Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Matthew Bridgham Feb 2015
reading your poems

this website provides a lovely service
giving the unspoken a megaphone
(even though it's set to one)

many of you are young
thoughts about lost love
about who's who to you

it doesn't get easier, but
at least you can write here
feel safe, loved, famous

like the lust you lost
these pages will fade
a burning candle in a sea
of misplaced memories

so here you are
reading my poem
didn't have to
but did
Matthew Bridgham Aug 2014
Shh… Shh… Shh…
Shh… Shh… Shh…

cars hush by pale sod mounds of urban fields
odd Sirens sing while small plush bits of skin fall again
autumn brings the tree-cricket trilling in
and roads of dead asters in brown brush…

Shh… Shh… Shh…
Shh… Shh… Shh…
Matthew Bridgham Aug 2014
here the grass look up brunette trunks, branched arms flex their
form is calm, spindly fingers bloom their open palms
there they reach for spreading clouds
encapsulated sounds of gentle leaves, green noise
orange hues through cherry waves of grape and lemon, sweetened
pecks of the sun set in amber—morsels of melody, snipped bits of

things in canon
sprouting airgerms
fugal, fungal
Matthew Bridgham Aug 2014
our window whispers
quiet, low
murmuring at most
breathing slow

there will be time
to know what knowing needs,
time to tell our darkest dreams—
save those thoughts

if the sun does not rise
warm our bodies between the blinds
I want to say I held you in the still
waiting for the day
Matthew Bridgham Aug 2014
a not-so-special tree
sat on
that not-so-special floor
inside our trailer.

maybe, driving by
mumbling to themselves,
most would call the scene
forgettable, I suppose They
might think it ******,

that not-so-special tree
meant everything to me,
meant waking up late,
meant snowmen and might mean sweets,
foil-wrapped chocolate from the belly of our wooden rudolph.
She hung him high.
He hurried home
with kerosene for the heater.

something was for dinner—
fuzzy memory: folding t.v. tray
in front of the box—

I remember melting kisses
carefully with the kerosene
Matthew Bridgham Aug 2014
by the

back and
forth and
back and
stops to
fill with

shutting process



the rain

better hang up the undryables
Matthew Bridgham Aug 2014
she is lovely
a bit crazy for details
but at least she cares.
small frame
arms that wrap for miles
squinty eyes
no brows
all smiles.
will work to play
cook in ‘waves
or take us out
to share her pay.
probably *****
radiantly charming
sometimes smothering
but never annoying, well
maybe a little, but she taught me
to be strong
overbearingly anxious now and again
but sweet and funny and no, mom,
ice cream doesn't make everything better
but the people you share it with do—

have I told you lately...?
for my mother
Next page