Daniel Mather
(aka Stilfire)
From Lancashire, Daniel has written much poetry in his time but is quite a perfectionist and only some of his work therefore comes to light! He tells PP:
"If I had a pound for every time my friends and family had suggested publishing my material, I would probably be rich, but then only some of my poetry is poetry I feel I can be proud of. A hell of a lot of it, once written, doesn't seem right to me. I keep it, anyway, but only to remind myself how much improvement I need, especially when I read the poetry of others (Such as yourself) and realise just how obvious and shallow some of my material seems."
Such modesty and flattery gets him everywhere though (!), both with PP and in his own poetry where he writes with rhythm, developing style, intrigue and, as his page expands here, increasing innovation.
For some people, poetry is something that they have a natural pull towards and therefore want to work hard on to succeed, where otherwise they might not:
I'm not naturally an ambitious person, but when it comes to poetry I could write never ending reems and still not be satisfied."
Watch as he develops his ability here then with PP - and so far, he is doing so quite satisfactorily!...
If you enjoy what you read below, Daniel has more poetry online at his website - (click here) - a new window will open.
Natural Beauty
Look, there, another
Of nature's creations.
Beautiful, isn't it?
One of many great sensations.
To see the trees
and the birds flying high,
And to smell the grass you walk on,
And wish that you could fly.
Don't ever lose hope,
Because it's a precious thing,
As long as you can feel, and see,
And have a voice to sing.
Some aren't as lucky
As you and I are,
But we've all got life;
We're all similar.
Untitled
Darkest night to sun drenched day;
I slip, reluctantly, away.
Thoughts keep running through my head
Of what's been done, and what's been said.
I die a little, every time;
My heart beats faster, for each crime.
Until my blood runs dryer, still
And I must go, to take my fill.
Spring and Summer
Skies of blue and sun so bright
Make my mind and spirit light,
Calm me down and chill me out,
Can't do much but lie about.
Fresh cut grass that smells so sweet,
Golden sand beneath my feet.
Sea light blue and soft warm breeze
Make me fall down to my knees.
It's true I feel this way sometimes,
Forget the world and all its crimes,
Forget how much I hate my life,
Forget all huger, pain and strife.
Just sit and think, relax a while;
Give an inch, I'll go a mile.
Listen to some soothing sounds
And watch the grass grow from the ground.
Colonisation
So many places we've destroyed;
Scotland and Australia,
Ireland, America,
With armies all deployed.
Expansion and development?
What kind of reason's that?
What do we think we're playing at?
Are we so heaven sent?
What right in hell has let us go
And colonise in masses,
While native lads and lasses
Let not their anger show?
I'm so damned mad; so murderous;
We NEVER had the right
To force, with all our might,
Ourselves onto others.
Those starving for the flesh
Lions lurking all around,
Mustn't move or make a sound
Lest they head my way again,
in the cold and lonely rain.
Vultures passing o'er me;
Wonder how they, too, can see
All that happens to me, now,
That, on me, order did endow.
Wonder why the hyenas laugh,
Waiting for the Reapers wrath.
Did they find it written on
Something that has since long gone?
Would the jackals, if they knew
Come in to mock me; watch me, too?
Watch, and grin, and bare their teeth
To see the sword of death unsheath?
What of sharks, that hunt in seas?
Would the smell of my blood please?
Appetise them, Bring them t'ward;
A hungry, neat, blood-thirsty hoarde?
But would they even give a damn?
Treat me different from a lamb?
Another meal, those hungry wolves;
Let them eat; let them indulge!
Now two poems devoted to my religion; Wiccan. D.M.
Ode to the Wicca
Blessed be, you blessed few,
Let not the evil form in you.
Stay pure and good forever more,
As though art now, by your own lore.
For that is pure and that is good;
Respect the Wiccan Rede, we should,
And learn the ways of Mother Earth;
The ways of life, and death, and birth.
Learn what Gaia has to teach,
No matter how far we must reach.
But respect the sacred law of three,
And go in peace; so mote it be!
A Witches Lesson learnt.
Eric Sampson, he worked alone;
No real friends – owned not a phone.
These words he claimed he did fulfil;
“An it harm none, do as ye will.”
At twelve, a film he’d been to see,
And, from then on, knew what to be;
A Witch of greatest power and mind,
To cure the sick, and wrong-doers, bind.
But he jumped in too quick, and, within a week,
All manner of equipment he did seek.
He dressed in black; his room, soon, too;
Not quite the same as me and you.
And then he forgot exactly why
He did all this, so that he’d try
To be a Witch, in blackened clothes;
The whole attempt had been a hoax!
Religion he’d tried not to seek,
But to turn from mild and meek
To strong and daring; he had not
The insight most Wiccans have got!
Then one day, his father said
Not to continue, “…Use your head!”
