When All of This Was Fields

photo credit: pni Sky Eyed Mammoth via photopin (license)

I can sense the breathing of the city
Even though the windows and the curtains are closed.

I’m doing everything I can to shut out the light,
Yet I know the city keeps right on living all around me,
Hemming me in. Cocooned within glass and steel
A manufactured being in a designer prison that is all too real.

I can’t stand this conditioned air, the sterile thoughts
And pretending to be civilised enough for this society.
For how it plugs me into its desires,
The pleasure centre stimuli.

For all the antiseptic pollutants that it uses to subdue me
Are not enough recompense for what this city demands of me.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Moving On

photo credit: Suits 2 via photopin (license)

photo credit: Suits 2 via photopin (license)

London calling, clarion sound;
Sweet perfume
Of the dirty old river.
Suburban debris
That flows to your heart,
Like so much flotsam and jetsam
Caught in the whirlpools.
These eddies within crowds
That cry out.
But don’t know
What it is to be free.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 29 June 2016

Stone Cold

photo credit: Ciara-Angela Engelhardt when the bass is ruling her heart via photopin (license)

Absolute zero or near enough
To make no difference
To the state of the union.
Nothing changes, it’s what we’re used to.
We’ve endless patience
Lying here in the deep freeze.
Siberian nights, and even colder days.
Our hearts have frozen over
This is our own personal ice age.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Deep Rooted

photo credit: Stanisław Krawczyk abstract 1 via photopin (license)

This lethargy roots me to the ground,

Ties me down. Anchors me here

Unable to escape these mistakes.

Forces me to watch as the drama unfolds

Like leaves on a tree in the first light of spring.

 

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Everyday

photo credit: Julien.Belli Rush hour via photopin (license)

Is this what has become of us
This everyday to and fro.
This circular existence,
Ferris wheel without a view.
Is this humdrum monotony

This weekday rock and roll,
Playing sardines on the tube –
As exciting as it’s gonna get
For fool’s like me and you.

Where’s the escape route,
Unshakeable alibi or Plan B.
What happened to the masterplan?
Is this what we got pencilled in,

Every Monday to Friday
From now until the grave.
Where’s the tequila? Where’s the beach?
Is everyday fulfilment, like for Tantalus,
A bounty out of reach.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Wandering and Lost

photo credit: KevHaworthPhotography Wreckage On The Wyre via photopin (license)

photo credit: KevHaworthPhotography Wreckage On The Wyre via photopin (license)

Wandering,
A spirit adrift.

Marooned, this sea surrounds,
No way forward,
No way out.

And I have forgotten
What it is I seek.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.