Keeping Faith

photo credit: Fan.D & Dav.C Photgraphy The stars are best seen in the darkest moments. via photopin (license)

Reach out, touch the chill void –
Holding out and hoping
For some kind of sign.
That will stop me from falling
Further into the dark
Between the future and the past.

To the place where the silence hesitates
And all my misdemeanours wait
For memory to recall.
For the sins and sacraments
Of my fragile belief in this reality
To begin again, to believe in me.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: Graeme Pow Helical Staircase via photopin (license)

photo credit: Graeme Pow Helical Staircase via photopin (license)

There is a gap in this virtual life.
A black hole in the centre of perfection,
An absence in the heart of my world.
And perhaps this shadow, is for your silhouette to fill.
Or perhaps it is for teardrops and stardust instead.
Maybe the void gets filled by the journey.
Maybe this nothing needs to get broken. Reshaped. Reborn.
Perhaps it gets forged by the fire.
A burning passion, assuaged, a million one-nights.
But at times when I listen in silence
Or forget the worries and just laugh.
Forget my worries and let go.
SCREAMING out at the top of my lungs!
And wondering if it is not in the spaces instead,
Those gaps themselves, that are making me whole.


© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 3 December 2016


photo credit: jeronimoooooooo Alado via photopin (license)

Sometimes the illusions are real,
Sometimes they are the only thing that matters
In the hurly-burly of this world.
Sometimes the scream is the only sound,
And it goes round and round forever.

To the deeps and to the heavens,
To the forest and the oceans.
Round and round in never ending motion
Powered by imagination –
Driven by a dream.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 27 February 2018


photo credit: chrstphre 3 Streams(o via photopin (license)

Do I exist, am I real?
Is there evidence I feel?
Is there ice in my veins?
If you cut me will I cry,
If you starve me will I die?
Do I thirst for the pain,
Do I yearn for the chance,
For the music, the dance.
Will I wither without the rains,
Will I ever leave this cell?
Am I already in hell?
Am I going sane;
Will you see me home again?

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.


photo credit: chiaralily Reflections via photopin (license)

I wake from the comforting arms of a dream,
Still wrapped in the warmth of the sun
As it reflects off of the azure blue of a tropical sea.
Threads of the dream life wish to hold me within its galaxy
Yet only the silver stars now dance in the corner of my eyes
As I slowly return to the muted palette of this reality.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

I See Dead People

I see ghosts out of the corner of my eye.
Shadows of the past, phantoms long gone,
Haunting me. Sleeping and waking, the dreamers
Creep through the tall grass. Circling my sanity.
Searching for the weaknesses in my reality.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Nothing to Declare


photo credit: h.koppdelaney Observer via photopin (license)

Reaching out for something
As if it might be
Poisoned, the antidote
Is not getting you through.
Just tied up in the wires
As they tighten the screw.
No one is fighting for you.
The desires are passion crimes
And nothing will get you through.

Searching for anything;
Most holy last orders
With spirits at the bar.
Making confessions
As fast as you can
But it won’t save you.
Reality is bruising,
The ghost don’t believe in you,
And nothing is an illusion.

Holding on to nothing
As if it’s a lifebelt,
That’s going to save
You from calling out –
But nobody’s listening,
It’s a pointless wish list.
Nobody is breaking through.
The mirrors are all one way,
Nothing is echoing back to you.
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally published 21 June 2017

Life is not so bad living here in Ironic Utopia City

photo credit: image49163 via photopin (license)

photo credit: image49163 via photopin (license)

*contains swearing


I can’t get no dissatisfaction

No matter how hard I try,

Everything’s coming up roses

It’s peaches and cream.

I’m tripping over those silver linings

When I’m not wishing on a star,

It’s so damn near perfect

It’s like living in a fucking dream.

Hometown streets are sparkling clean

Everyone’s got a wave and smile

Stress-free driving, they use the highway code,

No traffic jams, and the lights are always green.

Life’s just one big jubilee,

Beer is free, God bless the Queen.

It’s nearing perfection here

Living in a fucking dream.


© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Around the sun

Sun and planet in space

I love the world

When it revolves around me.

What a shame that it insists

On revolving round the sun.


© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Justice (or the rules of the playground)

Day 26 of the 30 Reblogs of November

Made of sticks and stones

This is not the blog post I intended to write; in fact I had written two poems which were all primed and ready to fly out into the ether. But they were both hate filled rants written during the endless hours of an insomniac midsummer night. And more importantly they ran contrary to what had left me feeling low in the first place; intolerance.

Yep, both pieces of writing were full of the same generalised intolerance against others that had led me to scream like a child “it’s not fair”.

When I was six a teacher said to my mother at a parents evening that I had a heightened sense of right and wrong, so perhaps it is naivety that still expects others to “play nicely” when experience tells me most people look on those rules as slightly archaic guidelines that were not written with them in mind.

So how…

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