.
The rhythm of your voice
Is the music I imagine I hear
In the rustling sway of the leaves on the trees.
Light dances over the rippling water
As intoxicating as a dream,
But your smile is all I see.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: The eye of the fox via photopin (license)
A dot on the TV screen
Disappearing into infinity,
The lights blinking out.
4am, insomnia rules.
Outside the closed curtain
The fox roams the street alone
As the approaching dawn
Creeps closer. The night time is ending
A new day is descending.
Skeletal hands squeeze tighter
Around the throat of the world,
The dark breathes its last.
Fox scuttles away for the shelter of the shadows
A nocturnal creature immune to the lure
Of the beckoning day.
The great pretending that awaits
My sleepless body.
I think of the fox asleep in her den
As I splash ice water onto my face
Washing away the pretence of sleep from my eyes.
How happy for her
To escape into the earth
Away from the pain exposed
To the scrutiny of the sun.
The make-believe world of the insomniac
Of having to say “I’m okay”, when I’m not.
When I know if I could only sleep
There’d be a chance I could dream this pain away.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 9 September 2016
The streets are sorry now,
Bleeding colours in the night.
Streetlights and cobbled paths,
Laughter and footstep heartbeats,
Fading as the city weeps.
photo credit: STREETWORKS 10 via photopin (license)
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 27 June 2016
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.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 26 April 2017
Whatever words were spoken
Had been lost in translation.
Their meanings reduced to static,
Only the hiss of interference.
Sentiments mislaid, frozen in the ether
And to history bequeathed.
I ask for forgiveness,
Yet it is I that had been deceived.
Yet we no longer share a language
In which to negotiate recompense.
There are only misunderstandings left,
The result of this sign language.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
