The Game is Life

Day 27 and a poem about being small and inconsequential …

Made of sticks and stones

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.

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Pulsar

This is my time of year for reviewing what I have done in the last twelve months and picking out some of my poems and posts that have left an impression on me. Here I’m kicking things off with a poem from last November.

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: KJ Photographie ***** via photopin(license)

Travelling seventy miles a second
As sunlight explodes through the trees.
Wind fire blowing through the neurons
Carried on the autumn breeze.
And it’s good to be alive,
Blood pulsing, raining fire,
As the journey flies beneath the wheels.
With the trees as golden as desire,
Roadside sentinels, as my chariot drives me.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

View original post

The Game is Life

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.

Circus

photo credit: vk-red Transfiguration III via photopin (license)

photo credit: vk-red Transfiguration III via photopin (license)

I’m waiting for the clowns
I haven’t seen them yet,
They should be here
To share in my regret.

Up there in the shadows,
Up there in the Gods,
The mountebanks are lurking,
The ones you all adore.
Those liars with their silence
Drown out the sound of the applause.

But there should be clowns here.
Not just whiskey fears and cigarettes.
There should be clowns
To help me to forget.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally published 5 January 2016

Travelling Show

Silence,

Is overrated.

Give me bustle,

Give me noise,

A street scene drama,

A panoply of joys.

Let there be music

Of larks and doves.

With crashing waves,

Electric guitars.

With vibrant brushstrokes

Paint it in crimson

And golds and blues.

Let it all go spinning by

On the helter-skelter, razor’s edge.

Never quiet – I choose life.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Pulsar

photo credit: KJ Photographie ***** via photopin (license)

Travelling seventy miles a second
As sunlight explodes through the trees.
Wind fire blowing through the neurons
Carried on the autumn breeze.
And it’s good to be alive,
Blood pulsing, raining fire,
As the journey flies beneath the wheels.
With the trees as golden as desire,
Roadside sentinels, as my chariot drives me.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Cacoethes Scribendi

photo credit: hjconti NaNoWriMo Wallpaper via photopin (license)

Compulsion
This fervent desire awake in me.
The need to be heard
Through my fingers
Onto the page.
To put down what I think
The blood, the sweat, the tears,
My rapture into ink.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Cartography of Skin

A tattoo of scars
Draws a map of how I’ve sinned.
It shows the route that I have travelled
In my journey on Earth, from birth until today.
Continents drawn contain the highest peaks
Where eagles dwell, then swoop down into
Vast valleys of despair lit only by lights absence.
There are islands of love here and there
Set adrift on barren seas.
While monsters lurk beneath the waves
As ocean tides rise and fall
With the pulsing of my heart.
With this tattoo of scars
I travel; on a path mapped by
This cartography of skin.

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved

Originally Published 5 January 2016

Weary

The man put down his newspaper.
His eyes were not what they once had been,
They had seen too much
Of war and hate, and change.
So he closed his eyes to shut out the dark
And slept right there in his old armchair for a while.
He dreamed of when he was younger;
He dreamt of all of his firsts,
First kiss, first dance, first nights.
Always the first and never the last,
For in his dreams
He wasn’t chained within a body that creaked.
His world was not bound by those four familiar walls
And the good times would come back and greet him.
Because in his life there had been many good times;
There had been joy, he’d known love, he’d known laughter.
For the lights of his memory might dim
But they’d never go out.
For in dreams
They came back to greet him.

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 22 December 2015

Where did it All Go Wrong?

Older doesn’t necessarily mean wiser

Gruesomeness Warning (Clicking on the Link Reveals a Colour Picture of the Adult Me)   

Here we are as promised my poetry collection has been published and is available via Amazon for Kindle and as a paperback. I am really pleased with the look of the Kindle version and the mere existence of a physical book I have written, though it does feel a little like an out-of-body experience holding a book filled with my own words. I would describe it as pleasantly freaky!

Anyway here is a link to the book Wreckage hope you enjoy it.

Thank you all for your kind words and support on the blog over the last three and a bit years I really wouldn’t have wanted to do it without you all.

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.