Home to Roost

photo credit: itsokstay_calm free the birds via photopin (license)

I’m transported back to the beginning,
To the moment we first met, before the shame and the regret.
To when we still held our own secrets and had not cried those teardrops yet.
Before the setting of the sun on the longest day

Back when we just matched, before we became detached;
From reality, from each other. We went from lovers
To two strangers, barely speaking, merely passing in the hall.
When the indiscretions stepped out of the shadows. When the truth came to call.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Liar Song

photo credit: davemmett Infidelity via photopin (license)

Liar song with discordant voices, a twisted echo of the lie.
On-and-on, ever on, until the end time when we start again
Putting the broken pieces back together.
Burying the truth in a shallow grave, sitting waiting for a little rain
And the new shoots and new delusions to deceive.
Intoxicating the two of us, like that undying phantom of our first time.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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.

Shed a Drop


I’m lost in your summer
In your gentle heat haze.
Adrift in your ocean,
Those shimmering blue eyes.
Falling and falling,
Forever and a day
And I can’t help recalling
Every word you say.

And I wonder
Am I doing it right
Gazing on your beauty
In wordless delight.
Searching ever searching
For illuminating phrases
To shred the darkness,
Shed a drop of light.

If I am the shadows
Then you are the rays of the sun.
If I am a drop in the ocean
Then you are the one.

Searching ever searching
In wordless delight
Forever in twilight
Stumbling at dusk.
Wanting to shred the darkness,
Shed a drop of light.
Silence maybe golden
But it don’t get the words right.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Wildflower

photo credit: garryknight Uranium Geranium via photopin (license)

Be a wildflower in a garden of roses.
When one door closes
Kick another one open.
Be little girl, whatever you want to be.

Be a daredevil on a tightrope,
A beacon of hope,
The last rays over stormy seas.
Be little girl, whatever you want to be.

Be a dancer without any music.
And if you dance to a tune
Make sure that you choose it.
Be little girl, whatever you want to be.

Be a horse galloping free.
Running wild, kicking up dust,
Trust yourself, do what you must.
Be little girl, whatever you want to be.

Be a wildflower in a garden of roses.
Be your own kind, something new –
Rambling free wherever you choose.
Be little girl, whatever you want to be.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Flight of the Unbeliever


If I had wings, if I could fly,
To lift me up before I die.
To move beyond this fragile state
To the horizon, before is too late.
I’d fly off to uncharted shores
That my kind had not espied before.
I’d fly out far cross tropic seas
Until I found somewhere I could believe.

 

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Transit of Venus

photo credit: Thomas James Caldwell Big Pine Key Sunrise via photopin (license)

Clouds dissipate before me
The confusion disappears.
I lose this transitory blindness, and see afresh
The tempting beauty of the morning.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Sick Dreams

photo credit: National Institutes of Health (NIH) Host infection stimulates antibiotic resistance via photopin (license)

These scenarios play out in my head
‘What if I’m really dead?’
What if this emotion is only a dream,
A dramatic play, scientific cause and effect,
A holographic to and fro, a dance of atoms and dark matters
Between the beats of the clock
Time spiralling down, tick after tock.

‘What if I’m not real?’
All these senses, just inventions, and there’s nothing to feel.
A numbness stretching out and back
As far as I see. But the seeing ain’t seeing
Because this existence ain’t me.
All the flesh and blood fumbling to make a mark
When it’s pitch black, just black, nothing but dark.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Battle Sky

photo credit: krheesy Electric Blue via photopin (license)

I’m waiting for the storm,
Waiting for the normality to return.
Waiting for the heat to dissipate
In the downpour and the rain,
The deluge and the flood.

I’m waiting for the warriors
The ear-shattering clash of shields,
In the battle sky. Lightning like sharp-edged swords
To spear the heart of heat
From out this summer night.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Lover’s Steps

photo credit: ulisse albiati A picture of Dorian Gray via photopin (license)

Belly laughs and lover’s steps
Upon the stairs,
Emotional devotion.
Sentences intertwined like limbs,
In the chaos of calming breath;
The aftermath.
Stillness
Conspires with the electricity
Of touch.
This aftermath
With sheets disarranged, soliloquy of destruction –
Is this the scene of crime or a passion play,
Where husks of human flesh lay spent.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.