poetry diary

I rhyme to see myself, to set the darkness echoing. (Seamus Heaney, from Personal Helicon)

Month: November, 2017

Sharing autumn skies

When I say ‘I love you,’ now,
we speak as trees in late summer,
and whisper in September winds
as the first leaves fall.

When I say ‘I love you,’ now,
we have seen the trucks collecting lambs
and held the empty starlings’ nests,
black against the dawn.

When I say ‘I love you,’ now,
your roots flow deep into your hill
and mine surround my grassy knoll;
binding earth we know.

When I say ‘I love you,’ now,
I do so freely, as our branches touch,
expecting nothing in return,
but shared autumn skies.


Feeling wistful.

Posted on d’Verse Open Link Night.

Next to a Footpath at Fuente De

Thank you to Vita Brevis for publishing one of my poems, together with a beautifully apt picture.


Vita Brevis Press.

Submitted by Matthew Rhodes

Lives like raindrops falling into mud,
making rivulets of blood.

Unwasted, yet ungently blown; dashed and mixed and tossed and dropped,
then burned and baked to clay;
stretched tight in frozen screams.

Time, as in a century, will pass
and stir the mud; raise ears of corn
unnumbered like the raindrop lives
that cannot be remade.

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Photo credit: An Italianate Landscape with Travelers on a Path, Jan Both

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Late autumn morning

Opening my blind
to frost-iced roof tiles, last night
lingers in the sun.

Local Government (after W H Auden*)

In Homeric disputation
With civil servants, in chorus,
From Departments of uncertain
Provenance and purpose,

A strangely passioned obstacle
I sit, attempting to fulfil
Great Birmingham and Solihull’s
Most democratic will.

By whose selection (ill-advised?)
I bring my radical appeal –
To officers and time-served staff,
In meetings rarely real.

And daily stand for ‘common-sense’
(Or sometimes things only I know)
From conference room to conference room
In rain, sunshine or snow.

Though warm my welcome everywhere,
Governments come and go so fast,
I cannot say from day to day
If policy will last.

Unless I speak of energy,
A world of which I know a touch,
When people know so little now,
I don’t need to say much.

It does, however, bother me,
When a government announcement
Fresh in from the great capital
– I’m sure it is well meant –

Misspells this proud old region’s name,
Confuses their East with our West;
So simply thus reminding us
That apathy is best.


* This poem is a deliberate ‘parody’ of a poem by W H Auden called ‘On the Circuit’ which I’ve written as an exercise suggested on a poetry course I’m reading. Auden himself suggested writing parodies as the best way to understand the poetry of others.

‘On the Circuit’ has 16 stanzas in an 8,8,8,6 rhythmical pattern with the second and fourth lines always rhyming. I’m afraid I collapsed in exhaustion after 8 stanzas, but I’ve also tried to include some of his style with the odd obscure word and a gently ironic tone (?).

I have a voluntary role in one of our local government institutions here, and this poem describes it.

Posted on d’Verse Open Link Night


In black and white and titled –
“Spencer Street, Parish Church & Old Well, Leamington Spa;”
post-marked nineteen twenty-nine
from Amy to Miss Bryant,
Leigh View, Stoke Bishop, Bristol.
Just to say she feels so well –
quite herself again today.

This cannot be but good I feel,
across all time and space,
that even though there’s misery
sometimes, and rain and war and ghosts,
that for at least one gentle day
enjoyment came to Amy,
who felt so well to tell her friend
(albeit just in black and white).

And on the card a fine electric tram;
‘Eureka’ Teas and Dining Rooms;
women in majestic smocks
(and proper hats) chat and relax.
A gentleman with a boating hat
poses, Gatsby-like, with bike,
to draw uncertain stares.

Half a penny postage:
about the cost of my last text.
Yet Amy’s day of happiness,
has travelled for a hundred years
to reach this desk and make me smile
(albeit just in black and white.)


I‘m not sure where I acquired this postcard, but I keep it on my desk, which I’ve just finished reclaiming from my children, now they’ve gone off to college.

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