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“That’s the best decision I’ve ever made!”
I’ve said that phrase again and again,
So much so that I have a list
Numbered one to ten
Of my living hit parade,
The highlights of my life.

But I don’t have a list
Of my epic failures;
Because who wants to commemorate
The times they went down with the ship.

So that is why, I think,
With no flag raised to my failures
I keep forgetting and repeating
The same ones again and again.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


Unravelling Twine

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I never knew my father. I recognised him of course, I’d see him every morning silently cutting up his bacon rashers and sausages before forking them into his mouth; while us kids bickered and fought using our cereal spoons as make-believe swords. Then in the evening he would be found hiding in the dark shadows of the living room while the rest of us hovered like a family of moths in adoration around the flickering light of the television screen.

The rest of the time he seemed invisible, apart from the odd glimpse of him sat on the old wooden bench in the shade of the crab apple tree at the bottom of the garden. Mum used to send him there as she hated the smell of his tobacco. There he would sit his pipe gripped between his teeth while his hands worked unravelling a twisted mess of green twine. He never seemed to unravel it, every time you saw him there he seemed to be, starting his own labour of Hercules anew.

I never found out what he was doing it for or if he ever finished, and now I’ve left it too late to ask him.


© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Silence Between


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In the silence between
Your lips and mine
Lies the truth unsaid. Unseen,
The key to this epic design.

In the darkness between
Two hearts shattered and lost
Lies the remedy undreamed
To turn hearts star crossed.

In the memories between
The dark and the day
Lie the tears, cried in silence, unseen
And that flickering hope you’d stay.


© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Primitive Archaeology

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Preserved in the permafrost of time
Lost beneath the layers of deceit,
The decrepit solutions for a forgotten age.
The sage solutions, easy fixes, neat tricks.
A sticking plaster to hide the wounds
From prying eyes, and dying sighs.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Nobody’s Home


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Dead foot dominion
Where corridors echo
With the sounds of corruption,
And wanton wind colludes
With the creak upon the stairs.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: begemot_dn tree time via photopin (license)

photo credit: begemot_dn tree time via photopin (license)

Dandelion clocks dance in the breeze
Like the time we spent together
Danced away from me.
The visions of you I keep in view,
Anchors of trust to which I’m tethered.
Vision of time now lost.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


Day 5 of my annual review, and another piece about age…

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: And Now for Something Completely Different via photopin (license) photo credit: And Now for Something Completely Different via photopin(license)

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.

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Haunting Season

I’m lost
To the four winds,
Scattered ashes,
Windblown leaves on an autumn breeze.
Longing to be a memory that makes it
Through the darkness of this dying season
That’s forever haunting me.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


Summons You Away

The summer sun summons you away
Like a mirage dancing
First there and then gone,
To reappear again over there.
A between times moment,
False trail, just glimpsed
Out of the corner of the eye.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


I am small
Neglected and broken
Put aside
In favour of newer toys
Bright and shiny
Presents unwrapped
But it would be wrong
To throw me away
And misplace the memory
Of the adventures
That we imagined together
And the games we have played

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.