photo credit: Soap Creatives Time travel via photopin (license)
A time of dying
Leaves no one alive to keep
Memory alight.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: kbetty An angel who doesn’t know he has a halo via photopin (license)
I keep hearing that song.
That song you played
When you were still something.
When you were still alive.
I remember you placing
Your hand in mine, trusting
You had the moments left
To do anything.
You had your whole life.
A million breathes to take,
A whole life and everything.
When you were still alive.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Day 9 of the review – and a poem about ‘too much’
photo credit: Standing at the Gates of Hell via photopin(license)
I can’t see you,
Just the echoes
Where you used to be.
Because I’m a lost boy
Confused about the direction,
Whether I’m heading
For heaven or hell.
For I stopped feeling
When I started bleeding
Many moons ago.
And all that’s left
Is half a bottle of whiskey
And these scars
That keep my eyes shut,
I’m down on my knees
Begging for redemption
Knowing the game is up.
For there is just an absence
A black hole in the aether
And the echoes
Where you used to be.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Impressioni portoghesi – Lisbona di notte via photopin (license)
I didn’t see, I never heard
The silences lengthen.
I never noticed that you had drifted
From out of my embrace.
I never missed your gentle caress.
I never stopped to consider,
I never stopped to just care.
When did we stop dreaming together,
When did I start building walls.
I didn’t see, I never heard
Until I heard the slamming door.
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 27 March 2015
To the night another soul
shipwrecked on the rocks.
For the night’s not over
‘til all hearts are lost.
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 13 January 2015
photo credit: Dark Dream by James Alfred Meese, 1952 via photopin (license)
She’s falling,
Memories drift away.
All the pills in creation
Won’t save her.
These failing reminiscences
She clings to can’t bring back
The brightly coloured yesterday now gone.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: chair-lamp-room-corner.jpg via photopin (license)
Foetal,
Legs curled up beneath you,
This chair a womb of tears.
Crying for its absence,
Heart beating no more.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Standing at the Gates of Hell via photopin (license)
I can’t see you,
Just the echoes
Where you used to be.
Because I’m a lost boy
Confused about the direction,
Whether I’m heading
For heaven or hell.
For I stopped feeling
When I started bleeding
Many moons ago.
And all that’s left
Is half a bottle of whiskey
And these scars
That keep my eyes shut,
I’m down on my knees
Begging for redemption
Knowing the game is up.
For there is just an absence
A black hole in the aether
And the echoes
Where you used to be.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Let us kick off the Review 30 for November with the opening chapter of something I’ve been working on; other than world domination.
As I said at the beginning of the week I have been working hard on a new project. This has developed out of the final exam project for the University module I completed in the last academic year; a small idea that has grown and grown, this is its beginning.
photo credit: Phoenix rising, with babies via photopin(license)
Chapter 1
A shout from one of her clan sisters brought her back to the moment. All the clans were coming together, flying south. She had never seen so many of her own kind before, eighty at least and more shapes appeared on the horizon all the time and slowly coalesced into the distinctive shape of more lizard birds.
Most were brown like her family. Some were grey, the winter sun glinting silver off of gleaming plumage, while others still appeared to sparkle an iridescent blue, light dripping on to their feathers…
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photo credit: Inner corona and prominences via photopin (license)
The goblins got the blame when the sun failed to rise. Alderman Pickering, said that they had leaned a really long ladder up against the mountain during the night and plucked the sun straight out of the sky as it was rising.
Mr Hobson the village butcher said that was nonsense and it was more likely that one of the fisherman out on the far ocean had caught the sun’s reflection in their net, dragging the reflection down under the water where it was sunk and lost forever. Without a reflection, so Mr Hobson said, the sun would just not be able to shine anymore.
Then there were others who reckoned the sun was tired, shining looked such hard work after all and it would be back in a day or two after it had had a little rest.
But I knew it would never be back. For how could the sun shine down ever again, for last night you said that you did not love me but loved someone else.
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
