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.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 16 October 2016
The streets are sorry now,
Bleeding colours in the night.
Streetlights and cobbled paths,
Laughter and footstep heartbeats,
Fading as the city weeps.
photo credit: STREETWORKS 10 via photopin (license)
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 27 June 2016
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.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 20 February 2017
This is one of my favourite all-time posts and was originally posted on the 18 May 2016. So much so that I thought I’d share it again, hope you enjoy
I was forced today, very much against my will, to go for a coffee. The rain was beating down, seriously threatening to move me beyond the status of drowned rat to something far more wretched. And while I wasn’t sure caffeine was the answer I felt there was no harm in at least exploring that hypothesis.
I had work to do, the most urgent thing being meeting a deadline which had less than twenty-four hours to run but even though I had everything I needed with me to do some profitable work, my mind wanted to misbehave. So there I sat in a riverside location watching ducks go waddling past and people rushing by trying to avoid raindrops. While overhead the sky became increasingly ominous.
So I sat there and I wrote three poems, which seem to be linked or at least sit together with a degree of comfort. Not that they are about anything apart from daydreaming and misbehaving.
PS. And I’ve met that deadline too, so not a bad day all in all.
Grey Lady
No matter how much you disguise
Or hide the beauty inside
You never fail to shine.
In a world of billions of shadows
I’m praying Grey Lady
That one day
You shine your light on me.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Somewhere
photo credit: Eyes Color via photopin (license)
You move in silence
Like an angel.
A halo of gold framing your face
Like a coronet marking that you are
Not of mortal kind.
An elfin beauty, ghost of a smile
Curving your mouth
And setting stars aflame
Somewhere in the unfathomable depths
Of those blue, blue eyes.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Linger
photo credit: Autumn lips via photopin (license)
You are something and nothing
The beginning
The moment it all ends
That headlong rush in the dark
The luxuriant feel of summer rain upon my skin
The fear
The pleasure and the pain
The ecstasy
The moment
Your lips first linger on mine
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Marie-Baeten The Son of Clouds via photopin (license)
Summer sky,
Obscured by grey,
The sun won’t be
Coming out today.
The clouds appear
Here to stay.
The summer sun
Has blown away.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: neiljs London snow via photopin (license)
Flurries
Of worrisome weather,
Caught between hello and goodbye.
A day that don’t know
If it’s coming or going.
Came in like a lamb
But now it’s having trouble deciding
Whether to go out on the town
Or out with a bang.
A blizzard is blowing
Down High Street and byways
And icicle tears
Are stinging my cheeks.
Next moment it is raining,
Chasing the white flakes away.
While the sun is claiming
A leave of absence
From the muck and the grime.
Escaping grey little England
For the lake and the beach.
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
For the 26 November here’s a poem of rebirth …
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.
Day 7 of my review of the last twelve months and a poem about the weather. I love writing about the weather, it is a bit of a comfort blanket though if in doubt or struggling for inspiration you’ll end up with a weather poem. But then with the weather endlessly changing you are never stuck for something fresh as a subject
photo credit: Dmitry Karyshev first snow via photopin(license)
Flurries
Of worrisome weather,
Caught between hello and goodbye.
A day that don’t know
If it’s coming or going.
Came in like a lamb
But now it’s having trouble deciding
Whether to go out on the town
Or out with a bang.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
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)
