Matthew Holloway Poems

It appears I like many others
Have had a choice presented
Between the bar, the book and the church
We choose our own solace
...

I put pen to paper
Rather than knife to wrist
Lines of verse preferred
To pills and whisky
...

It's been reoccurring
Now for the past few nights
The nameless, faceless man turns
Butchers knife in hand
...

That morning commute
While all the world still sleeps
Through empty quiet streets
Except sometimes on weekends
...

There's a ghost in my heart
Saying I won't love no more
Pushed the bolt, turned they key
Fully locked tight that door
...

Van Gough was never loved
until after he died
such is the tragedy
of a beautiful mind
...

gone those long sun kissed days
of blue skies and drinks in the garden
gone the river walks by flowers and trees
how colourful and pretty it was
...

Let the music play
that rhythm and blues
that northern soul
makes me sway my hips
...

I have a few lines
barely a verse in honesty
a poem if any believe
all I dream is about poetry
...

Well I've never known it
That pitch beautiful scene
like in some old movie
the hero is never one like me
...