Resentment, Hatred formed within;
A curse to cast was his last sin!
A week; a day; his father dead,
He realized the curse he’d made
Would not help him; would just bring pain;
Would drive him mentally insane!
He’d forgotten, you see, the Wiccan Rede;
The document we all did read.
The words it says stay firm in mind,
For all the Wiccan, good and kind.
That none shall harm another one,
For fear of all the power gone,
But folded thrice; and that line still,
“An it harm none, do as ye will!”
Rage Methodical
Blessed bright blue pinkish things,
Call me to your lair now,
Underneath a sea of suns;
Of burning waters cold.
Canst thou not see my eyes are dead?
I killed them long ago.
Thou art too late to save a thing
So void of life as this.
I love thee and ideas thought
That thou has given me,
To see what I could not before,
Though still I stand so dazed.
The greenery, it hurts my eyes
And paintings hurt my ears.
I'm blinded by the dimming dark
Of a thousand eyes aflame.
Hadst thou not had thy fairest share
Of mockery and joy?
Drain-ed from my lifeless shell
Falsely called a life.
Sit with me in synthetic
Worlds, with falsing peace.
Kill the lights, you murderer;
I've nothing left to lose.
Only my Opinion
The world is waiting for me to speak;
What is it I should say?
Some words of wisdom I might write
To please them all.
And then they'll run away, content,
My knowledge freely given.
Or even only pushed aside;
Am I so useless?
Is it all so unimportant
As if to say, "Just let it go"?
Please don't leave me here, alone;
I am not finished.
Industrial Scars
All buildings, roads and traintracks, cars;
Each continent has it's own scars
Inflicted by the human race.
We've destroyed this planets face
These man-made landmarks, built so tall
Of glass and steel, wall to wall
Like sutures clinging to the skin
Of Mother Gaia; such a sin.
Earth's Temperament
Part One:
Peaceful Elements (calm)
Water -
The sea so calm and soothing here,
Makes you smile and shed a tear.
From lightest mist to Autumn dew
That sits upon a leaf for you.
Earth -
The grass that grows out from the soil,
And trees and plantlife, always loyal,
Providing air for us to live
Though we take more than we can give.
Fire -
The sun so bright it blinds us all;
A bright white, shining golden ball
And fire, controlled and flickering
Upon a candle, lingering.
Air -
A soft warm breeze that blows on by,
So good and pure it makes me cry.
The air we breathe that's always 'round
With birds flying by, all homeward bound.
Part Two:
Extreme Elements (anger)
Water -
Sounds like thunder, feels like rain,
Watch as lightning strikes again.
The thunder rolls, the rain falls hard.
A flash of light; the sky is scarred.
Earth -
A rumble low, a tremor strong,
The broken earth so deep and long.
The rumble and tremor that you hear
Is only nature; have no fear.
Fire -
Thick black smoke of burning ash,
The burning homes and cars like trash.
Thick red soup envelopes all;
From these mountains, cities fall.
Air -
A wind so strong it blows your mind
Destroys the colonies of mankind
In a spinning, fast-paced rage
Not felt by beings for an age.
Dead Skin
Falls away from me again;
Falls away, just like dead skin.
Cannot find it; gone and lost;
Cannot see, through fog and frost.
Need to think; where can it be?
Need to find it; look and see.
Had to lose a part of me;
Had to let that part go free.
Coma
The shadows creep up ever nearer
To the place she's hiding in
Call her name, they hear no answer;
Call her name, they hear naught.
Inducing darkness in the sunlight,
In the burning, sunshine day
Kill the light, and kill her spirit;
Kill the light, and kill her, too.
Slip into a peaceful coma,
We will watch you from afar
Do not wake, my little roamer;
Do not wake, my little child.
Just dream 'til days become much better,
Too bright for us to bring you here
But please, for now, do not upset her;
But please, for now, don't wake the dead.
What is World Peace?
A world not yet discovered,
Discovered by those
Who discover that power
Is nothing without knowledge,
And discover that power
Matters not besides.
Copyright © 2001 Daniel Mather
Daniel has more poetry online at his website - (click here) - a new window will open.
Like what you have just read? We will update this page as Daniel writes, so keep checking back for more!
Bookmark P.P now!
In the meantime, sign our guestbook and tell the poet what you think, beginning with "To Daniel Mather"
LEAVING PP NOW?
If so, please exit by clicking here each time. You'll go to Ask Jeeves and this will help us to keep this service alive and free for you!
Back to the English Poets Index
All work on this page is copyright © 2001 to Daniel Mather,
all rights reserved. It may not be copied or reproduced
without expressed permission from the author.
All work submitted to Paramount Poetry is assumed to be
the original work of the author and PP can take no
responsibilty for stolen copyright then, or hereafter.
Email: jonathan@poeticjustice.co.uk
