Counting memories | Peter Matthews

I’ve run out of fingers and toes

and knots in strings and other things

I’ve filled lots of jotters and those

will remind me of joys that life brings

I’ve written my name and that of my wife

I’ve added some things that I thought that I should

I’m trying my best to précis my life

I’d write it in shorthand if only I could

But will I be able to read it?

And then will I really need it?

§

The memories I’m adding so quickly

Are rapidly fading away

Synapses are getting more sickly

Deciding they don’t want to play

My family and friends show every concern

but worry ‘bout things that don’t matter

They now realise they’ve a great deal to learn

They think I don’t hear when they chatter

They speak to me like I’m a child

It really is driving me wild

§

I think a great deal but it makes little sense

Confusion is always close by

Panic is rising I’m getting more tense

And truly I do not know why

§

I think I may have lost the plot, but I don’t know, I quite forgot!


Peter Matthews, a country boy at heart, lives with his wife in the suburbs of Nottingham, England.  His greatest achievement is that he has aged fairly gracefully but has avoided growing up.  Peter has written poetry from the age of sixteen and blogs regularly at www.pollymermaid.wordpress.com.

Hustle, Bustle, Crinkle, Rustle | Peter Matthews

I wish you had seen when I was light green, with edges all ruffled in pink

but now I am brown and feeling quite down, imagine what neighbours must think

there’s one saving grace that surely takes place when once I have rotted away

I’ll join with my friends and then make amends by feeding the trees every day

Meanwhile I’ll keep mum and wave to my chum who’s rustling there on the ground

She’s having some fun in the bright Autumn sun as she crunches and swirls all around

I’m waiting, you know, for the next mighty blow that will send me to join all the rest

Then I’ll chase all around with that glorious sound that fresh fallen leaves do the best

We’ll all pile together in crisp Autumn weather ensuring the kids have a ball

Then hustle and bustle and crinkle and rustle, a wonderful time had by all!


Peter Matthews, a country boy at heart, lives with his wife in the suburbs of Nottingham, England.  His greatest achievement is that he has aged fairly gracefully but has avoided growing up.  Peter has written poetry from the age of sixteen and blogs regularly at www.pollymermaid.wordpress.com.

Leaf Me Alone | Peter Matthews

I’m hanging here just enjoying the gentle breeze, despite the fact that every single one of my mates has deserted me!

“Come on”, they said, “jump off with us, it’ll be fun!”

Fun? Sure!  I saw how that great big lolloping beast of a man came out and hoovered up the last lot who’d had fun spiralling down to the grassy bank below.  He then went and dumped them all in a big black bin down behind the rose bushes. 

I saw inside there once when the lid was off.  Loads of worms, eating my mates!

Just. leaf. me. alone!


Peter Matthews, a country boy at heart, lives with his wife in the suburbs of Nottingham, England.  His greatest achievement is that he has aged fairly gracefully but has avoided growing up.  Peter has written poetry from the age of sixteen and blogs regularly at www.pollymermaid.wordpress.com.

Broken | Peter Matthews

Our world is broken,

it seems no-one can fix it

oceans and forests die

whole families perish

yet those who could, do nothing

those who should, seem not to care

there are sufficient funds

there is an abundance of talent

but the willingness to act

is lacking, sadly lacking

millions can see the problems

few care to make a difference

and words are but a token

our world is sadly broken


Peter Matthews, a country boy at heart, lives with his wife in the suburbs of Nottingham, England.  His greatest achievement is that he has aged fairly gracefully but has avoided growing up.  Peter has written poetry from the age of sixteen and blogs regularly at www.pollymermaid.wordpress.com.

Political Pondering on Privilege | Peter Matthews

Is he cute, is he clever, is he good or is he bad

Is he fortunate in having all the health and wealth he had

Is he ever really thankful is he ever really glad

Or does he just accept it as his right

.

Does he not appreciate good fortune all the while

Does he think he should receive a constant fawning smile

Does he take advantage with a thoughtless scheming guile

Or does he just accept it as his right

.

I think it best that others should….decide if he is bad or good!

He doesn’t care for others so….I think he really has to go!


Peter Matthews, a country boy at heart, lives with his wife in the suburbs of Nottingham, England.  His greatest achievement is that he has aged fairly gracefully but has avoided growing up.  Peter has written poetry from the age of sixteen and blogs regularly at www.pollymermaid.wordpress.com

Missing! | Peter Matthews

I woke up this morning, was missing a toe

Limped all round the house, oh where did it go?

When going to bed I know I had ten

I got up, looked down, I counted, and then

I enlisted the help of my wife and my lad

To find the lost item I know I once had

We looked in the bathroom and under the bed

We looked everywhere and I finally said

“A nice cup of coffee with double whipped cream

Perhaps what I feared was only a dream!” 


Peter Matthews, a country boy at heart, lives with his wife in the suburbs of Nottingham, England.  His greatest achievement is that he has aged fairly gracefully but has avoided growing up.  Peter has written poetry from the age of sixteen and blogs regularly at www.pollymermaid.wordpress.com

Poetry Rules OK! | Peter Matthews

This poem will not be offensive

The rules state it mustn’t be so

I’ve written before on this forum

So you’d think that by now I would know

I like to submit on this website

It’s a friendly and safe place to be

I hope that you read all the entries

And that one of those entries is me.


Peter Matthews, a country boy at heart, lives with his wife in the suburbs of Nottingham, England.  His greatest achievement is that he has aged fairly gracefully but has avoided growing up.  Peter has written poetry from the age of sixteen and blogs regularly at www.pollymermaid.wordpress.com