Streetlight

photo credit: Bold Frontiers Starry London Night via photopin (license)

Dark shadows, disembodied voices
Floating in the night,
This world beyond the window.

In fragments of modern art –
Bright lights and disappointment.
In search of answers

When there never was any meaning.
Just this spiralling deceit
Diverting us down one-way streets.

Twilight whispers
Spark tongues of flame.
Yet unaware, we stay the same.

© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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This Fortress

photo credit: Johans tilted tripod Kinbane castle via photopin (license)

Calm –
I do not mean you calm.
That is what the world says
When the world speaks to me.

When car horns growl
And strangers bare fangs
In laughter and smiles.
When deadlines are wielded like weapons

And the second hand slices through the air
Like the judgement of a guillotine blade.
When the rising anger of sound batters the stones of my soul
Until the inevitable crash of the bricks of this fortress to the ground.

Calm –
I do not mean you calm.
That is what the world says
When the world is becoming too real for me.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Travelling Show

Silence,

Is overrated.

Give me bustle,

Give me noise,

A street scene drama,

A panoply of joys.

Let there be music

Of larks and doves.

With crashing waves,

Electric guitars.

With vibrant brushstrokes

Paint it in crimson

And golds and blues.

Let it all go spinning by

On the helter-skelter, razor’s edge.

Never quiet – I choose life.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Monday

For six days I will live,
Just not today
If that’s okay.
On other days I will thrive,
Rise and shine
Give my best,
But not today.
I need to rest

Escape the rat race.
Engines, raw,
The blood and thunder
Carnivores.
The fight to survive
This urban wasteland
From dawn to dusk
Until this day is
… Laid to rest.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Down in the Tube Station

Day 7 of my review of the last twelve months and a poem about losing the rat race

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Sophie.Dituri All that Shimmers via photopin (license) photo credit: Sophie.Dituri All that Shimmers via photopin(license)

Is this your bridal gown
Or a burial shroud?
The worries of the world
Weighing you down.
The nine to five heartache
Of another Monday commute.
Saturday morning, five more minutes
Under the covers,
Seems like a lifetime away.
A smudge of mascara,
Congealed with sleep, in the corner of your eye.
Difficult to tell apart
From the soot and pollution down here
In this metropolitan underworld.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Down in the Tube Station

photo credit: Sophie.Dituri All that Shimmers via photopin (license)

photo credit: Sophie.Dituri All that Shimmers via photopin (license)

Is this your bridal gown
Or a burial shroud?
The worries of the world
Weighing you down.
The nine to five heartache
Of another Monday commute.
Saturday morning, five more minutes
Under the covers,
Seems like a lifetime away.
A smudge of mascara,
Congealed with sleep, in the corner of your eye.
Difficult to tell apart
From the soot and pollution down here
In this metropolitan underworld.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

From Heaven

photo credit: iss045e027982 via photopin (license)

photo credit: iss045e027982 via photopin (license)

What do we look like from heaven
When the gods glance back toward earth,
Do they see our beacons of light
That passes for civilisation
When they look at us from up above;
Or are we just cosmic flotsam and jetsam to them
Radiating with noise and pollution,
Until we turn out the last light.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.