poetry diary

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

Category: Love poems


I shiver when you touch me with your thoughts,
and scales fall like petals from my heart.
There is no time for all that’s gone before;
the future seems as distant as a star.
Then logic falls and worlds collapse to shades
of ancient tales that somehow stay unique
to you and me and now and here today.
Romance forever deadly, ever new;
I cannot fight, no longer want to flee.
Here is my life; there is no other way.


The first two lines of this came to me in response to a particular conversation – the rest is my romantic imagination.

A perfect evening

Your-eye-blue contemplative sky;
soft focus on the lazy way
once-brushed day-end clouds flow
effortlessly, like your hair
around the warm, welcome home
of another perfect evening.

Your face is in this moment
looking into me, and smiling;
looking out from me, and redefining
every plant and stone.

Time flowing like the clouds,
reflected in the river
passing slowly, this evening;
fading gently, this evening;
speaking softly, this evening;
uniquely, this evening;
as always, this evening.

I am floating, this evening,
on the eddies;
on the whispers;
on the ripples;
on the darkness,
and the mystery
of your love.


I should have grown out of romanticism a long time ago, I sometimes think. But I didn’t. A friend of mine told me this week that love matures through romance (and maybe vice versa too?). This poem is for her.


Moments of emotion spinning
like planets in an empty sky.
Space and time pass, and mean nothing;
universes defined and made
as orbits chase and intersect.

So how can I love you,
creator of my worlds?

Come in, and be my astrolabe
and starship all in one; my earth
and meteor storm; my asteroid;
my airlock and my telescope.

It’s lonely out with dark matter,
And satellites are few.
So hard to change direction now;
without your gravitation’s pull.


A first go at playing with this metaphor.

Piku – Desire

wanting you
water flowers

flowers, wet,
embrace sunlight

sun lightening
casts new shadows

shadows touch
quietly wanting

wanting you
water flowers.

This is a ‘piku’ for Tilly Bud’s wewritepoems prompt. The form must be 3,1,4 syllable lines, using the digits from the mathematical constant pi (3.14159…). There may be more in that idea, I suspect.

Being vaguely mathematical (but only 9-5 Mon-Fri) I have made my piku go round in a circle, after a little prompting (see comments).


Reaching through the fantasies and patterns
of an ordinary day, you touched me.
I was grateful. Time changed its usual pace.
Soon I found myself looking back towards
the place where you had been.

I could not say, at supper, where I was.
I spoke to others; the long evening passed –
lingered before I went to bed – still there,
something intangible but warm. I slept,
quite well, but as I woke I found the shape
new in my soul, and clearer now, was you.


Submitted to http://gooseberrygoespoetic.blogspot.com/. August 2011.


I wish the world were
simpler than it is, he said,
and she smiled, sadly.


A haiku, for one single impression.

The Fairy Queen

As wind I touch your apple blossom hair,
and falling petals meet the rising scent of dew.
Your wings of spider’s thread quiver and relax,
and lilac hands outstretched caress the watching air.

As rain I fall soft and light onto your skin,
we feel the grass warm and damp between our toes;
bluebells exude the richness of the earth,
and buds open their hearts and cry ‘begin’.

As sun I draw the sparkle from your eyes,
blue, all-seeing, and silent like the sky;
quick songbirds cross your path with rising chords,
and lambs look up to watch your gentle dance.

You wait beneath the aching chestnut tree;
his dappled shade stroking your snowdrop arms.
The river runs and cools your blushing brow,
and fairy maids arrive to offer fruit.

It’s spring across the whole of your domain;
creatures awake and humans call their names.
You pull my soul and those of all my friends;
you say our time is now – it’s come again.


This is a little twee and romantic, but I guess it’s something to do with the weather, or the fairies. Submitted to Thursday Poets’ Rally.


Your mind’s touch is gentle, subtle;
reaching through the mirages,
images of my soul,
disturbing its core.

In between the long, slow beats of my heart,
after we part.

Your eyes are quick and bright, speaking
amusement or puzzlement,
to mine, each chance meeting,
across your warm hearth.

Through grey, tired days, my footsteps lead always
back to your door.

Your face, soft, ever welcoming,
fixed in my mind; two spirits,
longing for more space, time
to be and explore.

When next I return, I dream of roses,
and you, alone.

© 2011 Matthew Rhodes


I am all of the world today, tonight;
dancing clouds and watching trees, that white rose.
I am your hair, her eyes, his shoes, this light;
spinning girls and laughing boys, beer that flows.
I am in love with me and all of you;
snails that slide, birds that fly, to where they will.
I am these stones, that moss, those stars; you too
are part of me and me of you (sit still!)
So long I sought beyond, outside, above.
So long I felt my voice the only one.
So long I thought I was alone in love.
So long I dreamed I should be moving on.
I was so wrong, the world is not discrete;
we all are one and so am I complete.

Copyright ©2011 Matthew Rhodes

This is a response to wewritepoems prompt 40, to write a Valentine’s Day poem to yourself. It’s also a variation on the theme of my last poem (worldly love) below, or possibly the other way round (I started this one first but finished it second). It’s my second attempt at a sonnet – after Aubade/Feb 1.

Worldly love

I am the world.
Breathe on me,
and let rolling mists gently cup
soft curving turf.

I am the world.
Dream of me,
and feel cliffs dissolve, fade to sands,
fall under surf.

I am the world.
Spin with me,
through sunbeams to see stars break
dust from their hold.

I am the world.
Caress me now
and love me. Stroke me and shake me
till mountains unfold.

© 2011 Matthew Rhodes

A little poem for Valentine’s Day, written late at night in a hotel in London where I’m at a conference.