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Best Poems Written by Mark Matthews

Below are the all-time best Mark Matthews poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Dark Cloud

Gray upon black,
billowing but dark,
like smoke suspended over a fire.
Just floating alone
in an empty sky
as I do so upon the beach;
watching the people go by,
leaving me to write my poems

Details | Mark Matthews Poem

Under the Waterfall

Wings flutter
     off in the distance
as I shuffle through these stones,
tasting the energy trapped in each,
scouring my lands
         for my lost crystal,
that which can mend
what I’ve torn asunder.

In frustration
   I abandon my quest,
deciding to find
     my feathery deity,
the wind carries her scent to me
and I head Northeast,
  diving through brush
          and dodging trees
like only a Lycan may.
She must have picked up on my intentions
for I sense her
  heading towards me
so I veer more northward,
   there’s a place I know.

As I draw near  
   you can hear water
      cascading off rocks,
when I arrive the moon is up,
clouds curled beneath it
as if it were a white pearl
  resting on gray cushions,
to the right 
   the beginnings of a river
being fed by the waterfall,
about 80’ tall
  careening off the three
stone outcroppings
and filling the air in the clearing 
with a fine mist,
 the left is ringed
by long needled pines
which have supplied the ground
with a soft cushion.

My winged beauty
lands on the third outcropping
whipping her hair back
under the waterfall’s edge.
I sprint to the water’s shore
and leap to the first,
as my claws connect
bound to the second,
paws touching
   then legs thrust me 
to the third
where I bring myself erect,
   better to ensnare my love
within my arms.

As I bring her close to me
she raises her left hand up
and caresses my muzzle and cheek
with her claws,
I bend downward
    and gently
sink my teeth
into the side of her neck,
she springs off the precipice ,
    me entwined,
and glides down to the pine needle bed.

As we land 
  she pushes herself up,
drags her right claw
down my chest
     and leans in to drink.
I drag one nail along
    each shoulder blade 
and let her blood
   drip down on me
while I lick my claws clean.

After hours
   she crashes down
into my chest,
exhaustion settling in.
I cup my hand around the back of her head,
   hair entwined
in my fingers
and as she uses her wings
to blanket us
we drift off
into a pleasant slumber
while the stars blink at us
and the night creatures
serenade us with their calls.

Details | Mark Matthews Poem

Tangling Your Fingers In My Hair

Beautiful one
    its you I adore,
your angelic way,
   the knowledge you store.
Grace resides
    upon your skin,
sparking my heart
    to beat again.

You have brought
   emotions to the surface
changing my cauldron-like body
   into a desire filled furnace,
making me crave
   your healing touch
that which resides
   in no other as much.

Its you
   my beauteous beast
who drives my hunt
   to look for a satisfying feast,
dodging trees
   under the full moon
as I find ways
   to deal with this Boone

Silk black sky 
   speckled with glitter
leaving me
   to write about my critter,
swooping down 
   on gossamer wings
before landing
   encircling me in rings.

And even though
    its true
my body shakes
   waiting to bite you,
forever
   I’ll wander my land
Until next to you
   I can stand.

Details | Mark Matthews Poem

Heart of Sparks (Laura Pizzini)

She sat next to me
   and the air
      seemed to dance around her,
we traded words,
  conversations passing into the night
while the moon
  was cradled by the clouds
and that was when
    an ember landed on my heart,
burning away the cobwebs
that muttled my creativeness.

My pen sat stagnant for years,
  now it’s melted to my hand,
laying verse and poem
on anything that will hold ink.
So for this mystifying sprite,
     that has taken the last step,
my fingers will bleed
before I stop scribing.

In my art I will spread her soul
throughout the Earth,
    whether dark or light
I will scatter her sparks with each line,
igniting inspiration in hearts
    and comforting
with the gentleness
that flowed from her fingertips.

Her spirit glides above
as our hearts wilt
   and the flowers
bend their heads and cry.
Trees comfort one another
   with the rustling of their branches
and the wind
touches every back and cheek with grief.
The sun lays its warm hand
on the shoulders of the Earth
and our tears nourish the soil
where they fall,
       as we remember her crooked smile.

