Matthew Holloway Poems

The swallow
~
A swallow sings for thee
beside the river in the rain
...

On sighting a sunny day
~
Mad dogs rove in the midday sun
they used to say the same of the English man
...

We await the promise of summer
in anxious anticipation
eyes cast out across the gardens
planning, plotting rows of flowers
...

I am not at odds with the world
nor is it at odds with me
I often tend be elsewhere
writing upon a different page
...

Like from an open wound
I have bled poetry
the essence of who I am
remains upon the page
...

The perhaps, the possibilities
the endless lines, which could have been
the re-write that never was
a self critic bemoans
...

I sit amid a silent pause
where words flow not into thought
to verse a prose is due
still, still the page does await
...

A morning sky
drew in charcoal
and framed by the window
listless in the early hour
...

I named my cat after a poet
that I would love it
the name also suited well
Sylvia my little angel
...

The artist creates
for celebration and joy
to express and share
a beautiful vision
...