Biography of Ray Mather
Ray Mather trained as a teacher of English and Drama. Struggling to find poems that fulfilled his needs for stimulus aids in the classroom he began writing his own on reflecting his view of good and bad things about school life. Some of these poems got published in a School Anthology and this led to requests and commissions for further poems on a variety of themes for a variety of age groups. His poetry has been published in anthologies, encyclopedias and teaching and examination materials in most countries in the English-speaking world. Due to requests from students for more information about his poems that they were studying for assignments, he decided to create his own website. www.raymather.co.uk. Here can be found the school-based work as well as a range of other poetry and script work.
Ray Mather Poems
Remember Me? I am the boy who sought friendship; The boy you turned away. I the boy who asked you
Two Boys Crying
Across the world Two boys are crying, Both wanting more And tired of trying.
I’m a litterbug and I don’t care, I throw my litter everywhere. Crisp packets, sweet wrappers, lollipop sticks – In desks, on the yard – the usual tricks.
If I Had A Dog
If I had a dog I’d call him Butch I’d hug him hard And love him much
The Elephant In The Room
Hi Hi How are you doing? Fine. Yourself?
Recipe For Friendship
Take a large amount of trust Blend in a good measure of honesty Crack a joke or two to taste Sift out the truth from a mixed bag of gossip and rumour
‘S cool, man, It’s the best, Gotta keep your interest. Talkin’ is the name of the game
Rose At 21
Ten past eight That warm September night In an antiseptic room Your first tentative cry
Acrostic For A Failed Marriage
Married Unhappily Sick of arguing Tired of pretending
Ridicule The fear that rules the school So damaging and cruel A devastating tool
Who’s there? Just an eddy of air That tickles the trees Only the scuff of a cat
On and on Through the snow we run Puffing and panting It’s not much fun
It wasn’t long after my dad was dead That I heard the first flutter of birds in my head They began as dark distant shapes in the sky And I could hardly hear their black crow cry
End Of Term Report
It’s been a rather difficult year We’ve not always seen eye to eye He has an unfortunate attitude His sights are not set too high
And so we talked of this and that,
Of oven grease and cooking fat
And who spilt what upon the mat
And left that stain.
A clock tick-tocked behind the scenes;
You sewed and pressed your old blue jeans;
I wanted to stop this but hadn’t the means
Through too much pain.