Home » Poems » Best » Rhys Matthew » Best Rhys Matthew Poems

Best Poems Written by Rhys Matthew

Below are the all-time best Rhys Matthew poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Rhys Matthew Poem

Fragile Rice Papers

fragile rice papers
cling to a thrashed wicker wall
and silent gazes
kanji-stained blots become buds
some bloom into ureshii


________________________________
1.  "Ureshii" means happiness (Japanese).
2.  Formerly titled Minamisanriku's List.

Details | Rhys Matthew Poem

Pinocchio, Meet Fibonacci

At
first
a fib
nothing more
or that’s what he thought
but one economical truth
wasn’t enough, so his spinnerets spun some fresh lines
one needs fairly few words to speak the pure truth, but many more so to hold up a lie 

______________________________________
N.B.:  dedicated to my two of my favorite Italians, who share a "growing" propensity.
and maybe Sylvio Berlusconi, too.

Details | Rhys Matthew Poem

The Silent Chorus of Asia's Missing Daughters

The mourning sun struggled to shine
over the good earth
longing for uprooted seeds,
O-Lan’s second bamboo shoot
harvested far too soon.
The eighth page of 
my American newspaper
casually mentions
Sixty Million
Missing,
as is our rage.
Silent choruses
of Asia's daughters 
during this thirty-year long
monsoon of tears
cry out in unison:
Was gender our only crime, 
or was it the cruelty of order?
(to form an even 
more perfect union,
one child-no second chance,
second child-no first chance.)
Inhuman actuaries 
compute the 
fair market value of
rare Punjabi jewels as
the opportunity cost 
of their ultimate dowries,
while surplus men pine.
O blind new world
proud of its 
amniotic intelligence,
so unaware of the 
consequences of
unnatural selection,
last night I dreamt
Heaven’s narrow gates
welcoming millions 
scarcely born,
its vast expanse 
unable to contain 
our aggregate guilt, 
the billions of us who 
remain.

Details | Rhys Matthew Poem

Juno, the Rescue Dog

An old tennis ball
near your resting head
waits patiently for a sign, biding its time.

Sunday’s sleek playground rocket
is Monday's slumbering sentry
dog-tired from yesterday’s triumphs.

Rescue dogs rummaged
Trade Center rubble undaunted by danger
Nine-Eleven just another reason to please,

and a pound's little penitent
cramped in a Salt Lake City kennelbox
waited patiently for a sign, biding her time

to save a family,
to be our unsuspecting guide,
a seeing eye through which we see life anew:

We taught you to sit 
and obey our commands; you teach us 
the secrets of dog-grace,

to judge not, 
and how you would lay down your life
without first having to find your inner dog.

We filled your bowl 
with tapwater to lap, and in turn 
you pour out your undying loyalty.

We gave you a mat 
in the corner, and for that
you ask for no greater privilege than

to guard our house
with your own precious life,
shark-eyed friend.

They say Dogwood
takes seven years to bloom.
You would have waited that long for us 
wouldn’t you, our floppy-eared pal?

Go get the ball, girl!  Time to play!

Details | Rhys Matthew Poem

I Met Mary Oliver the Other Day

I met Mary Oliver the other day,
next to Starbucks in that store
where softcovers surely number
well into the mid-to-high six digits.

Ours was a chance encounter, 
as neither of us would travel in 
any of the same circles and my
disparate world is far from hers.

There was no particular reason 
why I should pause on my worn path 
to Real Estate, the Journal
tucked too close to my heart.

or why her poems, selected
me to stop and stray, but
life seems capricious that way
or in this case, perhaps just
proof of a merciful God

who knew I had forgotten 
the frog’s slide off a lily pad
and the quiet undulating ripple
his first stroke made that day
near a content summer bank 
of my parents’ old mill pond

or that 12-year old’s simple joy
under a clear crystalline night 
setting up his new telescope and
peering into the splendor of heaven,

all that lost time not knowing 
or frankly even caring, exactly
how many light years exist 
between us and Sirius.

