Matthew Bristow

Matthew Bristow Poetry






John Donne


T.S. Eliot

"...and yet as a poet, a love of spiritual romanticism"


Matthew Bristow Poetry

Photo by Andrea Zubani


Paradise Lost


Tropical bliss abounds my soul

Contentment ever near

The life, the warmth, the breeze abiding

An inner self I fear


Meandering rio take my soul

To places far from me

Behold primitive sights, pagan rites

Forgive my will to flee


Nesting in a bourgeois’ life

Close minded by new needs

No chance to bathe my weary soul

Nor reflect upon ones greed


Amongst the foliage of distant lands

Its temperate breath appeasing

My quest to know an inner glow

My yearning soul is pleasing.


Matthew Bristow

© 1989

Dawn Breaks


Mist enlightened by sun’s new rays

Upon its breath the break of day

Honey dew droplets feed ever growing plants

Nectar warmed freely buds flowering fast

Buzz of dawn sweet taste of colour

Marvelous earth, O’ wonderful mother.


Early feathers ruffle sing praise from above

Chirping for life young finding an ask

Echoes of rock waters babble and spray

Beads of web glisten, will the days prey

Shadows of coolness sigh evening’s dark past

Night's sleepy eyed hunters homeward at last.


Light wood rustle in breeze alive

Times cold blood basks in heats arise

Dazzling arrival yet survival the task

Cunning and stealth with promise till dusk

Essence of freshness fades by the minute

Fateful world of bountiful limits.


Matthew Bristow

© 2008



Today is the day

My life went grey

Not with a splash

A quiet pit-a-pat


I begged it to stay

But it shied away

Now I am bleached

Washed on the beach.


Matthew Bristow

© 2006

At Last


Upon the raven's wood I die

Looking to the blessed sky

Redemption a breathless cry.

Ashen faced with lifeless eyes

A moments rest a burning pye.

Rekindle my spirt and fly



Matthew Bristow

© 2009