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.

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Wind Chills

photo credit: Tim @ Photovisions Frozen Pond via photopin (license)

The sun shines down,
Crowning the ice upon the pond
With a transient halo.

Shimmers of translucence
Shiver in the frigid air,
Whisper of nothing.
 
© 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)

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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Winter Moon

photo credit: Charlie Day DaytimeStudios Supermoon and Clouds via photopin (license)

Whose is the moon

That floats on high;

That lights my way

On winter nights,

That sails above

And reflects below.

Whose is the moon?

Not mine, I cry.

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Originally Published 3 January 2015

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Frozen in Fury

photo credit: Paladin27 Winter Watch via photopin (license)

January is cold; barren season
That life has left a hollow shell.
Only decay can keep a death beat
Where once hearts in rhythm called ‘All’s well!’
Now chaos grows in frozen darkness
Ice warriors of this living hell.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Loki’s Moment

photo credit: liqube White Out via photopin (license)

Sky walking, cloud scudding
Quickly, disbelieving
The blue turns – dark’ning grey.
Wind of the north, fierce cold
Breaths with wicked intent,
His dissent – mischief snow.

© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Tumbling

photo credit: kickize The graveyard via photopin (license)

Tumbling snowflakes
Covering me, a blanket
Of winter conceals.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Overturn

photo credit: Natalia Medd Wrapped in Winter via photopin (license)

This is the leaving time, the dying of the light.
Winter fires may wait to burn the last embers of the old away.
In anticipation of the new emerging from these dark nights
Like a phoenix from the ashes. But this is the leaving,
The last post, and we are all prisoners of this dying season.
Hopes are all gone awry, it is too late to put things right.
Winter’s child has wrapped us in her embrace.
Her cold, dead arms encircle us.
No chance to overturn the order,
Season must follow season, we cannot overthrow
We must suffer winter’s tyranny again.
The glacial kiss of the unforgiving season.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.