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Best Poems Written by D. Anthony Regan

Below are the all-time best D. Anthony Regan poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | D. Anthony Regan Poem

What happens

So, what happens after were dead,
Do we suffer in miserable silence,
Cry in our head,
Does our last breath unplug us from all ever said?
Do our memories persist of the places we’d loved,
Or end in wet soil,
A cold blanket, black, shoved!

So, what happens when we last wave goodbye,
Does despair wave us off,
As we fade through its eye,
Do we go into oblivion, 
instead of the sky?
Do the toys in our frozen heart fester and rot,
Do we each venture off,
Where another cannot?

So, what happens when the great night ventures in,
As were holding our kids, 
As were kissing their skin,
What happens to all the life left within?
Are we nailed to a tree for the depth of our sin,
Or do we simply, 
end, 
then once again, 
begin?

So, 
what happens when we plunge beneath the deepest sea,
Do we hold our breath in an eternal grave,
Longing again to see,
The blondes and the blues and the fields of strawberry?
Do we fade into pale,
As our loved ones unfold,
Do we merely become old stone,
Dead weeds and mould?

Details | D. Anthony Regan Poem

Frontier Life

How do we uproot ourselves from the earth to fully ascend to the heaves above, 
how do we reconfigure our neurological pathways to convince our heads to unplug from the system, 
our hands to put down the screens, 
our eyes to blind themselves to the news, 
our ears to block out misdirection, 
our souls to repel artificial frequencies,
our morals to ascend the primal,
how?
How do we amputate the saurian tail, 
and end the serpent’s day.

As the bison, 
we require little more than food and water, 
with the addition of shelter, 
So, 
what is the nature of the luxury by which we destroy ourselves, 
our families, 
our nation, 
our earth, 
does it creep into our lives by virtue of another’s trickery and greed, 
Conformity,
In-group societal dynamics, 
or simple desire, 
the desire for comfort, 
the desire to abandon the natural struggles of our true lot, 
that which makes us most human, 
most truthful,
most competent, 
most skilled, 
most alive. 

Where do we go then,
once we have obtained an abundance of surplus not nearly necessary to the true and simple natures of our being, 
bigger houses, 
more clothes, 
elaborate and finer foods, 
multiple sources of heat,
innumerable flavours of drink,
when we have deserted the full adventure of life for a vacation in a constricted window of time, 
rushing back to the drug of money, 
a drug that dulls the dreams and sinks the spirit into the palest blue.

As seeds, 
we have been convinced to place ourselves in the soil and shoot downward, 
where our minds, 
flower within the dark.

Details | D. Anthony Regan Poem

Dont bring flowers

Don’t insult me by leaving flowers when I’m cold,
Wrapped in earth unlived and old,
Something I can’t smell or hold, 
Might as well be crates of gold,
Just leave the flowers in the shop!

Don’t blub and weep and cast a rose,
Upon the casket where I’m froze,
Beneath the black and solemn crows, 
With whom I flew through ups and low’s,
Just leave the flowers in the shop!

Please, 
don’t repulse my soul by telling tales,
As hades winds push through the sails,
You weren’t there when I came off the rails,
But as my heart lay on the scales,
Now, 
here you are, 
top hat and tails,
Just leave the flowers in the shop!

Don’t lie through phony gritted teeth,
Sprinkle soil or lay a wreath,
I preferred a sword out of the sheath,
As it was in life, 
So, 
I bequeath,
Just leave the flowers in the shop!

Don’t pen a heartfelt note and sigh!
Or smudge mascara round your eye,
You, 
who’d gladly crucify,
Any random passer-by,
Honestly, 
don’t even say goodbye,
Just leave the flowers in the shop!

Details | D. Anthony Regan Poem

The old mountain

The wind once whispered,
Some old secret at my toes,
As I danced beyond a human peep,
Inside the dew drop of a rose,
Climbing like that softly,
With a head that wanted home,
And a heart that spoke in rhythm,
Of a time when earth was bone,
The melon sun quenched me
Rising fleshless through the breeze,
As a hundred trumpets bent the limbs
Of a billion frightened trees,
Behold, 
I've past here to frequent the natural book,
Where blood is written on the skin,
And no solemn eye can look.
I'm home father, 
Come and see,
I'll show you once my only face,
And I'll leave the old mountain crumble,
Past time,
Past voice,
Past space.

Details | D. Anthony Regan Poem

Dont follow me down

I went to a graveyard 
And spoke about Jesus 
For 42 years 
I didn't do nothing 
Just hung around 
Headstones and slept 
with my boots on
Walked the earth shoeless
And kissed the sun weeping
Called out for someone 
But everyone was sleeping

Don’t follow me, 
now,
I'm on my way down.

For 42 years 
I wore other people's faces
I've killed in my dreams 
And ran through a desert 
There once was a man
But now it's a shadow 
There used to be a mountain
But now there's a valley
I've spat at the moon and 
Thrown out my cup
Been on a call to Jesus
But he just hung up
Held out both hands 
And felt nothing but silence
Opened my temples 
And in poured the violence 

Don’t follow me, 
now,
My time is over.

I've seen angels and demons
And demons are winning
Existed in prison 
With kids that are broken
Tried closing some doors
But there's too many open 
Seen a good child 
Alone in a rainbow 
Surrounded a clock 
But it's arms were too heavy 
Went into the gutter 
And saw myself bleeding 
Kissed a soul twice 
But the third is still pleading
Seen all the world 
But not seen within once 

Don't follow me, 
now,
The end is upon me.

Don’t follow me, 
now,
My time is over.

Details | D. Anthony Regan Poem

My war is done

Through arid nights 
They fire their gun
But do not see 
my war is done

the years of blood 
have stained my skin
and chambered death
inside a grin

I have born my soul
To no applause 
And washed up on 
A thousand shores 

When the blasts denote 
That death is near
And the mists of dream 
Are all but clear 

As voices fade 
Behind the sun
Then all shall see
My war is done

Details | D. Anthony Regan Poem

Brake Lights

Riding a great dragon’s tail through the soaking wet darkness of the early morning,
Red, 
Tails and tails of red bending through the breathing stone as I inch closer to the labour camp,
Closer and closer to the sacrificial alter of Kronos, 
Where I hang my heart from his crooked scythe of time,
In exchange for small pieces of silver,
Never big enough to free me from the great dragon’s tail that furls red through the weeping shade of bitter cold,
Never big enough to unhook my heart from his Scythe and give it full and healthy to my daughter’s,
Never big enough to leave the labour camp,
Never big enough to feel the rings of time shining long and warm on my pale skin,
Just enough to keep me coming back,
Just enough to chain me to the red tail,
Just enough to lock me away from every colour of meaning,
Just enough to enslave me in perpetual servitude,
In honour of those small pieces of silver.