The Deaths

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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!

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Libretto

I

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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.

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Entropy

photo credit: My Son’s Halloween Costume via photopin (license)

When I was a child
I moved at the speed of light.
Like the Big Bang packaged into a cowboy costume,
Infinite energy, perpetual motion.

Now that I’m older, I am slower.
Like that mechanical bunny I’m still banging my drum
But with battery running down,
A little tatty and grey at the edges.

Then when I am old, I will just be,
I will stay where you wheel me
As long as you apply the brake.

Until one day I will wind down
To that inevitability
All energy spent, skin paper thin and grey,
Absolute zero, last breath.

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But
Between now and then
There’s still a life to be lived
And while I might have put away some childish things
There’s no reason I can’t still laugh;
Enjoy life like a kid.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 22 August 2015 Edited 16 July 2016

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Storm in a Teacup

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)

 © 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A Little Less

photo credit: Dusty, Cloudy Libya via photopin (license)

A little less
Than it was before.
Ravaged by wind and time
Worn away by tides.
Until only memory
And dust remains.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Bones

Day 10

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: autumn leafs via photopin(license)

The bones know a secret.

They hold a sacred trust.

They heard it from the birds.

Who carried it from the trees.

Who heard a whisper

From a passing wind

That had come from across the sea.

But the bones won’t talk about it,

They’ll take the secret to the grave.

Where they will lie in silence

Until the end of days.

photo credit: Keeping up with the bones via photopin(license)

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Bones

photo credit: autumn leafs via photopin (license)

The bones know a secret.

They hold a sacred trust.

They heard it from the birds.

Who carried it from the trees.

Who heard a whisper

From a passing wind

That had come from across the sea.

But the bones won’t talk about it,

They’ll take the secret to the grave.

Where they will lie in silence

Until the end of days.

photo credit: Keeping up with the bones via photopin (license)

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.