Flood Tide

photo credit: amsterdamfan My Own Insanity via photopin (license)

If we should drown
Then we should drown together.
If these emotions should overwhelm.
If these waves should overturn,
Should capsize this flimsy craft.
Send me down to Davy Jones.

If the Arctic current of an icy sea
Should wrap its frigid limbs about the fragility of me.
I ask no more than to stretch out my hand
To feel my fingers entwined with yours.
To know, that we will go down together.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Grey Cloud Fugue

photo credit: docoverachiever Indecisive weather via photopin (license)

And the dark clouds roll across the sky.

It is beautiful, but it makes me want to die.

The beauty of those impenetrable clouds

That could swallow me whole like a funeral shroud.

Swaddle me in a mystery from which I could not escape.

Smother me in their motion, erase the memories of my fate.

 

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Exhalation of Water

For the 12 November I’m sharing a poem about moments

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: VinceFL MacroMondays_Bubbles2 001 via photopin(license)

Stillness,
A momentary calm
Like the heart breaths before
The exhalation of water
From the lungs of a drowning man.

A baptism of desire,
Of cold, cold fire.
The absence of touch
In a universe without feeling.
Just the biology of the vacuum
Without emotion only needing,

Then the tsunami.
Colours exploding, overwhelming;
Like a million hands
Reaching out of the darkness
Touching skin, caressing my mind.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Exhalation of Water

photo credit: VinceFL MacroMondays_Bubbles2 001 via photopin (license)

Stillness,
A momentary calm
Like the heart breaths before
The exhalation of water
From the lungs of a drowning man.

A baptism of desire,
Of cold, cold fire.
The absence of touch
In a universe without feeling.
Just the biology of the vacuum
Without emotion only needing,

Then the tsunami.
Colours exploding, overwhelming;
Like a million hands
Reaching out of the darkness
Touching skin, caressing my mind.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Just Because I’m Quiet

photo credit: IamNotUnique Slowly we fade via photopin (license)

Sometimes it is quiet here inside my mind.
When the whirling dervish is resting
The silence can be overwhelming and yet sublime.

But usually the hubbub is frantic, frightening, and kind of hectic.
Like the clash of cymbals, a symphony of drums,
A chaos threatening to overcome.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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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Banging

photo credit: Frankie Tseng (法蘭基) DSC_4244 via photopin (license)

photo credit: Frankie Tseng (法蘭基) DSC_4244 via photopin (license)

Banging my head against
The world. Because you have to
Laugh, before you cry. Even when
It threatens to kick you in

The balls or punch you in
The gut. So you have to fightback,
Take a stand for what you believe,
Not just go along with the

Conservative point of view.
Because you’re a long time dead
And it’s never too late to
Take a different tack. Breathe

And breathe again, just to make
Sure. Because like I said you’re
A long time dead to waste life
Banging heads with the world.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

 

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

 

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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

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