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.
With my review of the year now finished it’s time to start on another blogging project the Advent Calendar – a post a day between now and the 24 December – and here is the first …
Weather
photo credit: Natalia Medd Bubble Wrapped via photopin (license)
Day 11 of my review and a poem about endings; or beginnings …
photo credit: kevin dooley Rain bytes via photopin(license)
This rain
Seems permanent
The way it is clinging to me,
Like sin.
As guilty
As drab Sundays
In a Suburban town,
When the weekend
Has run out of time.
And though you’d prayed
In your dirty subterranean soul
That Monday would never come,
It looms like storm clouds over you.
And this rain
Is hanging on,
Soaking me through.
Tell-tale mark
Like the blood and gut stain
Of the week to come.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Robert Couse-Baker Maxwell’s demon via photopin (license)
Rain is dreams,
Dreams are light,
Light is goodness
And Goodness
Is drops of rain.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published: 29 August 2014
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.
photo credit: kevin dooley Rain bytes via photopin (license)
This rain
Seems permanent
The way it is clinging to me,
Like sin.
As guilty
As drab Sundays
In a Suburban town,
When the weekend
Has run out of time.
And though you’d prayed
In your dirty subterranean soul
That Monday would never come,
It looms like storm clouds over you.
And this rain
Is hanging on,
Soaking me through.
Tell-tale mark
Like the blood and gut stain
Of the week to come.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: © Axel Naud It’s rainy outside.. via photopin (license)
I’m a child who is still growing
I’ve not gained enough experience yet.
I don’t have the level of knowing
To stand on my own feet without a helping hand
From someone who loves me.
From someone prepared to accept my fallibility.
My ability to fuck it up on an epic scale,
I can only say sorry
On those days when I don’t feel ready to be an adult.
You know, when it’s Monday and raining again.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: stimpsonjake In Our Upside-Down World via photopin (license)
Why is the rain cold,
What does the sky contain
For us, is it the future foretold.
Is the sun up there
Swaddled in blankets of cloud.
Does the sun care, has it departed.
Is it a stone hearted deserter
Run away from our worries,
Our directionless scurry. Back and forth,
Avoiding individual raindrops
But drenched by the downpour.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
The petals are falling,
The leaf turns brown,
Seems the world is dying
As the rain comes down.
This illusion is over
It could never last,
With a garland of roses for the loser
Forever summer has past.
I feel the world is drowning.
On and on, the rain falls down.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
