Matthew Holloway Poems

looking out across the ocean
a mind wanders upon the waves
to far distant lands, lives and loves
to escape from this island
...

Quite what the future holds
I am not one to predict
There are sound bites playing
From every political division
...

Those well worn pages
those footnotes scribbled in corners
tell tales beyond the book
a storied history
...

How many of us just exist
Rather than live
Going through the motions
Finding a job, working hard
...

Dust lines the shelves
The old books left unread
For many a year
Their tales, stories forgotten
...

There is in truth
No good or bad poet
Just a variance of opinion
Neither man nor woman
...

The fields of my shared youth
The hedgerows and trees
Of a small town now lost
A town that became a suburb
...

I was wasting a day onetime
Watching television without attention
Some apparent talent show
Filled with bad singers
...

There is no love
only fairytales
only stories
songs and poetry
...