My child’s eyelids, soft,
filled with trust as I leave her,
each winter evening.
Copyright © 2011Matthew Rhodes
This poem was inspired by wewritepoems prompt 42 – a safe place. I feel her bed is a safe place for my daughter, and it’s always an emotional experience kissing her goodnight.
People like poems trapped
in concrete forms, stacked and packed;
at night, cosily,
just as in Roman times;
safe from northern barbarians,
and warm.
Fizz of passing cars,
not impressing odd couples
walking and talking.
Concrete paths, rain-wet still;
light-washed and purposed, echoing,
just me.
Such a great city;
at night, you’re almost human,
barbarian though
I be.
Copyright ©2011 Matthew Rhodes
Walking back to my hotel through Shoreditch.
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.
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.
Architecture of purpose and industry;
I like canals between buildings:
brick against water, shaping nature,
lapping gently – peaceful now.
Two ducks and a plastic bag, floating.
Buildings that tell of many hands:
silly sheds at impossible angles;
added for Harold, who counted the coals.
Ladders for lads, and storage for boats.
Moss growing between the slabs, waiting.
Chimneys without hearts, lonely,
and so many windows, empty:
again and again – admitting light
still, to silent mill floors.
Rental and for sale signs, fading.
The people came, and remain.
Stoic houses worship forsaken mills
reflected in the quiet waters
of yesterday’s canals.
Awaiting salvation.
Who am I to say it will never come?
© Matthew Rhodes 2011
Long, dark breaths surround you,
Desecrated, ruined towers.
You came with horses and men;
bent on violence, rape and war.
Drawn in by gentle slopes:
rich rolling curves and soft warm shoulders;
dew-fresh earth, dark and moist;
surf pounding, driving underneath.
Walls built for domination;
erect and proud against the sky.
short-lived all, time caresses:
stones tumble, lie still where they fall.
Quiet hills whisper mists;
absorbing and dissolving strength.
Long, dark breaths surround you,
desecrated, ruined towers.
© Matthew Rhodes 2011
Even the possibility of you
is gone now. We dreamt of love together
in the snow. You kissed me. I felt we knew
a secret pathway – each to another,
long lost and sought. Others saw, quietly;
speaking only with their eyes, and smiling.
I liked that. So gently told and softly,
your words flowed, and heart ranged, always yearning.
I was naïve. Ambition cannot stop
unsettled pasts, chasing wakes, catching up,
and unvoiced fears rise at last to the top;
I just wish the end had not been so abrupt.
You have made sure. The possibility
of you, is gone now.
© Matthew Rhodes 2011
The men who lived here turned to rock,
and fell into the sea.
It seemed a good idea at first,
to build above the surf;
A fortress hewn apart from land,
a playground for the gulls.
Security and peace for all,
he promised and they came.
The waves and cliffs kept out the foe,
and held apart the race.
But soon the greyness of the days,
the rhythm of the foam,
Ate into minds and into hearts,
and memories fell too.
Then women left, and no more came,
and coldly fell the rain.
The men who lived here turned to rock,
and fell into the sea.
© Matthew Rhodes 2011
Yellow roses on your shelf,
half-open, dreaming in their vase.
A book, laid as if half read,
and pictures on the wall.
Little things that make me smile.
Fire, warming silence, holding space.
Glass and jug for someone else,
and pebbles on the floor.
Familiar face, familiar place;
your open mind, opening space;
A table bare to fill with tears,
and banishment of fear.
Frames and moments you’ve passed through,
Stacked and wrapped against the wall;
suggesting of a life outside,
and time will come to go.
© Matthew Rhodes 2011
Emotions, like autumn leaves wind-stirred, float,
and fall back to cover red-raw earth, soft
with your last breath on my cheek. If you wrote –
just one line, sunlight warming seeds tossed
by your smile to the ground, I would not wait;
new stems would rise to greet the light, partners
in growth and joy; we’d make afresh our fate,
and find new strength and space: who cares who errs?
But maybe it is easier to stop.
Skies are cold and clods strain beneath the frost.
Un-nurtured leaves will drift, decay and drop;
Our chance, that came, and went, was worth the cost.
I wanted so to strive and yearn with you,
But if you won’t, I cannot face the dew.
©2011 Matthew Rhodes
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Shared with Poets United May 15 2011
poetry diary 