My name is Sandra Regan. I was born and raised in San Francisco, California. I've surfed the Pacific Ocean, was a lifeguard and a swim teacher for years. I have a degree from San Francisco State University and was an avid protestor against Apartheid and for needy people. I still love nature, I'm a total Francophile, I play the violin and viola in an orchestra and a symphonic metal band. I like to think I bring joy and beauty to the people I meet and hope you like my poetry. more »
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Sandra Regan Poems
The Perfect Day
We had morning coffee, we had a morning walk, pictures on phones, and a daylong talk.
Do you want to do it? I'm not sure, I say, 'yes.' Vortex swirling below. Every inch closer says DO IT.
Do Me Again
Late at night we meet again. It's the life of a musician. Face the fact, I'm making my move. Evening will bring hands that soothe.
A Number Game
She was born on 3. He was born on 7. She was born on 31. They work at 500.
Long night with two friends and two dogs. Laughter, secrets, fantasies, and apples? Music, cheap wine, tequila. Snuck a sip of your tequila.
She Wore Fearless
She wears black but her soul is white. he is paranoid about performing and perceptions. don't overthink it don't try to understand it. he doesn't yet realize that she is fearless.
Be Brave My Son
Ancestors at your side every single day. Loved always, don't forget these words I say. Wise young boy, with eyes of green. Aim for the right and don't be mean.
Playing The Violin!
Are you ready? Hold it with your chin. This is a game that you will win. It won't be easy, now stand up straight. Come on now, I know your fate.
One Last Dance
Dark eyes, long hair, proud of familia and roots. Tattoos claim the city with the golden bridge. Why you? So strange when these eyes only sought green or blue, uninked, milky skin, and hair of gold.
Kiss It Goodbye
Last 12 months, a year to forget. Every tear, every prayer, each failed bet. Time to move on, time to let go. Sky sets quick, head hung low.
Crazy Prose on a Crazy Night
June brings warmth, sun kissed cheeks and love from two. Endless crazy thoughts of laughter, songs, and you. Four days of a full moon, oh my. Filled with your light and your crazy ways.
Roses she did not receive on her birthday. Or sweet 16, or wedding day. She always wondered about his face and if he was a man of grace. Sinful cholo, drunk, marijuano, she was told.
Countless takes to get it right, she inspired late that night. She thinks it's beautiful, he says it's rough, just like heartaches raw, yet tough.
The Voice of Change
Poetic ponderings of an Independance Day. From a girl who sat through the pledge, raised an upside down flag, and laid down in protest. Hmmm... Amber waves of grain and purple mountain majesties? Shes not sure of these.
Comments about Sandra Regan
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
The Perfect Day
We had morning coffee,
we had a morning walk,
pictures on phones,
and a daylong talk.
We gazed at rolling hills
and took long deep breathes.
We watched children fly kites
and looked forward to endless nights.
On this wonderful and magical day,
we acted out parts, just like a play.
It was the, oh so, perfect day.
We walked distant trails and took in some wine.
I danced, you sang, we followed the signs.
You were funny, bold, tender, and kind.
So what was wrong with this perfect day?
Alone again, you were only on my mind.