• Matthew Wilson

Selected Poetry by Matthew Wilson


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The Cursed Jewel


How hot the sun beats down

Loosening the gears in my head

Now alone I must make it to water

And reseal those knights now dead.


I was a fool to join the heroes

Who sold their soul for the jewel

Killing the shaman for his treasure

And made this hero wannabe feel like a fool.


But nights are evil things in the desert

When the jewel revealed its hate

Cursing the knights

who killed its master

Unleashing hellish things from the starlit gate.


Fleshless bones locked around ankles

Dragging heroes down into the sand

These men I thought were heroes

With the evil jewel grasped in their hand.


And now I think I am the last

Running breathless in this race

Hoping the jewel will sleep by daylight

Now every dune reflects the shamans face.





Dead Summers Saved



I have lost my memory card

My only memories of her

When life is long and far too hard

And sharp as a rusty spur.

Her voice sweeps low and strong

Played upon repeat

In times when life was not so wrong

And we danced on tender feet.

It breaks my heart to hear her voice

To have her say our children’s names

Before her cancer took our choice

And drowned me in its rains.

But though I’m late for work I look

For a memory card to save

The memories and

moments of my Brook

Who waits for me beyond the grave.





The Lady’s Treasure



Stop, thief yelled the stabbed lady

And I gave chase to

the taker of the box

I filled his back with bullets

And set my fingers against the lock.


The pretty thing was filled with night

Coughs and curses with mad eyes

Their ghastly shadows found wings

And spread out into the burning skies.


A great fear seemed to fall over me

When the things flew beneath the sun

I slammed the lid too

late and headed back

Without the first idea what I had done.


The woman didn’t thank

me when I returned

Snatching back the box

I thought a shame

For one so pretty

who said I was hopeless

Replying as Pandora

when I asked her name.





Great Poets Die Before Their Time



So Byron wants to swim the Hellespont

For the chance of a lady’s time

When he should be in jail for debt

And lovers turn his loins to lime.


History confuses mad for greatness

But I don’t want you to think me jealous

My own writings have found their fame

Outpacing this bad lord's drive and zealous.


Byron has left a

wake of pain in his path

My sister was not immune to his charm

Leaving her at the

church like a scoundrel

So I will save the next Juliet from harm.


All great sportsmen deserve a drink

Dutch courage in a little wine

Filled with sleep draught

to save my sister

As great poets die before their time.




The Children’s Contest



We were young gods when we raced

When we did our

best for Artemis’ attention

Three times around the new world

Until cunning Aris

tripped me near Atlantis

Breaking its foundations into the sea

Like all guilty children

we remained quiet

Until Artemis rewarded

the cheat with a kiss

My scream rattled fathers mountain

For she had put a melody in my heart

That girl I had loved

before there was love

I distracted myself

with some mortal work

Spending the centuries

rebuilding Atlantis

Painting grateful temples

showing Artemis’ beauty

Until Aris grew from an

ungrateful child into a tyrant

His wars did not breach the

sanctuary I created

Humans that fled there

praised my guilty actions

And then a goddess of love with no love for me came

Wishing to see the old man who had saved so many

A liar is a happy man for still that melody sang in me

That beauty who smiled at me

without recognition

Thinking my tears the

joy of a happy soul.




Matthew Wilson has been published repeatedly in Star*Line, Night to Dawn magazine, Zimbell House Publishing and many more. He is currently editing his first novel and can be found on Twitter at @matthew94544267