Summer Blues

Day 23 of my review of the last twelve months, and a reminder for those in the northern hemisphere that it isn’t always this cold…

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Lefkada by night via photopin (license) photo credit: Lefkada by night via photopin(license)

Blue notes cry
From inside the bar
Out across the bay.
The summer heat
About to break,
As thunder calls
On the rain
To wash the streets.
To sweep away
The worries of the everyday,
That never touch
This foreign shore
This island floating
In impossibility.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Dirty Deity

photo credit: azproduction Fire Keeper via photopin (license)

photo credit: azproduction Fire Keeper via photopin (license)

Snatches of song.
When are you coming home?

Sojourns in love
Hand-in-hand, in glove.
Ecstasy and echoes,
Last chance, last throw.
That kiss; a summer game.
That always ends the same.
I walk away
You let me go.
I want to stay
But I don’t know
The words I want to hear
And what it is I fear.
Is it love’s demands;
Deep waters; shifting sand.

Snatches of song
I hear again.
Or passion and thunder.
I fear the flood begins
With this single drop;
Becomes never ending reign.
And I’ll lose sight of land.

Take me under
Hold my hand.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Summer Blues

 

Blue notes cry
From inside the bar
Out across the bay.
The summer heat
About to break,
As thunder calls
On the rain
To wash the streets.
To sweep away
The worries of the everyday,
That never touch
This foreign shore
This island floating
In impossibility.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The usual suspect

photo credit: KRI 2013 via photopin (license)

photo credit: KRI 2013 via photopin (license)

I’ll rob a bank
You can be my alibi.

My getaway,
Partner in crime.

 © 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 11 May 2015

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Half a world away

Day 21: & a late substitute, which I wanted to share for no better reason than I came across a poem I had forgotten and it asked to be shared again.
Yes worrying, my poems are talking to me.

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Redscape via photopin (license) photo credit: Redscape via photopin(license)

In an hour we could be sixty miles away.

Tomorrow we could be in France

Or on a plane to Mumbai,

Half a world away from here.

Let’s have an adventure, a fiesta, a new start.

So come on take my hand

Let’s leave our troubles behind and escape.

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Half a world away

photo credit: Redscape via photopin (license)

photo credit: Redscape via photopin (license)

In an hour we could be sixty miles away.

Tomorrow we could be in France

Or on a plane to Mumbai,

Half a world away from here.

Let’s have an adventure, a fiesta, a new start.

So come on take my hand

Let’s leave our troubles behind and escape.

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Resolution Revolution

window

Looking out the window

Living in a dream

Of the days

Of future/past.

Looking out the window

Working on a plan,

The escape tunnel,

Get rich scheme.

Looking out the window

Searching for the sun Continue reading