47. Christopher Matthews
Welsh born weaver of words, who loves to share creativity with others, and has a simple set of rules.
Originally from North Wales, Christopher has been writing since back in his Schooldays when he was inspired by an English teacher.
He enjoys writing as it brings him the freedom to explore the world through the power of imagination. He also enjoys meeting like minded people at poetry gatherings in the Rotherham region, finding that through listening to and observing others in life is a great source of inspiration.
He hopes that his work will encourage others to embark on their own creative journey, believing that there are only two rules in creativity, the first being that there are no rules and the second, to always remember rule one!
Poems
Illusion of Reality Communication Individual Letter to Mum and Dad Wilderness in a Crowded Street Finally
Illusion of Reality
I get up in the middle of the night, to check if you're still there, Darkest of shadows loom back at me, as in the mirror I stare. Everything is different through the course of the night, Dreams go to and fro, Everything is different through the course of the night, This illusion of reality I know... From my blankets caress, this shroud worn thin, I tear myself apart. Reach out to touch you but you are too far, the time has come to depart. Everything is different through the course of the night, Cursed night shift to which I go, Everything is different through the course of the night, The minimum wage is too low... Under clouded sky I set out to be at my bosses bidding, Without the work rugs pulled from under me and down the road I'm skidding. Everything is different through the course of the night, As I creep without a sound, Everything is different through the course of the night, Towards my duty bound... Clinking clanking metal on metal, blast furnace heats the air, No one alive can take the heat to arms or face left bare. Everything is different through the course of the night, Sparks fly fast on fire, Everything is different through the course of the night, Like a spirit from a funeral pyre... Hour to hour the steel runs by, hot, raging desert's sun, The crucible pours work into piglets and sow, fluid metal molten. Everything is different through the course of the night, No sound but that of hammer, Everything is different through the course of the night, No chat above the clamour... Our job done the siren wails and of home to slumber, To sleep and dream of a day’s hard graft and the day I'm not just a number. Everything is different through the course of the night, Put your arms around me, Everything is different through the course of the night, This illusion of reality. <<<
Communication
Communication of old; was using mirrors or smoke, Now we speak on phones, keep chatting till we choke. Text away, to hearts delight, Even corrects, when we're not right. Landline, radio, mobile or Skype, Type is now consigned to landfill, Downhill into history. Mystery of signals, lost in space, The advancement of the human race. Have you ever phoned a help desk and been put on hold? Sold the notion, your call is salient, Ambient music to soothe your ears. Fears of abandonment hurt your pride, Disillusioned when; you find they've lied. Sometimes a robotic voice is on call, Fall into the trap of an automated system. Listen to the monotony of inputting numbers, Slumbers the mind, into a somnolent dream, Beauty to be woken by a prince's scream! All we want are human voices, Choices given not taken away, Dismay when faced with tunnelled menus, Venues arrived at by corralling the user, Communication is the only looser. Please be aware this call may be recorded, Just as the system and government ordered. Careful what you say and do! Someone may eavesdrop on You!! <<<
Individual
I am an 'Individual', but a number marks Me! Be it birth, social, telephone, or bank, Thank Big Brother for this order and insanity, Humanity divides me into a social class, Mass together ABCs, Disease of status, will scar your world, Hurled into the sterility of 1984, War with words not genocide! Hide the bodies in a bag, Tagged when they die, I am an 'Individual', but a number marks ME! You are an 'Individual', and your number's written up, Supplied by the system, that governs by the letter, Better to choose your number, than have it forcefully given, Driven down to beg for money, Honey it's just our lives, Strife's an illusion is what they'd have you believe, Relieved by the poison you have to digest, Invest in the people and all will be well, Hell, don't be greedy and give to the poor, Sure you are needy and one thing is true, You are an 'Individual', and your number's written up! We are 'Individuals', and should stand tall and free, See the benefit of labour, not filed into lines, Mines are gone and there's nothing Left. Bereft of the choices our forefathers had, Mad cacophonous, politicians, argue with each other, Brothers and sisters are left in the cold, Sold out by bosses who've taken all they can. Ran away with the country, it's gone downhill, Will the powers that be just stop and listen. Glisten the voices of the majority, We are 'Individuals' and should stand tall and free! <<<
Letter to Mum and Dad
Dear Mum, Dear Dad, you're gone from my life. I remember you now as a good husband and wife. Dad, I saw you lay there. Lifeless, quite still. The shocks that they gave you, zapped at my will. When I touched you, your body, still warm, lips blue. A far cry from the father, the man I once knew. Your cheeks in contrast, stood out, quite bold. Your hand I touched. That memory I hold. Mum, I never saw you, when you passed away. You were alone in your bed, so it's for you that I pray. I remember you most, for the love that you gave me. Always caring, never judging, I wished I could save thee. Now that you're gone, I don't feel alone. You're the best parents in life, this child could have known. So it's with you in memory, my life has begun. I remain as always, your ever loving son. <<<
Wilderness is a Crowded Street
Silence stings the ears of the hearer, Cacophony of sound, unheard. Loneliness turns to solitude, Converse without a word. Wilderness is a crowded street. A passer-by nobody sees. Togetherness now disjointed, Run! I feel their disease. Money is their mind set Full wallet yet they're poor. A heart of gold inside me, Theirs, an open sore! Some own the World, yet are bankrupt, Emotionally discharged black-holes. Shiny shoes that point to nowhere, Prices, still on their soles. All the broken people, Nobody tells me why. Orphaned, divorced, mistaken, I'll not lay down to die. To roll over and just take it, Is what they'd like us to do. So let's all speak out, be counted, Not be part, of the Zoo <<<
Finally
To sleep, to dream; through the turmoil of the night, The one wish of the non-sleeper; is that you? So still, so rare, imagined image takes flight, Somnolent thoughts of fear and hope now ring true. I saw you in my dream and you were awake, YOU, yearning after the ease with which I'd died. Continue illusion long after my wake, The rain on your face are the tears that I've cried. You need not envy the dreams I now see, With thoughts caught in a whirlwind without time. Your hand on mine, the last feeling shown me, Insomniac clock; now so sublime. Lay me in a garden at the land of my birth, Plant me as though I were a tree, Then my memory will live on forever, And my spirit will finally be free. <<<