photo credit: Dru! Sloppy Plodding via photopin (license)

At the top of your lungs.
Out loud
Let your voice be heard.
Make a noise,
Make a racket,
Make the words on the page rattle.
Do not go gentle,
Do not go quiet,
Do not let them forget
What they’ll be missing.
Curse loudly,
Love louder.
Live with passion.
Do it all with the whole
Of your heart.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


Day 25 and a poem about a (lost?) soul …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Stuck in Customs The temple burns the past away as they embrace. via photopin(license)

This feeling,
This searching for a meaning.
This constant yearning, the burden
That I carry around.
This whole in my heart,
This other me that I dare not speak of,
The soulfire being
That threatens to burn me to the ground.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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History of Lust

photo credit: Magdalena Roeseler Selfportrait via photopin (license)

There is a history of lust
Between you and I.
Of burning desires,
Of unravelling sheets.
Clothing torn,
In our needs and our musts.

There is a history of lust.
Of temperatures rising
In feverish collusions,
Frantic delights
In the hours of night; colliding
In all our needs and our musts.

© 2017 | 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.
Moments of pleasure
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.