Biography of Matthew English
“I can see you have a great deal of water in your personality. Water never waits. It changes shape and flows around things, and finds the secret paths no one else has thought about - the tiny hole through the roof or the bottom of the box. There's no doubt it's the most versatile of the five elements. It can wash away earth; it can put out fire; it can wear a piece of metal down and sweep it away. Even wood, which is its natural complement, can't survive without being nurtured by water. And yet, you haven't drawn on those strengths in living your life, have you? ”? Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha
Matthew English Poems
Is gender the question, For what does it matter? To love is of spirit and mind, not of petty labels set by the creator
Fragility is; the smash of a glass, a fallen vase, the collision of two cars,
Plastic, artificial, disposable, replaceable, empty and shallow. The music we worship
Modern life is just a lie, a deception so successful due to the spoon-fed youth of today and yesterday. Leaders that feed on our gullibility.
A brief moment of happiness is; the gaze in your eyes, the warmth i feel from your gentle touch, my hands in your hands
I give all i can, but there’s nothing for me to take. Nothing in life is one sided, but how can this be compared with love when flat is two dimensional.
Laughter fills the room, like the sound of music painting the walls, filling our minds all persons content.
I gaze over to you, in your direction- see your face shining in the sunlight like an angel, sparkling eyes with flowing hair. Drawn to your beauty-full mind
New Volume #2
Your image fills me with happiness like a new chapter in a story, our story. Flicking through the pages to see what’s in store, although it just makes me want you- more and more.
Gazing through the glass panes of a window across the frost stained fields a ‘yonder like, a freshly powder christmas cake- the metaphor of a seasons harvest of berries and warmth in our hearts.
Folk uplifts ones mind and soul with the simple melodies, musical poetry. From the acoustics to the banjo twang and earthy bass coupled with voice and strings.
Please, please, please, let me get what i want- to hold you in my arms and feel your warm breath on my neck. Gaze into your eyes and lose myself
There’s beauty in nature, the changing seasons, changing weather. They way everything is just changing, floating across time. The bright reds and warming browns of autumn encompassing what was once the lush green foliage of summer or the frost stained bare branches, ominous in the darkness but a wonderland in the winter sun until life is restored once again as spring comes around. In spring, like a miracle the whole world is reborn. Bursting buds of bright coloured petals, beauty spots on the face of the landscape. The barron fields bustling with life once more as the spring lamb dances over the moors. Birdsong once again fills the air, returning from the South, homeward bound. Natures landscape an empty canvas slowly brimming with colour and then painted over again, never once the same- but still eternal beauty. As notes dot across the stave, a heavy bass or soft melody dancing over the ebony and ivory keys of a piano or, plucked on the nylon strings of a classical guitar. Everyone perceves the beauty of music in a different way. This assortment is what makes it so truly special. As one piece draws out happiness in any situation, takes over you body, soul and mind. The dance floor light with a thousand bodies, swaying to the deep groove. The forty piece orchestra, accompanied by a concerto of piano and sweeping of stringed viola and cello. Is this truly the art of the soul? Close your eyes, live this out of body experience, fly across the sea of major tones. Each tear drops to the soundtrack each and everyones lives. From once was the crackle of needle on acetate, following the tracks through the winding tapes into the mp3. What once was just mere vibration is now a symphony of beauty.
Walking down such a familiar street, though in an absence of mind; my head is whirring, leaving me to feel faint and vision blurred, but I keep walking. Step- after step- after step. No music playing, as I’m wthout headphones, leaving my walk-man in my pocket, without a use. In the background- the only music I’m able to hear is the sound of an accordion playing, from a bench I’ve just passed. It’s usual to hear buskers, but the accompaniment, is queer from any other I’ve experienced before on this street. In a blink of my eye I’m transported, against my will to a parisian market; my swirling head playing a trick on me? None-the-less I feel distant, far away. The surroundings are the same, the faces, but my unconscious is parallel from reality, creating a blur in my senses. To clarify I’m still in the same town I listen out to the passers by, each conversation to try and hear familiar language; but it’s different, I can’t understand anything from the mouths of the strangers.
Walking down such a familiar street, though in an absence of mind; my head is whirring, leaving me to feel faint and vision blurred, but I keep walking.
Step- after step- after step.
No music playing, as I’m wthout headphones, leaving my walk-man in my pocket, without a use. In the background- the only music I’m able to hear is the sound of an accordion playing, from a bench I’ve just passed. It’s usual to hear buskers, but the accompaniment, is queer from any other I’ve experienced before on