The Derelicts

Day 10 of the review and a poem about building upwards…

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: Chicago Skyline September 2014 via photopin (license) photo credit: Chicago Skyline September 2014 via photopin(license)

Like Derelicts they loom over the city, these
Skeletal remains. Two drunkards clasping hands
Because they fear they may come crashing down,
Without a companion by their side.

As the Derelicts sway in time
To the music of winter winds.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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The Derelicts

Like Derelicts they loom over the city, these
Skeletal remains. Two drunkards clasping hands
Because they fear they may come crashing down,
Without a companion by their side.

As the Derelicts sway in time
To the music of winter winds.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Godless

Creating a path for the godless
On a Saturday night.
From the lounge bar
To the chippie.
From the condom machine to regret
As you lay down in the gutter,
Nursing a hangover,
In the Sunday morning light.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Red Light

photo credit:  via photopin (license)

photo credit: via photopin (license)

This is not Pretty Woman.
There is no knight in shining armour
Coming to rescue you.
Just hands holding you down,
Bodies that buy you,
People that own you
But don’t see you.
When you were once
Somebody’s sister,
Somebody’s mother,
Somebody’s sweetheart.
But always you’ll be
Somebody’s daughter,
Somebody’s Child.

© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Urban Symphony

Here goes with Day 8

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit:  via photopin (license) photo credit: via photopin(license)

Like so much flotsam

Cut adrift by the city.

Wanders lost, soulless eyes

That no longer see.

A cacophony of voices

As unintelligible as the blaring

Of sirens and car horns,

Screaming constantly,

Endless soundtrack

To yet another sick dream.

Twisted reality, neon coated,

Drives its stake through night’s heart.

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Urban Symphony

photo credit:  via photopin (license)

photo credit: via photopin (license)

Like so much flotsam

Cut adrift by the city.

Wanders lost, soulless eyes

That no longer see.

A cacophony of voices

As unintelligible as the blaring

Of sirens and car horns,

Screaming constantly,

Endless soundtrack

To yet another sick dream.

Twisted reality, neon coated,

Drives its stake through night’s heart.

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.