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Best Famous William Matthews Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous William Matthews poems. This is a select list of the best famous William Matthews poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous William Matthews poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of William Matthews poems.

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by William Matthews | |

Job Interview

 Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife
 He would have written sonnets all his life?
 DON JUAN, III, 63-4

"Where do you see yourself five years from now?"
the eldest male member (or is "male member"
a redundancy?) of the committee
asked me.
"Not here," I thought.
A good thing I speak fluent Fog.
I craved that job like some unappeasable, taunting woman.
What did Byron's friend Hobhouse say after the wedding? "I felt as if I had buried a friend.
" Each day I had that job I felt the slack leash at my throat and thought what was its other trick.
Better to scorn the job than ask what I had ever seen in it or think what pious muck I'd ladled over the committee.
If they believed me, they deserved me.
As luck would have it, the job lasted me almost but not quite five years.


by William Matthews | |

Poem (The lump of coal my parents teased)

 The lump of coal my parents teased
I'd find in my Christmas stocking
turned out each year to be an orange,
for I was their sunshine.
Now I have one C.
gave me, a dense node of sleeping fire.
I keep it where I read and write.
"You're on chummy terms with dread," it reminds me.
"You kiss ambivalence on both cheeks.
But if you close your heart to me ever I'll wreathe you in flames and convert you to energy.
" I don't know what C.
meant me to mind by her gift, but the sun returns unbidden.
Books get read and written.
My mother comes to visit.
My father's dead.
Love needs to be set alight again and again, and in thanks for tending it, will do its very best not to consume us.


by William Matthews | |

No Return

 I like divorce.
I love to compose letters of resignation; now and then I send one in and leave in a lemon- hued Huff or a Snit with four on the floor.
Do you like the scent of a hollyhock? To each his own.
I love a burning bridge.
I like to watch the small boat go over the falls -- it swirls in a circle like a dog coiling for sleep, and its frail bow pokes blindly out over the falls' lip a little and a little more and then too much, and then the boat's nose dives and butt flips up so that the boat points doomily down and the screams of the soon-to-be-dead last longer by echo than the screamers do.
Let's go to the videotape, the news- caster intones, and the control room does, and the boat explodes again and again.


by William Matthews | |

Misgivings

 "Perhaps you'll tire of me," muses
my love, although she's like a great city 
to me, or a park that finds new
ways to wear each flounce of light
and investiture of weather.
Soil doesn't tire of rain, I think, but I know what she fears: plans warp, planes explode, topsoil gets peeled away by floods.
And worse than what we can't control is what we could; those drab scuttled marriages we shed so gratefully may auger we're on our owns for good reason.
"Hi, honey," chirps Dread when I come through the door; "you're home.
" Experience is a great teacher of the value of experience, its claustrophobic prudence, its gloomy name-the-disasters- in-advance charisma.
Listen, my wary one, it's far too late to unlove each other.
Instead let's cook something elaborate and not invite anyone to share it but eat it all up very very slowly.