         Light giving soul
         Always there to help you through the dark
         Unusually compassionate to the unworthy
         Resting in a tree enclosed meadow
         An enchantment that enspelled us all



Laura Pizzini was taken from us 10/16/09
she will be missed

Details | Mark Matthews Poem

The World Needs More Poets

Smoke ladened vision
scratching at my eyes
    making them cough,
conversations drift
across the panorama
  of my hearing.
(the world needs more poets)

Words rattle, 
     separate conversations
    combining,
       melding,
  sinking up together
to make sense.
(the world needs more poets)

9/11,
     always honored,
Johnny Cash
    filled space
with honorable reasoning
   biting at laws flaws.
(the world needs more poets)

My mind
     sinks inside itself,
grabbing at the crimson and dark,
     lancing the boils of imagination
and still notes drifts in
   soothing the savage beast.
(the world needs more poets)

          Stay off the sidelines,
bite into the fabric of life,
    feel the blood
        run down your chest,
   exciting your nerves
as you lick your lips
   and wait for the next inspiration.
The world needs more poets.

(This was inspired by a congregation of people)

Details | Mark Matthews Poem

Feeling the Flow

The way
words fit together
is kind of a ritualistic measure,
where word
     and verse
flow rythmicly
     to the cerebral cortex
stimulating
      endorphins,
          and hormones
to cause a response of choice.
You can't think about
how they go,
it's all in
the way that they roll
     out if the mind
and on to paper.
You see
     it's kind of like
a mathematical equation,
this blissful creation,
but they're not all about
      beautiful things,
I write with destructive potency.
I can create
a morbid dreamscape
that can flow into the mind
and reek havoc,
     when its strong enough
I'll make your brain spastic,
turning in it's own juices,
squirming to end the atrocities
that your not reading,
                        but feeling.

Details | Mark Matthews Poem

Opening the Vein

Right now
     I have words 
flowing from my veins,
but what if it stops?
That can never happen
   all I have to do
   is slice another one open,
                     somewhere to dip my quill,
another way to release
       the torrent, 
            the flows,
                 the waves
of emotion that crash within me.
To eat away at the walls
that they use to keep the likes of me out,
but that can never happen
     I go where I want,
           the more unwelcome,
                 the more I'll be there,
 slowly pounding,
                     eroding,
                        wearing down
the barricades they set
to keep out the malcontents,
                           the undesirable,
         the vile,
              the evil.

Yes tis I 
the one no one would welcome
       howling in the back,
           scratching at the window,
               knocking at your door,
   pounding on your chest.

I have been here
                     forever....
      waiting....
           slinking....
              perched on your windowsill,
sitting just out of sight,
               'til the right moment.
That's how I do,
         that one second
                  can change your life,
and make mine last so much longer,
every little taste extends my being,
brings me closer to my next target.

As long as fear exists
        there will be me....

Details | Mark Matthews Poem

The Eloquence of Billiards

Her smile shed a glow,
  her smirk shows her skill,
cutting on the curvature,
banking on the opponent,
dropping like a pro,
        moving like a dancer
             sculpted of sensual stone
smooth and flawless,
braids cascading down
    emphasizing lushes lips of pink.
Tantalizing
    dark eyes
        drawing you in
stalling your game,
the epitome 
       of a full moon in a cloudless sky
           at midnight,
the eloquence of natural beauty.

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Seduction of the Beast (Erica)

A sweetness
   pours out of her pores
that pulls my quill
from the ma cab,
teasing my senses,
causing my heart to beat again.

The radiance
   of her smile
claws at me
   driving my
       bestial heart
into a frenzy
    bringing back
my fight for control
              (of myself),
her slender curves
        bite into
the back of my neck
driving me to a madness
    that I barely
           have a hold on.

Details | Mark Matthews Poem

Little Tadpole

Little tadpole 
wanting to run and leap too early, 
how does it feel 
trying to breathe 
  when your lungs ain’t there yet .