Matthew Johnson Poems

Spaghetti Carbonara is a taste
To savour. Every six months I need
The bacon submerged in delicate cheese;
The pasta, soft, with which I stuff my face,
...

Dear love (though not so dear) , have pity on me:
Do not taunt me thus, leave me be. I am
Broken and spent, like an old beggar bent
With years of living but on sufferance.
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A new year has come around.
A new start: fresh, post the past;
With new snow fallen on the ground,
And the hope this year won't pass too fast.
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The city of Pamplona
Is so beautiful in August.

You say you don't remember?
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Every chilli meal I make alone
Is different to those we made together.
We would play chess, crack open the first ale
And sit outside to chat away the night.
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Images from the back of the mind
Distorted into grotesque parodies
Of ourselves and of space and time
Raising certain similarities
...