- Matthew Wilson
Selected Poetry from Matthew Wilson

Photo Source: Piqsels
The Adventurer’s Heart
Turn your wheel toward the sun
Adventures are for the young
Now diamonds glitter in the depths
With untold stories to be sung.
Stay away from the dark islands
Though their sirens seem so kind
They have warriors to take your heart
And spells to entrance your mind.
A wise sailor uses the stars
To find safe passage to their shore
Distrustful of mermaids sparkling eyes
And their diamonds on the floor.
Turn your wheel toward the sun
An adventurer must be brave
If he is to remember the song of pirates
And escape a hungry mermaid’s grave.
Never Steal from Witch’s
Like a fool I sold the lilac
At the market to feed our guts
But mom sickened that winter
When fever plagued the village huts.
Though I was raised a gentleman
I became a thief most bold
Stealing into the witch’s cave
To take back what I had sold.
Witch’s are not known for their kindness
As I walked into a lilac perfume
Unwise and new at stealing
To a hag who wished my doom.
But mother has survived the winter
And fifty season’s more
And all I’ve had to do trade is my soul
Leaving lilacs now at mother’s door.
How I wish I could go home
But when I’ve paid the price I will
A servant to an unkind witch no longer
So my loving mother shall never ill.
Heroes of the Page
At night I like to read my books
Now missiles sent the world to hell
An escape from the hunger pains
To hear stories that dead men tell.
I will not think about the apocalypse
Nestled here in my cave
Listening to the sonnet of Robin Hood
And his merry men so brave.
Nothing alive can grow outside
Since missiles burned the skies
But I can find some beauty here
In the jewels of maid Marian’s eyes.
There is no escape from coming winter
A scorched earth ruined by war
But with books I can walk again
Dancing with Pocahontas on her shore.
War of the Century
I was there when they burned her
The sweetest soul in god’s care
We were children when I met her
Skipping barefoot with pine cones in her hair.
We kissed and held
hands beneath the stars
Before we saw homes
burning on the shore
And then our father’s found their fury
And our countries restarted an old war.
Through the years
I was trained as a soldier
But still I head of a girl who would dare
Leading her French brother’s into battle
Sword raised with pine cones in her hair.
Of course I recognised
her wanted poster
The enemy lady of Arc
Whose life was only
worth a small reward
Though her smile had won my heart.
I tried to see her when they caught her
The guards celebrating their victory
But they did not trust my boyish eyes
For I would have slipped by her a key.
So now war is such a ghastly business
Lined up in this damned square
To see them burn my Joan for heresy
When she still has pine cones in her hair.
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 @matthew94544267