A Heart For The Taking
My heart is yours for the taking
Sweet girl it is all but yours
I find my thoughts of you distracting
How I labour through hope
That I may yet kiss you someday
You have never give me a word
Or a sign of your affection
Leaving my heart appearing foolish
You are kind, loving, intelligent
Your sense of humour and smile
Part of the reason I find you beautiful
How could I not fall for you
How could my heart not wish for yours
In abundance I wish for your company
To enact each written facet of romance
And what of you and your thoughts
And I destined to guess forever
Or are my greatest fears to be realised
My heart is yours for the taking
Sweet girl it is all but yours
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Old Man
He sits quietly murmuring
Talking only to himself
His eyes sunken and dark
A look of tiredness across his face
His head is slightly bowed
Resting upon his hand
He sits alone in almost darkness
Except for a small table lamp
In the far corner of the room
There is little in the way of light
Old books gather dust
In piles around upon the floor
Those stories he once read
The worlds to which he escaped
Now stacked without order
Like memories becoming forgot
A glass of vintage wine
Held in his thin, bone like fingers
Softens his pallet, soothes his throat
While he sits alone each night
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poem by Matthew Holloway
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Caught between the truth and a lie
Caught between the truth and a lie
~
I've been led astray
gave my hand to a merry dance
and swayed to what I perceived
as an honest appraisal of life
found myself believing at will
whatever came across my way
when enough visor was offered
religion and public opinion
which has long since been divided
by the strength of their sales pitch
has come into the state of play
I've succumb to both at times
and left wondering exactly why
fool me once and shame on me
fool me again and I've a lesson to learn
third time can never bare any charm
after that there is no help
perhaps hope is fleeting as well
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poem by Matthew Holloway
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Clickity, click, click
Clickity, click, click
~
The number of clicks
Those little groups
To which were forced fit
Into the adult world
No more bestest friends
Like a Childs playground game
Long since put to rest
In the pretence of professionalism
Into the workplace we stroll
And those clickity clicks
Outsiders kept at reach
Beyond the context of the conversation
Are we all in the playground again?
Grown up kids clickity click
Little games bestest friends
Don’t like the newbie, kind of strange
Doesn’t fit in, not this place
Not so much the childhood innocence
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poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Agony of Being in Love
This has become my affliction
My unsteadying nerves twitch
My mind is left untoward
That not one thought I control
There is a girl, one girl
Who has a place in my heart
For some reason I fail to understand
I view her as I would view the world
In full beauty she is everything
Yet not one promise she has shown to me
And so I find my hearts affection
Laying as an unrequited token
I torture myself ceaselessly
Ah the agony of being in love
With someone who does not love me
I fail to deal with the emotion
And I am unhealthy in doing that
The mind goes to a waste
While the heart does as it will
The agony of being in love
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poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Opium Of The Heart
The night, the open sky
A dance of stars
Beautifully pleasing
An artistry feeds the soul
All is taken in complete
Not a single vision left
Each morsel of thought
Savoured to memory
The warmth of the bed
Holds gently to a slumber
Into the good night
Tired eyes close, remember
The dance of stars
The artistry felt and known
The thought found, kept
And sleep now calls
A dream of another
Held in beautiful thought
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poem by Matthew Holloway
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Matchstick Men
Pencil figures stand about a page
Matchstick men with little to do
Sketching the unknown romance
A love letter waits, long overdue
Vacant words leave empty lines
Where figures dance or idly stand
Boredom holds off the first word
Or the wanting of something better
To write than those words already
Excluded and cast aside by the mind
Perhaps the matchstick men could assist
Each one holding aloft a sign
Stating a love is evident and in place
A sign which simply reads ‘I love you’
No need for flowing letters of romance
Which thought or boredom fail to pen
Leaving a mass of matchstick men
Standing, dancing and watching
Every open and empty line
They are drawn to fill out time
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Black coffee and the news
Black coffee and the news
~
I hold the cup in my hands
Burning at my finger tips
My eyes half focused on the television
I’m still half asleep, but alert enough
Watching the news, the world go to hell
Half is pleading poverty, half dying
Somewhere the is a war going on
A young man has just died
The reporter talks of a climbing number
I am unable to digest it just yet
The coffee is extra strong and black
Giving me enough bite to face the day
It lacks what I need to face the news
Which reads out blacker still
I’d change the channel
If only I could find the remote
Looking for some happy news
Something, anything to make me smile
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poem by Matthew Holloway
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Is Valentine right
Is Valentine right
~
is today a day for lovers
a time to celebrate
to show love for each other
without any fear
of what others may say
a time to shout aloud
just how you feel
make the show and dance
for all to see
is Valentine right
or is it just another day
not to be made special
or celebrated
do we love any more
or any less
on all those other days
do we need a reason
to eat together
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poem by Matthew Holloway
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Your Hand To My Heart
Your hand to my heart
I'm going to hold it close
let you feel every beat
which emanates from me
I beat to my own drum
a rhythm I make up
few others get me like you
your fingers to my own
I'll keep a tight hold
like I'm afraid to let go
knowing how special you are
there will never be another
quite like you I'm sure
I don t wish to find out
My thoughts of you
your eyes, your lips
the way they look
every time you smile
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poem by Matthew Holloway
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