• 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