The Visitor

For the eighth November, we have a poem about how nature can suddenly remind you that as humans we are just so small and insignificant.

Made of sticks and stones

The sunlight wavers
As clouds scud low
Above the surface of the moor.
A scarred moonscape it seems to me
But what do I know,
For my body no longer feels like my own.
Wind eddies swirl
Alien emotions wash over me;
I’m think this is my planet
Just not my home.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Your Silence Speaks

photo credit: Steve Corey The Mermaid via photopin (license)

Your silence
Speaks an ocean,
Of the stars and the dust;
Reflected
Glories
Harder and harder to bear.

Your vengeance
In the crying light
In the shadow of trust.
Sharing out the darkness,
The madness
In Gaia’s despair.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 23 August 2017

Lie of the Land

photo credit: Aphersis Keep out via photopin (license)

Wind-blown,
Secrets fly like the night
On wings of darkness.
To a rhythm nobody feels
And even less see.

Nature lies,
As natural as breathing.
Until death comes stealing,
Creeping, out of an obsidian glass poured.
The fatal blow dealt.

Undreamed.
Poisons and pains. Panic
Flies on the wings of a bat
Chittering, repeating its refrain, sings
Of ‘Secrets and Lies’, of ‘Secrets and Lies’.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Visitor

The sunlight wavers
As clouds scud low
Above the surface of the moor.
A scarred moonscape it seems to me
But what do I know,
For my body no longer feels like my own.
Wind eddies swirl
Alien emotions wash over me;
I’m think this is my planet
Just not my home.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Raindance

photo credit: chiaralily Wet City Nightscape via photopin (license)

The return of the rain
Brings me to life again.

The touch of this holy water
Upon my skin
Washes me clean
Lets me begin once more.

The passion of the raindrops
Freefalling to the ground
Is the baptism of hope I need
So that I feel born again.

It resurrects a faith
That had all but died.

I feel rain, I feel alive.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Of Grace

 

photo credit: Holly Norval Lifted by the light via photopin (license)

A momentary feeling
Of grace in the chaos,
Of calmness despite
This slow descent
Into catastrophe.
Just a glimpse
Into another universe
Like a stumbled upon path,
An oasis of plenty
In the forest,
Appearing out of the mist
On an April morning.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

 

Seeing the Future

photo credit: Schoon17 Culbin Sands 3 via photopin (license)

Glittering shoreline
Early morning,
Reflections of silence
Mirrored in the mud.
Runnels and ripples
Curving like lifelines
Across the sand.
The natives read them
As if they’re fortune-telling,
Before with a ruffle of feathers
Coming in to land.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.