First Light

photo credit: _paVan_ Sunrise via photopin (license)

The curve of the earth hides you from view.
A whole new existence beyond the horizon
Dawning exclusively for my pleasure.
A shimmering goddess of a day, you are possibility
Slowly unfolding your wings, taking flight
Banishing shadows saying goodbye to night.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Kiss of Life

photo credit: Andrew Bartram (WarboysSnapper) Avalon via photopin (license)

Stood upon the hilltop
Looking down.
The whole world laid out
Before me, all around,
Like pieces in a game.
The whole of life paused
As if waiting for my touch.
For this kiss of life,
A resumption of the play.
For the wind to blow again.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The Petty Quarrels

I want to grow old enough for grey hair,
Nothing but grey hair and wrinkled skin.
Looking back out of the mirror at me.
I want to watch the sunrise tomorrow,
On a million more tomorrows.
Watch the sunset on my sorrows,
Say goodbye to the pointless squabbles
And begin again.

I want to share secrets with murmuring starlings;
I want to hold my breath beneath the water
While I dive in a spiralling dance with dolphins;
Embrace the metamorphosis like the butterflies;
Cherish each glorious kiss
And the way words linger upon a lover’s lips.
Leave the foothills behind and make toward the light.
Climb higher than ever when I begin to live again.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Exhalation of Water

photo credit: VinceFL MacroMondays_Bubbles2 001 via photopin (license)

Stillness,
A momentary calm
Like the heart breaths before
The exhalation of water
From the lungs of a drowning man.

A baptism of desire,
Of cold, cold fire.
The absence of touch
In a universe without feeling.
Just the biology of the vacuum
Without emotion only needing,

Then the tsunami.
Colours exploding, overwhelming;
Like a million hands
Reaching out of the darkness
Touching skin, caressing my mind.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 23 March 2018

Emergence

photo credit: Chrismatos ♥90% OFF, sorry Angelical Forest via photopin (license)

The Sun’s dalliance with the dark spaces
Is her slow dance with creation.
It is a sinuous exploration
Into the heart of a forgotten continent
Buried beneath the detritus of the past.
From the flotsam and jetsam
The wreck of winter, Spring
Emerges, a miracle from the dirt.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Dark Side

photo credit: leavingorbit Waning crescent (2%) via photopin (license)

Spinning in the infinite
Shining forever, but always
You die. Resurrection
Is not an option,
Only entropy.
The slow descent,
Decaying orbit,
Dragging you downward
Towards a black hole
Of your own making.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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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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.

Tumbledown

photo credit: dharder9475 117/365: Dark before light via photopin (license)

It all falls down,
Crumbles about my bones.
Heartbreak and tears stripped away
Leaving me bare.
Nothing left but hope,
I am reborn
Knowing that you’ve entered the room.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A Poem of Spring

 

photo credit: Rusty Russ Flowered Tree – ReVisioned via photopin (license)

Abandoned memories
Swirl on the breeze, coalesce
Together with unforgiving rhymes.
I struggle to pick out
The strands of imagination
And inspiration
Which I wish to pursue.

The dogs bark out on the moor
And the hounds of winter howl;
Last chance, last stand,
Against the creep of the calendar.
These lengthening days
That mark the changing season.
The reasoning hours of civilisation’s return.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.