Moss Words

photo credit: John Brighenti Moss on a Log via photopin (license)

Lichen on rocks,
Scars, marks of winter
Writ large upon the trees,

That lines the path
That wanders away
From the cabin door.

Sentinel strangers
This time of year,
For there is nothing to believe in

When the trees are not in bloom.
The forest is a stranger
When the green leaf goes.

© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Little England

photo credit: neiljs London snow via photopin (license)

Flurries
Of worrisome weather,
Caught between hello and goodbye.
A day that don’t know
If it’s coming or going.
Came in like a lamb
But now it’s having trouble deciding
Whether to go out on the town
Or out with a bang.

A blizzard is blowing
Down High Street and byways
And icicle tears
Are stinging my cheeks.
Next moment it is raining,
Chasing the white flakes away.
While the sun is claiming
A leave of absence
From the muck and the grime.
Escaping grey little England
For the lake and the beach.
 
© 2019 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Starlight Rending

For the 9 November there is a poem about how small this universe makes me feel sometimes…

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: The Knowles Gallery Idaho Sawtooths Milky-way via photopin(license)

This beauty is torn apart
By chaos winds
And bitter rains.
By the harshness of the times,
By the frigid coldness of black nights.
The stars who shine,
Jealously guard those distant lights.
Never sharing of the warmth
Of their distant, alien, hearts.
 
© 2018 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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Starlight Rending

photo credit: The Knowles Gallery Idaho Sawtooths Milky-way via photopin (license)

This beauty is torn apart
By chaos winds
And bitter rains.
By the harshness of the times,
By the frigid coldness of black nights.
The stars who shine,
Jealously guard those distant lights.
Never sharing of the warmth
Of their distant, alien, hearts.
 
© 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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