Conor Matthews

Joined May 2021

206 stories

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Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews

Stories (206)

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Bonfire In A Wet Woodland
I trudged softened steps, Onto pillowy growths, And spongey squelching moss, When I came to a sight, Shying behind a tree,
By Conor Matthews4 months ago in Poets
Venus
Yours is not the colour of dirt, My Love, But a sign you are of the Earth. Flavourful, distinct, and enriched, Steeped,
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Poets
Pairs
There are two shoes to choose, On this blue afternoon, From the side of a heavy bed, Alluring calling, You to rest your cloudy mind,
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Poets
The Candidate
Wilma sat waiting to meet the would-be President. Would-be and could-be. Surely all presidential candidates are “would-be” presidents, Wilma mused, nervously flicking her mind from subject to subject in order to occupy her time. In Wilma’s defence, the fate of the world depended on this meeting. And she should know; she’s from the future.
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Fiction
Momento
These moments will pass, Like glittering sands, Through an hourglass. Good and bad are rushed, Falling silent forever;
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Poets
Why?
The great irony of the modern age is that we are adrift in a sea of digitalised knowledge and there’s not a drop to drink. Not because the waters of education are too salty, but because there isn’t a taste for learning to quench.
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in The Swamp
Cards. Top Story - September 2025.
Makaela sat at the table with a Mother’s Day card from her only child spread flat before her; a child she had given up for adoption twenty-eight years ago.
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Fiction
Returning. Top Story - August 2025.
He had decided today would be the last day of summer, in every sense. Literally, as July twenty-nineth was as good as any other day to declare the season over, but also figuratively summer was over for his life, being sixty, his birthday only two months before, if he calculated the calendar correctly twenty years ago. Life comes in seasons, he’s heard, and fate is insistent that autumn should arrive; a season of change, of harvesting, of preparation, of accepting the winter soon to come.
By Conor Matthews5 months ago in Fiction
Another Life Lived
Up Belfast, On streets flagged and fenced, No longer with the ambulances, You are a missed love, From my end of the border.
By Conor Matthews6 months ago in Poets
Mistake
The only regrets I have I didn’t make, A cautious life lived satisfied, But one never filled, Like a clock short an hour,
By Conor Matthews6 months ago in Poets
Human Rights Are Subjective
NOTE: This essay was originally submitted for the 2025 Hubert Butler Essay Prize, on the theme of "Have we no more active rights over life, birth and death?"
By Conor Matthews7 months ago in The Swamp
The 12th
What people build they wish to keep, Planting settler foundations running deep, So young Billy can watch with pride,
By Conor Matthews7 months ago in Poets