Original poetry by Brendan O'Regan

Please contact editor@faitharts.ie if you wish to reproduce these poems. Permission will usually be given freely for educaional non-profit use.

The Pits
Jesus Christ is Risen
But I’m not.
I’m in the pits,
Oh pity me.
You saved the beggars,
I beg you please save me.
Draw me near
Move me close
Make me a part
Of your deep heart
So I can love and be content,
As I was meant
To be.  

Oh Corona
Band, beer, saint and virus,
A shape of beauty, crown of thorns,
Disaster sure, but still a chance
Reset, rethink, re-normalise.

Preserve us from a plain return
No lesson learned, no hope renewed;
Let there be a surge of faith
A second wave of love and kind.

Let us spread a peace contagious
Intense, enthused, from faith cocoon;
The best of values well worth shielding,
Leave behind what does demean.

Let us breathe, in tune together,
Airborne spirits, not locked down
No curves to flatten, a peak of love
No social distance in between.

Minimum Requirements

How little can I love thee? Let me discount the ways
How many minutes of the day must I be giving praise?
How many hours commitment to tick the box of love
How many days to dedicate, my good intentions prove?
How near the edge can I stray near before I might fall down
How far to stretch the band of love before the breaking sound?
How many times apologise, how many times forgive
How many times be thankful, how short a life to live?
I wouldn’t like to overdo the times I spend with you
I wouldn’t like to undergo a radical renew.
I wouldn’t like to break it off, I wouldn’t like to rue
So tell me how to save it, how little can I do?

I try so hard to work it out, I try to calculate
The minimum requirements, of having to relate.

Thankings

I am speechless
When I shouldn’t be.
I’m nine lepers no less
You’re King Lear of our times
Filial ingratitude
Ungrateful wretch
Begrudgery of minutes
To God who gave years
And still gives,
Glad to be alive…
But inarticulate
Taken for granted
The greatest gifts
Used, unused, unwrapped, returned.
Thank you for the days
Sorry about the minutes
Thank you for the music
Abba, Father.
We praise you, we bless you,
We fail to thank you.

O Holy Fight

It was a right old ding dong
But not so merrily on high,
O Holy Fight, O Holy Night,
The soloists did vie.

In the bleak midwinter
the lofty choir did say
We’ve done the solo through the years
It’s always been this way.

But holy upstarts wanted in
‘twas time to make a change
Folk or gospel , funk or grunge
Are all within the range.

And then it was a silent night
As icy winds did blow
No one sang and no-one talked
‘Twas frosty as they go.

Rudolf wasn’t the only one
With bright red nose that night
As fisticuffs so tender and mild
Extinguished holy light.

And Good King Wenceslas last looked out
On the Feast of Stephen
He saw the blood upon the snow
And thought ‘At least they’re evens’.

(c) Brendan O'Regan

Halloween?

Halloween is anything but
Unholy night up which we put,
Haunted houses, ghostly trains
House of horrors, bloody stains,
Cute children out for trick or treat
Get sticky sweets to rot their teeth.

Holloween, an empty night
Hints of darkness, shades of fright,
Playing evil in disguise
Uneasy fun and border lies
Innocence with demon horns
Pumpkin souls that look forlorn.

Haloeen, expecting saints
A vigil night for those untaints,
Tomorrow time to celebrate
The ones of love, the ones of faith,
And in two days the holy souls
The ones who scrambled to their goal.

© Brendan O'Regan 2014

The Sign of Peace

I object To the sign of peace,
But not to peace itself of course,
Just that awful handshake
With a total stranger.
I mean,
You don't know where those hands have been,
Some hope
That they have recently seen soap.
Some squeeze so hard
It feels so sore
Some sweat so hard From every pore,
And some have blood on hand,
That could have come from the marks of nails.

© Brendan O'Regan

She Worship Loves

She worship loves when she receives
And is her self the centrepiece,
She sits at altar to be adored
Content to be a Lady Lord.

With practiced poise that's how she kneels
Her congregation now she feels,
She knows it gives them such a lift
For after all, she is God's gift.

Her every word from holy book
They hang on those, she's had a look,
All it takes is pregnant pause
To draw a round of sweet applause.

Meanwhile altar boys draw round
Hanging on her every sound,
Galileo's wrong about the sun
The earth revolves around this one.

Mystique does not enhance approach
The glory of the single touch
For distance comes at such a price
No comfort lies in maiden ice.

© Brendan O'Regan 2011

HOLY FRIEND

I've a friend who's like a priest -
In the service of self;
He makes sacrifices
Of his brothers and sisters,
And gives glory
To the famous, the titled and the well to do.

He holds collections
Of antiques in his vaults,
And will preach
About himself for ever and ever,
Being always charitable
With a flair for flamboyance in the giving act.

He visits the sick
That owe him money,
He feeds the poor
When he himself eats
And of course he preys
On all his friends with holy zeal.

© Brendan O'Regan 2010

Could Lead and Serve

(Reflections on leadership and service, 2014)

Could lead you home
And wash your feet
Could give you food
Out on the street

Could give you supper
But not your last
Could give you home
'Til we break fast

Could mend your heart
That others broke
Heal hurtful words
That others spoke

Could find direction
Make straight your life
Soft cradle you
From anxious strife

Keep company
When you're alone
Use lightest words
Or telephone

Wipe salty tears
That rise from grief
From daily pain
Give some relief

Could pray with you
If that's okay
Could listen just
To what you say

Could lead you on
To One that heals
Could teach you what
The One reveals

Could just be there
To serve or wait
Yes, I could lead
Or hesitate.

© Brendan O'Regan 2014

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