photo credit: Paulisson Miura Camila (Black light neon makeup) via photopin (license)
Glittering eyes electric blue –
Deep pools of sorrow,
And within their depths
Such uncomfortable truths.
Scintillating, yet damaged eyes –
Memories drag her down, like
Deep pools of ‘maybe tomorrow’.
Chasms of heartache
Shining diamond bright
Like waterfalls in moonlight.
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
It’s December so time for my Advent calendar and this year I thought I’d take a wander through the alphabet starting with A, and yes anyroad is a word, well it makes an appearance in my dictionary
Anyroad
On this path to Nowhere, out of this darkness
Into the deeper shadows of the future.
Shocked by what I’ve lost. Forgot until this moment
What should have remained buried and abandoned
On my escape route from my crimes.
Instead it exists as the only landmark
In this morass. The scar upon the corpse;
The tell-tale smoking gun;
The reminder of what I’ve done
And why my past can’t sleep soundly
In its grave.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Day 26 of my review of the year and a poem about the moon and the lunacy of love, and getting cocky and trying to write poems in more than one language …
photo credit: 100 Days of Summer #55 – Moonshine via photopin(license)
The night in shining armour
Rediscovers my moonlit memories.
How the mighty are humbled
When uncovered by the moonbeams.
Treasure of my beating heart
A taste of your honey lips,
The forgetting that happens
When we’re together.
The wasted hours
When we’re apart
And I long for wine and song again.
Safe, with you in my arms.
Sí, mi amor. Sí, mi amor.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: 100 Days of Summer #55 – Moonshine via photopin (license)
The night in shining armour
Rediscovers my moonlit memories.
How the mighty are humbled
When uncovered by the moonbeams.
Treasure of my beating heart
A taste of your honey lips,
The forgetting that happens
When we’re together.
The wasted hours
When we’re apart
And I long for wine and song again.
Safe, with you in my arms.
Sí, mi amor. Sí, mi amor.
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: Never Washed via photopin (license)
Hinges, jerky and unbending,
Metal twisted in the frame.
With a miasma of coal-black dust
That shuts out the light
And seals the window closed,
As secure as the deadbolt on a safe,
From all outside
That wish to catch a glimpse
Of what I hide within.
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Day 29
photo credit: Lauren via photopin(license)
Lines are exciting.
You shouldn’t fear them.
They tell the story of where
Your face and body have been.
And I want to know your story.
Every crease and fold tells a tale
And I want to kiss every wrinkle, every mark
On your face and your body;
Not to kiss them away
But because I want to know your story.
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Day 10
photo credit: autumn leafs via photopin(license)
The bones know a secret.
They hold a sacred trust.
They heard it from the birds.
Who carried it from the trees.
Who heard a whisper
From a passing wind
That had come from across the sea.
But the bones won’t talk about it,
They’ll take the secret to the grave.
Where they will lie in silence
Until the end of days.
photo credit: Keeping up with the bones via photopin(license)
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Lines are exciting.
You shouldn’t fear them.
They tell the story of where
Your face and body have been.
And I want to know your story.
Every crease and fold tells a tale
And I want to kiss every wrinkle, every mark
On your face and your body;
Not to kiss them away
But because I want to know your story.
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: İyi Geceler / Good Night… via photopin (license)
Tender as the night,
That encircles the land
Within its gentle embrace,
Is my kiss upon your cheek.
As I steal away before dawn,
Before you wake to the realisation
That I have gone.
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
photo credit: autumn leafs via photopin (license)
The bones know a secret.
They hold a sacred trust.
They heard it from the birds.
Who carried it from the trees.
Who heard a whisper
From a passing wind
That had come from across the sea.
But the bones won’t talk about it,
They’ll take the secret to the grave.
Where they will lie in silence
Until the end of days.
photo credit: Keeping up with the bones via photopin (license)
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