And as I slowly turned her pages
she loaned me her prism to see
anew wild geese and goldenrod,
egrets and forgotten war heroes and
the truth of holding on and letting go,  

when deep down this delightful tingle
fluttered up quite unexpectedly 
before the corners of my mouth 
turned up in a smile I could not stop

Someday, I’d like to meet Ms. Oliver
to thank her for so many generous gifts. 
In the meantime, I will very carefully,  
but probably clumsily, untie the ribbons 
of each precious gift not wanting 
to be certain of its contents too soon.

Details | Rhys Matthew Poem

North, South

north
rises,
creative
bursts of glory
Napoleon’s dream of faroff campaigns
chaotic scribbling, flamboyant plans at
the speed of light
all night long,
unused
sleep

south’s
freefall,
energies
once great, abate
under inescapable gravity,
black hole of suicide-ideation
predicted, this
nightfall of
Jekyll’s
mood

dip
into
the sugar
addicted brain,
amitalkingtoofastforyouagain?
justdon’tcarewhattheysay--screw the Xanax
i’d rather feel
anything
than be
numb

Details | Rhys Matthew Poem

This Existential Rain

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘
This rain will not stop
its relentless reproach,
a slow erosion of soul.
A weeping dark well
of syncopated 
teardrops tap, tap 
again and again,
and again.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘
Through a blurred window,
an opaque view into 
seasons of sorrows,
melancholy dreams
felt yet not fleeting.
Life's brackish silt
in a rivulet drains,
into deeper darker
swirling drains.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘
Wood rots from rain 
and time's insidious attack,
whose immutable end 
is our self-same 
passage and fate.  
After its ravage 
remains inexorable pain, 
and this unrelenting
existential rain.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘

[ed. note -- just experimenting.]

Details | Rhys Matthew Poem

Quiescent

Coffeehouse aromas
suffuse senses, dissolving 
any semblance
of time.
Unsolved problems
melt away in a
conscious uncaring,
and the day slips, unnoticed.
Deep in a forest
serene daydreams pour
gently over a secret waterfall
into a moss-fringed pool, 
a peaceful place.
My calm immersed, 
I hear only the
soft, slow whisper 
and smooth syllables of
a single word.

    Quiescent

Details | Rhys Matthew Poem

Homeless

The lawyer
who could eat your lunch
ate his quickly
on a cold outdoor bench,
when a revealing breeze 
introduced the pungent odor 
of his new neighbor.
The steely-haired vagrant’s
rumpled visage 
acknowledged by
a right honorable disdain,
he quickly opined
one loses the ability 
to sense one’s own stench 
after days of pissing.
He wondered about
days in his cruel world,
full of encounters
with untrustworthy adversaries,
manipulative lies to get needed cash,
cutthroat tactics and
rummaging through receptacles
of worthless papers.
And he imagined what the
dreary evening’s routine 
must be like --
riding the last Metro,
shuffling into his shelter,
getting quietly buzzed,
and not hearing from the family
who gave up on him
a long time ago.

On the emptied park bench
a rather cheerful transient 
grabbed food scraps left by the lawyer who, 
after a well-considered reflection,
seemed very much
alone.

Details | Rhys Matthew Poem

A Heart Unchained

A heart there is, whose love your heart contained
A time there was, and in that time I changed
Oh glorious day! When ears first heard your name,
a song of brilliant iridescent flame.

A day there was, and for that day I praise
the sight of your sweet graceful gentle ways:
a butterfly’s descent in summer’s light,
its lovely wings afloat in airy flight.

A life there was; my life’s no longer mine,
one passion, one desire--both entwined
I live, I breathe--imagining how much
this treasure is, each moment with your touch.

     A soul there is, whose love my soul proclaimed
     A love there is, whose heart your love unchained.

___________________
Rhys Matthew Farren
June 13, 2011
for Francine Roberts' "Sonnets, Sonnets, Everywhere!"