Bohemian Queen

This is the time of year for my annual review of the last twelve months poems and posts. So to kick things off here’s a poem from last November, about those we meet who seem to rise above the humdrum mundanity of life …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Eddi van W. energy via photopin(license)

The light is lazy
That creeps in through the window
And bathes you in its glow.
The tassels on the shawl
Draped across your shoulders
Ripple gently.
As if it is only the dream
Of a breeze
That disturbs your meditation,
And not the humdrum reality
Of this physical, not astral, place.

I believe you see
In different colours
Not visible to mortal sight.
That you commune
With the intangible
As you untangle the metaphysics,
Of the web you yearn to leave.

I believe
That if I blink, turn my eyes from you
You will achieve nirvana, your true purpose
And dissipate.
Become a million dancing flames
That burn too brightly,
Quickly fade to memory
And beyond the realm of mortal sight.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Vertigo

photo credit: Nullfy from nullfy.com! Ring Of Power! via photopin (license)

Balance can be achieved.
For those with balance, I have seen.
Yet there is no balance in me.
They say balance can be found
In the sound of a babbling brook,
Or in the infinitude of silence
In the night between the stars.
They say balance can be reached
By striding out taking a few easy steps.
By taking a few gentle, calming breaths.
By reaching out, taking hold of Your hand.
Yet still, I’m falling,
Though I never reach the ground.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Nothing Between The Ears

I love the spaces;
The gaps in the world;
The alone times.
The wilderness of longing
For something,
The next thing, to begin.

I love the times
Spent just looking
Out the window.
At a spider building a web,
Its life hanging
On a gossamer thread.

I love the dreaming.
The planning
For world domination.
While just sitting
With a coffee
And my head in the clouds.

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 22 October 2015

Runaway Train

There is an energy within me,

A buzz.

It cannot be contained or bound

By structures or hours.

It does not acknowledge the rules of society,

It moves with an ever increasing head of steam.

Faster and faster

Pulling everything it passes into the vortex

Created by its wake.

A screaming maelstrom of chaos,

This hush.

 

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 6 April 2015

Mindspace Blown

Day 29 of my review of the last twelve months and a poem about the gap between my ears…

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Bible Verse Photo Medical Cellblock with Verse (Free HI-RES) via photopin (license) photo credit: Bible Verse Photo Medical Cellblock with Verse (Free HI-RES) via photopin(license)

One must have a mind of spaces.
Imagining windblown silence
In a meadow, summer ripe with butterflies.
In between the hustling tornadoes
Of traffic jams and parking fines.

Or the pin prickle caress of spring rain
Washing skin cleaner than baptism,
One’s soul dancing with the divine.
Between inhale and exhale, seeking
A sanctuary for the urban mind.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

 This poem is the first to come from a series of five prompts from ‘How to Write a Poem’ by Tania Runyan

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Hush

Day 24 of my review and a poem about nature and the power of silence…

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Kodak TX @ 100mm via photopin (license) photo credit: Kodak TX @ 100mm via photopin(license)

Susurrus,
Wind kisses upon the water.

The breeze stirs the leaves of the willow,
Moving like the fingertips of a dancer would.
Elegant branches,
Limbs of an acrobat, sway
Dipping low agitating the mirror calm
Of the tranquil pool.

Elemental water and sylvan spirit of living wood
Allowed to commune,
Within this companion silence.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Mindspace Blown

One must have a mind of spaces.
Imagining windblown silence
In a meadow, summer ripe with butterflies.
In between the hustling tornadoes
Of traffic jams and parking fines.

Or the pin prickle caress of spring rain
Washing skin cleaner than baptism,
One’s soul dancing with the divine.
Between inhale and exhale, seeking
A sanctuary for the urban mind.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

 This poem is the first to come from a series of five prompts from ‘How to Write a Poem’ by Tania Runyan

 

Save

Save

Hush

Susurrus,
Wind kisses upon the water.

The breeze stirs the leaves of the willow,
Moving like the fingertips of a dancer would.
Elegant branches,
Limbs of an acrobat, sway
Dipping low agitating the mirror calm
Of the tranquil pool.

Elemental water and sylvan spirit of living wood
Allowed to commune,
Within this companion silence.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.