The silence of the scream,
Lungs bursting, roiling,
Maelstrom escaping.
I cannot connect
Back into the disconnection.
The static’s code provides no illumination.
Just darkness enveloping me. Floating,
Electrifying, frightening,
Gravity weakening; slowly
Atoms disintegrating.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Edward Zulawski Wet Ballet via photopin (license)
This summer romance. This dance of light.
Must cease with the approach of night.
With the music of the seasons’ subtle change,
We must take the hand of a different lover
For the rhythm insists that our partner changes.
For while the wind does rage
And skies hang heavy with autumn rains
We will remember that this music will come again.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: mugley wet purple dawn #2 via photopin (license)
The memory fades away like the rain
Or a dream upon waking.
Just a dream, even a dream of pain;
Its shadow will pass
No matter the length of the shadow cast.
It dissipates as the dawn breaks
And the sun rises even against the moon’s will.
Yes the world goes spinning on
Despite all the tears cried against the tide,
Motion wins still.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 10 December 2017
photo credit: Tortured Mind Dark alleys of Xibalba via photopin (license)
Plumbing the deaths
Falling to pieces,
This virus
Infecting us all.
This entropy
Interconnectivity
Escaping my soul.
This sickness
Modern madness
Crime waves
Pandemic
In the DNA
Of society –
About to tumble
And fall.
The faceless
And the faithless,
Mood music
To soundtrack
The riot.
Choreographing the violence
Over and over
Until we get it right.
Or we forget what’s right,
Loosening our grip on reality
The will to fight.
To all that is left is this decay,
Neurons misfiring
And demons crying
Over and over,
Until you get on your knees and pray.
For the seizures to free your soul
Or the inevitability;
The deaths to conquer us all.
Quote from ‘High Rise’ by JG Ballard. Art ‘ The Music from the Balconies’ by Edward Ruscha. Photo by me!
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 20 April 2017
photo credit: notte de la luna via photopin (license)
All of this is butterfly bones,
These hopes, these dreams.
It consists of tears
Lost in a cloudburst.
photo credit: Blue butterfly via photopin (license)
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 8 April 2016
photo credit: leavingorbit Waning crescent (2%) via photopin (license)
Spinning in the infinite
Shining forever, but always
You die. Resurrection
Is not an option,
Only entropy.
The slow descent,
Decaying orbit,
Dragging you downward
Towards a black hole
Of your own making.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Day 27 and a poem about being small and inconsequential …
photo credit: translator, artist, Renaissance scholar The Baroque poet G. B. Marino as Dorian Gray via photopin(license)
The wheel is set spinning
And the future becomes the past.
The fates have decided blindly
If destiny should treat you kindly,
If your innocence should last.
But if the universe has an underpinning,
If there is but one golden rule,
It is that the gods play dice with you.
In the end you can never win
Because whatever strategy you choose
They’ve seen it all before
They’ve predicted every score.
Because heads they win, tails you lose.
The scales of justice have weighed your every sin.
For the gods take pleasure in being cruel.
Beware for the game is rigged when the gods play dice with you.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: translator, artist, Renaissance scholar The Baroque poet G. B. Marino as Dorian Gray via photopin (license)
The wheel is set spinning
And the future becomes the past.
The fates have decided blindly
If destiny should treat you kindly,
If your innocence should last.
But if the universe has an underpinning,
If there is but one golden rule,
It is that the gods play dice with you.
In the end you can never win
Because whatever strategy you choose
They’ve seen it all before
They’ve predicted every score.
Because heads they win, tails you lose.
The scales of justice have weighed your every sin.
For the gods take pleasure in being cruel.
Beware for the game is rigged when the gods play dice with you.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Breath …
In … out …
Within the deep of the night,
The living heart of a life …
The weeping fragments …
Lost masterpiece of a dream …
Until a switch is flipped.
Support is withdrawn …
And they turn out the light.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
I
photo credit: Historias Visuales Viajera silenciosa via photopin (license)
I may have the words
But the music has escaped from me.
I may know the steps
But the dance has left my feet.
I may have had you once
But that was another day,
Another picture of decay.
II
Metamorphosis:
Say something else, before voices flee
Running timid from
Reality. Bleeding on these streets
For the word crimes. Passionate
Execution of the grey
And the virgin’s vision – decay.
photo credit: zeitfaenger.at Teatro abbandonato via photopin (license)
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
