The Irish
Is your suffering worth any more? Do you tie threads of gold, To your heartache? Should I pay for the right, To hear your woe,…
Author: Conor Matthews
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Drinks At Night
Tingle in the skin, Happy in the night for once. The ocean in a glass warms the heart, And unleashes the mind, Thankfully. Take more…
The Candidate: Part 1
The last four months of Gabrielle’s presidential campaign have been rough. She knew it would be, but it was still difficult. The attack ads went…
How Do You Know?
Do the butterflies drop? Does your heart go flat? Do sweet nothings sour? Does it fade like a tat? Can you spot exactly, Where things…
Santa’s Resignation Letter
I have debated whether or not to begin with my trademarked “Ho Ho Ho”, but I wish to convey the gravity of the matter. Let…
The 23rd in Dublin
“They’re tearing the country apart”, He says as he sets a bus alight. “Ireland for the Irish”, He calls in the November night. “Look after…
Skim The Letters
Aching arches of smiles while away my time, Excruciatingly patronising and pedantic, Reassuring themselves but never I, That I believe they like my rhyme. Sent…
My Podcast Journey: From Story To Spotify
Two years ago, nearly to the day, I began a story about a man walking his dog. Some of you had read it; The Trees…
The Eyes In The Night
Look out over your bed, In the nothing by the door, And you will find a chilling sight, The eyes in the night. They…
The Cream
The cream does not always rise, It sinks and swims and struggles, Gurgling and gulping its juices, Straining to breathe and bathe, In the fresh…