The Missing Pieces

photo credit: Vortexas32 IMG_2625 via photopin (license)

The silhouette still hides the soul.
The target can blind you
To the meaning of the goal.
And the missing pieces make you forget
How complete is your imperfect whole.

Though you may shatter, curse yourself
With seven years of bad luck
Pick yourself up. Ask for a little help.
Remember riches are weighed
In more than just their value as wealth.

All blessings glitter, not only silver and gold.
What is the day, without the night.
What is the warmth, without some cold.
What is the smile if not watered by a single tear.
What am I if separated from this troubled soul.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Rhyme nor Reason

photo credit: Anonymous Account Go ahead via photopin (license)

photo credit: Anonymous Account Go ahead via photopin (license)

This is my disease.
My locked room
Without a key.
My sickness
Without a cure.
This silence
You must endure.
Watch reason flee,
Lights flickering out.
This is my dis-ease.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally published 22 November 2016

Bogeyman

photo credit: Marco Nürnberger The Shadow via photopin (license)

What doesn’t kill us
Makes us stronger,
What doesn’t kill us
Makes us wish we were younger,

What doesn’t kill us
Makes us wish for yesterday,
Makes us wish.
That the Shadow would go away

Leave us to our own designs
To roll the dice,
Leaves us to play the game.
Fate in own hands

Impostors by another name,
Captains of our own sinking ship.
In control of our own illusions
With mastery of all our delusions.

With all the weapons ready
At our command
We are ready
To take a stand.

What doesn’t kill us
Makes us wish we were younger
Makes us long for the Shadow
That we fear to go away.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Time Zones

photo credit: 1.5+ mil views. Humbled and thanks to all! Struck by the lightning, crushed by a wave! via photopin (license)

Moments slip from out my eyeline,
Chances founder on the rocks.
While I try to begin again
The memories wait for me in the shadows.
My hopes are destined to fail
While these shifting sands
Shift beneath me again.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Shadow of a Girl

There was a girl
Between the earth and the sky,
Shadow of a girl
Like a bird she did fly.

There was a girl
I spied between moon and sun,
But when I looked again
That girl had gone.

There was a girl
I saw across the lake,
But when I reached out for her
From the dream I did wake.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A Time for Tears

It’s that time of year for the start of my annual review, and to kick things off a poem from last November

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Kansas Poetry (Patrick) Winter Tree Revisited via photopin (license) photo credit: Kansas Poetry (Patrick) Winter Tree Revisited via photopin(license)

It is a time for tears,
Of scudding clouds and fierce-blown frost
On a chill north wind.
When darkness lurks mere moments after dawn
And perpetual shade creeps like the Reaper in this winterland.
Death and snow are the bitter harvest
Of this barren season.
A time for tears; November,
Swansong of the year.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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After You Have Gone

 

photo credit: Natalia Medd Summer Wind via photopin (license)

Your heady perfume haunts me
That scent of you in the air.
Dizzying sensations that linger
Like the silhouette of a body
Just sketched on the pillow
When nobody is there.

I caught a glimpse of your shadow
A fleeting glimpse, just a hint
That you were there
Before it was gone.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Badinage

photo credit: Dani Alvarez Cañellas Silvia Pérez Cruz via photopin (license)

photo credit: Dani Alvarez Cañellas Silvia Pérez Cruz via photopin (license)

Hello,
I didn’t expect to see you here
On the night side of town.
You look like your hiding out
Back here in the half-light
From a paramour pursuing you
With bandaged up flowers
And a heart made of thorns.

Me, well I’m doing fine
Strumming along in time
With the silence.
Trying to make out this design
In the darkness. In the madness;
Wondering why the roses
Are buried in Plaster of Paris
And I’ve a heart full of thorns.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.