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Best Poems Written by Matt Ray

Below are the all-time best Matt Ray poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Career Angst

Studying for hours on a subject that I love and despise
Grappling with words and definitions
Trying to make sense out of all the confusion and complexities
Of ethical hacking, security, and intrusion detection

Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing
Studying technology rather than art or the humanities
For within them my passion lies

But somehow I am always drawn to the almighty dollar
Knowing I can make a living, even if it kills my soul
Anxiety-ridden, insecurity-driven
And I march on, like a good soldier
Pursuing that which allows me to survive

Who was it that says there are two sides to every person?
I’ve often thought that, although for me it isn’t good or bad
But rather heart and mind, soul and survival
Starving artist or thriving consultant

For three years I sailed around the world
Hoping I’d found my new calling in life
But in the end, reason took over, and I returned
Like a pig to the trough, consuming ideas and information
To shore up my vessel, preparing it for another journey
Into the vast oceans of the world, all my futures
Depend on my success here

My soul cries out, hoping I have made the right choice
Allowing me to pursue my passions, through monetary gains
A boat cannot buy itself
The money must come from somewhere
In a perfect world, money would not be required
We would be free to pursue our passions
Without worry of the cost, or the inability to feed ourselves

But alas, this is not the world I live in, despite my desires
So I must carry on, study on, memorizing definitions and algorithms
Passing the tests is all that matters now
To earn my degree, gain the new skills
Keeping my eye on the prize
And someday, sailing off into the sunset, with my pockets full
of the gold pieces required, to blow the man down


--All my writings are at mraymus.medium.com

Details | Matt Ray Poem

Thumb Poetry

Writing a poem with only my thumbs
Opposable digits are A-number one
Will autocorrect fix the words I write wrong?
Not all words are lucky as I coax them along
My phone keyboard clicking as I’m typing the words
Now back to correct my fast-thumb-spelling turds

How long can I go with these poor thumbs of mine?
Most likely for hours, they’re typing sublime-ly
For they are the only thing in-shape on me
Covid has made my waist grow large times three!

For my thumbs are as sleek as an antelope
Compared to my waist, more a cantaloupe
The rhyme meter changed like an isotope
A variant bridge like a song I wrote

But back to the meter my thumbs they did strive
Worried I might go along for a drive
Now I will end this, my thumb-written poem
And hope you enjoyed it since it isn’t a tome


--All my writings are at mraymus.medium.com

Details | Matt Ray Poem

In the Nictate of An Eye

There are a few things one says with a blink
“In the blink of an eye,” comes to mind, don’t you think?
It means it’s done quickly, for except if one’s dead
The blink of an eye is an instant, it’s said
Unless you have happened to have had a stroke
Then blinking takes longer, and that is no joke
But normally blinking goes by very quickly
So fast that you don’t even notice how swiftly
There’s another blink saying that often is heard
“She didn’t blink an eye when I told her that word!”
It obviously means that it was no big deal
Whatever was said, displayed, or appealed
Of course, it could show that that person’s inured
By things that would shock those of us who aren’t cured
Of intimate details that could come in a story
Or perhaps in a movie when it’s really quite gory
But now I digress for the word for today
Is nictate, a synonym for blinking away
The tears from your eyes or the dryness that’s there
Nictating is what you will do if there’s air
That’s forcefully blowing itself in your space
Because of a storm or some dust out of place
Perhaps you could train yourself not to nictate
A guy in Colorado made himself wait
An hour before he would willingly blink
A record now broken in the Philippines I think
That’s just what I learned whenever I looked
On google, my favorite source not a book
I hope that I’ve given you something to chew
Nictating is possibly a new word for you
If so then my job as a poet is done
I’ve taught a new word, and now I must run
In the “nictate of an eye,” I will say my goodbyes
I’ll go find more words to set forth with my rhymes


--All my writings are at mraymus.medium.com

Details | Matt Ray Poem

Still

First things first,
Sometimes things are better off left unsaid
Those are the words I said to myself
Biting my tongue, the last time we spoke
And now wondering if saying those things
Might have made all the difference
In the world

Now you are gone, and I am here
Wondering about my life and its purpose
How things might have been different
If you were in it

These days I go where the wind blows
Purposefully homeless, I call it
Because it sounds much cooler to call it that
Drifting from state to state, country to country
Whether by boat or by truck and trailer
It all leads down the same untraveled road
Destinations yet unknown, unseen, or unheard of
That’s where my heart goes

These itchy feet refuse to be still
They want to be on the road
My stone continues to roll
New places, new faces, a new stasis
Everywhere I travel I wonder
If this might be the place
That rings true

Perhaps it’s there,
That my heart
Can once again
Be still


--All my writings are at mraymus.medium.com

Details | Matt Ray Poem

Bob Dylan and the Nobel Prize

Whatever happened with Bob Dylan and the Nobel Prize?
I remember it vaguely, for I was sailing afar
There was no response when the announcement was made
Just silence, with the door left ajar

Bob won the Prize in 2016
Or so they said up in Sweden
But where was Bob when the announcement was read?
Was he laying down on his big brass bed?
Would he ever respond to that which was said?
Or was he just blowin’ in the wind

The time clicked on, for days and weeks, but still no answer came.
How many days must a board wait long, before the prize be claimed?
His clothes were dirty, his hands were clean
He was the best thing we’d ever seen
Perhaps he was down in New Orleans
But hardly a word was framed

He had to perform, or lecture it’s called
To claim the booty that accompanied
The prize itself, a $900K bounty
Which required a song and his company
Bob was the first songwriter it seems
To receive the prestigious award
But the ceremony took place in a private affair
And they said that Bob appeared bored

He finally replied in a letter
And basically said there were better, than he
He claims he shouldn’t have ever been one
To stand with the literature giants who’d come
Before him, like Hemingway, Kipling, and Shaw
His songs weren’t the same, that’s just what he saw

He thought he was more like Shakespeare
who was often concerned
with matters like craft, crowds, and crowns
For he was a playwright and wanted to know
If the people were there from all of the towns
Not whether his words were of literary note
But where would he find a skull he could tote
For what is an artist, can it truly be known?
Perhaps not in his time for the artist alone

But the academy didn’t agree with his words
In fact they felt like this was absurd, for they saw
One who “created poetic expressions
within the great American song tradition”
And wanted to show that his compilation
Of songs were important to all generations!

And so, Bob Dylan won the prize
And I for one am glad
For his words are poetic and awesome in size
Although often they happen to criticize
The ones who are trying to politicize
The people are crying and along with their cries
“The times, they are a changin’”
Yes, “the times, they are a changin’”


--All my writings are at mraymus.medium.com