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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Pulsar

photo credit: KJ Photographie ***** via photopin (license)

Travelling seventy miles a second
As sunlight explodes through the trees.
Wind fire blowing through the neurons
Carried on the autumn breeze.
And it’s good to be alive,
Blood pulsing, raining fire,
As the journey flies beneath the wheels.
With the trees as golden as desire,
Roadside sentinels, as my chariot drives me.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 19 November 2017

Raindance

For the 26 November here’s a poem of rebirth …

Made of sticks and stones

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.

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Autumn Approaches

photo credit: Howard J Duncan Up, Up and Away via photopin (license)

The leaf feels a little more yellow
Instead of vibrant, living green.
And the Prop’s Department have been busy
Concocting the perfect setting for the latest scene.
The wind’s rustling sounds like an expectant crowd,
Then comes the hush – the light grows dim.

The atmosphere plays the percussion part,
Variations on a theme.
We may fear the crescendo,
But there is wonder in the season –
When it gets loud.
 
© 2018 | 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.

Leviathan

Day 5 of my review, and a poem about the fragility of life and the power of nature.

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Direct_Relief Japan Earthquake and Tsunami 2011 via photopin (license) photo credit: Direct_Relief Japan Earthquake and Tsunami 2011 via photopin(license)

Tumbling down the mountainside.
Rock sliding, somersaulting over tree.
Rules of nature overturned,
Only gravity matters.
The cavalcade becomes a riot
Screeching birds take flight
And scuttling refugees flee
From out of the undergrowth for their lives.
This tremor, no more than a shiver of the earth
Becomes amplified. As it journeys
Out from its epicentre across the valleys,
Through the mountain like a juggernaut
And rock unmoved for ages is parted,
Cracks appear, as it rumbles on into the realm of man.
History, reduced to rubble.
Metal twists, like a twig.
No adversary fit to face
This ancient behemoth.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Wyvern (or All I Want For Christmas)

Day 4 of the review, and a reminder to start those Xmas preparations …

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: foxgrrl Anthrocon 2014 via photopin (license) photo credit: foxgrrl Anthrocon 2014 via photopin(license)

I want a wyvern for Christmas.
I want a dragon of my own.
I want a wyvern for Christmas,
Oh why can’t I take a wyvern home?

Why won’t you buy a wyvern for me?
All my friends are getting one for Yule,
Easy to keep, no trouble it be –
Ohhh; don’t let me be a wyvernless fool.

I want a wyvern this Christmas.
It can live in the spare room.
I want a wyvern for Christmas –
A dragon-pal! Not a portent of doom.

I want a wyvern for Christmas.
I want a dragon of my own.
I want a wyvern for Christmas,
Oh why can’t I take a wyvern home?
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

 

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Leviathan

 

photo credit: Direct_Relief Japan Earthquake and Tsunami 2011 via photopin (license)

photo credit: Direct_Relief Japan Earthquake and Tsunami 2011 via photopin (license)

Tumbling down the mountainside.
Rock sliding, somersaulting over tree.
Rules of nature overturned,
Only gravity matters.
The cavalcade becomes a riot
Screeching birds take flight
And scuttling refugees flee
From out of the undergrowth for their lives.
This tremor, no more than a shiver of the earth
Becomes amplified. As it journeys
Out from its epicentre across the valleys,
Through the mountain like a juggernaut
And rock unmoved for ages is parted,
Cracks appear, as it rumbles on into the realm of man.
History, reduced to rubble.
Metal twists, like a twig.
No adversary fit to face
This ancient behemoth.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.