Direction of Travel

photo credit: guilherme-pavan Marilia via photopin (license)

You lead me up
You lead me down,
In and out of the shadows
Dancing round and round.

You’re like the fox gone to ground
And I’m like the hound chasing my tail.
Dazed and confused, gone to hell.
Never knowing which direction you’ll travel.
 
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 3 May 2017

Union

photo credit: Glassholic Rainbow via photopin (license)

May our differences unite us.
May they be the bricks and the mortar
Of the road that we walk upon.
May they provide us with the tools we will use
As we build a home for the future.
In a world of many colours
Illuminated by only the one sun.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Yin and Yang

photo credit: Trey Ratcliff Friends via photopin (license)

The balance, the wisdom,
The laughter, the hand to hold.
The other side of you,
The shadow of your light.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

I Can’t Write Anymore

The title of this post may sound brutal but, then, the title isn’t exactly true either. Yet it is what I have been telling myself pretty frequently over the last couple of months.
Usually, it involves looking at an empty page, flinging my arms skyward, cursing, before exclaiming “I can’t write anymore”, “I’ve lost the words” or something similar.
During this time I’ve only written two poems and I wrote hardly anything poetic during September. Well, I wrote one poem during the month but at most no matter how many times I read it I could only categorise it as inoffensive. I can’t feel any more enthusiastic about the words than that. My response to my own work is lukewarm. I apocalyptically opine that I have been deserted by my Muse. Though I occasionally think I can hear her laughing behind my back as I stare at the flashing cursor on the naked flesh of the computer screen.
But then this is what I do. I always used to resent the time I spent writing poetry while I was trying to keep up my daily word count in my fiction writing. It took me a while to accept that I needed to have the creative escape hatch of writing a poem unconnected to the story universe I was writing in while I figured out the problems within the fiction. Sometimes though I used to write a poem connected to the fiction, cementing the atmosphere of a story location in my mind or allowing a character a chance to express themselves outside the restrictive form of sentences, paragraphs and chapters.
But still, in my mind, it was only sentences, paragraphs and chapters that mattered when it came to word count. And a lack of word count was one of my favourite things to beat myself up with as a writer.
To that end can writers not share on social media messages such as “… written 5k words today, best day ever whoop, whoop… ” or complaining “… 11 am and have only written three chapters so far today… ”. Because I can’t relate with that, the more relatable message for me would be “… really pleased, with today’s score Chocolate Biscuits eaten 7, Words Written 8 …”. That’s the sort of message that resonates with me.
Yes, I’m very happy with the chapters that I have managed to write during September and October. I’m especially pleased with the opening sentence of one particular chapter …

… yet I stress myself over my lack of output when I need to look at my creativity more holistically.
I know I need to be kind to myself, yes quite a lot of the time my creativity, the poetry especially, comes out of the stresses and anxieties within my life. But if I focus too much on the negatives I risk shutting out all the other avenues of creativity for occasionally I write about sunlight and warm feelings. Too much darkness will only lead me into a dead-end of zero creation. Word-count is not my friend because I know I need time away from one creative coal-face occasionally to recharge my batteries. And finally if I wake up in the morning and write five-hundred words relating to a completely separate project in a storm of creativity that is because that is the strand of my subconscious that wants to communicate at that moment, I shouldn’t try to silence it and having ideas on one topic can lead to more ideas in time on other projects as long as I am patient with myself, because I need to make-believe. And I need chocolate biscuits too but that is a separate story.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Crossing the Rubicon (Small Mercy)

Here’s the offering for Day 11

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: eduardomineo 26/7/2009 via photopin(license)

Mercy.

Pleading to be heard
Within these four walls,
Outside in the world.

Senses
Overloaded,
Hiatus
Deserved.

Searching for the right words,
In these pages
Reaching out to the world.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Crossing the Rubicon (Small Mercy)

photo credit: eduardomineo 26/7/2009 via photopin (license)

Mercy.

Pleading to be heard
Within these four walls,
Outside in the world.

Senses
Overloaded,
Hiatus
Deserved.

Searching for the right words,
In these pages
Reaching out to the world.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Naked

photo credit: Neon Stretch via photopin (license)

photo credit: Neon Stretch via photopin (license)

Sensual curve
Between your body and mine.
Sinuous understanding,
Language of hearts
Beating in time.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Sorry

Marching in step

I’m so alone

Nobody understands

What it is I’m going through.

How can they possibly

Understand,

When everybody out there

Is as screwed up as me.

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.