These Ships

photo credit: Immagini 2&3D The Land of the Brian Boru via photopin (license)

These ships are sailing
Leaving behind everything we’ve ever known.
The lights, the familiar sights are receding,
Departures sadness as the horizon
Hides us from home.

These boats,
These boats we are burning.
For these bones will not be buried
Beneath the turf of our island home.

The surf and the waves
And the storms on the seas,
And the funnel cloud of infernal steam.
Take me away,
Borne away from where I long to be.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 23 January 2018

I Was Different Then

I used to love her
But that was then,
That was a different life,
A different circumstance.

That was when someone else
Held the strings
And I danced on
To someone else’s song.

My fate was controlled
My future was not my own,
A dice throw and happenstance
Outside of my control.

But now I take my chance
Out here on my own
Where freedom isn’t a delusion,
Not a bargaining chip

Illusion, bought and sold.
I used to love her
But that was yesterday
And yesterday is gone.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 17 August 2016

Hiraeth

hiraeth:
(n) A deep, wistful, nostalgic sense of longing for home;
a home that is no longer or perhaps never was.

photo credit: Silent House via photopin (license)

photo credit: Silent House via photopin (license)

This is not the place
Where the river flows
Rerouted to a moment of déjà vu
Over some other town.
Where the leaves were a different green
Growing on different trees.
The past was another shape to this
And the stranger I ran into
Had eyes a different shade of blue.

This is not the room, back then
The sun shone in a different light
With windows on a different view.
There were more reds in the sunsets
Back in that other place.
When it shone on lazy summer paths
Wandering through those dragonfly lanes.
And that stranger I ran into
I remember eyes a different shade of blue.

This is not the skin, the feeling is not the same.
The fields of wheat we walked through are gone now.
Just a ghost remains of the golden hue
That holds the moment in my mind.
That road, pavement pools sparkling in the rain,
Takes me past the turn
But never back to the door of home.
Never back to the stranger
With eyes that were a different shade of blue.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 24 June 2016

Infamy

photo credit: Aurelien G. Photographie Iustitia via photopin (license)

I heard the news today…

But I will not let myself be destroyed.

I will not let this confusion

Set the pieces tumbling

Or pull myself apart

As they torture me.

I will not allow them the satisfaction

Of even this hollowest

Of hollow victories.

The record will not show

A trace of this action;

Their names only…

So much delusion, a forgotten history.

 

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.