Nothing

Day 3 of the Annual Review and a poemwritten for someone who left too soon…

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: kbetty An angel who doesn't know he has a halo via photopin (license) 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.

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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

Hostage of the Breeze

photo credit: Claude-Yolande La robe bleue via photopin (license)

Secrets catch on the breeze,
Whispered by the wind
Like a sacrament of memory.
A tale no one knows how to begin
Or what should remain untold
To maintain this fragmentary truce.

If the wind should change
And withhold the truth
Until another day,
What then?
What becomes of the future
If secrets remain unspoken.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

After You Have Gone

 

photo credit: Natalia Medd Summer Wind via photopin (license)

Your heady perfume haunts me
That scent of you in the air.
Dizzying sensations that linger
Like the silhouette of a body
Just sketched on the pillow
When nobody is there.

I caught a glimpse of your shadow
A fleeting glimpse, just a hint
That you were there
Before it was gone.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Escapologist

 

photo credit: Derek R Goulet Beach Bird via photopin (license)

Yesterday is not tomorrow,
Memories are not today.
All those childhood tears
Yet you are not crying now.
You survived my darling,
You survived.

And those heartfelt sighs,
Too, too many goodbyes.
Teddy bears the only lonely listeners,
And birds with broken wings.
Yet you survived my darling.
You may still fly.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Danse Macabre

photo credit: Lieven SOETE Orfeo & Majnun ¬ 20161126.0237 via photopin (license)

photo credit: Lieven SOETE Orfeo & Majnun ¬ 20161126.0237 via photopin (license)

I am make believe:
Nightmare and dreams.
Spectre of memory,
The furious fever in scenes
Of theatre macabre.
Phantoms, twisted fancy,
Lurking in shadows,
Poisons that won’t let you be.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

 

Last of the Line

photo credit: Soap Creatives Time travel via photopin (license)

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.

Nothing

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.

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Jasmine

photo credit: Ross Elliott CorfeCastle 0214 0801bw via photopin (license)

photo credit: Ross Elliott CorfeCastle 0214 0801bw via photopin (license)

Jasmine twists across the tower doorway
Green vine only no flowers left,
No sweet perfume. Just castle ruins

A path forgotten, overgrown.
Gardens glory ages past
In this abandoned Camelot.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Looking Back

photo credit: Portal via photopin (license)

photo credit: Portal via photopin (license)

This is the first part of a poem which  I’m still working on. This first part was prompted by the above image though as it grows it seems to be moving on to deal with other things but these opening lines feel like a poem on their own. Hope you enjoy.
1
Moments of pleasure
Memories
Glimpsed through the prism,
Of the looking glass.

Drunken revels,
Passionate nights,
Barefoot walks, wet sand sticking between toes
Because our shoes got lost

In running for the joy
Of the new morning.
The impossible light
That clings to the curves,

The shadows, the reminiscence
Of your footsteps.
That lead away from me
Along the stretch of beach

Towards the incoming tide
Becoming lost in the sea.
Drowning beneath the churning waves
Just as they now fade within my memory.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.