Conor Matthews

Joined May 2021

201 stories

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

Stories (201)

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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 Matthews4 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 Matthews4 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 Matthews5 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 Matthews5 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 Matthews6 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 Matthews6 months ago in Poets
Ride The Storm
In the midst of mountainous waves, Heathered in foamy spray, Reflecting the swelling sea of clouds, Hanging overhead threateningly,
By Conor Matthews6 months ago in Poets
Old
Getting old is realising how young you always were, And that maturity never had to kill childhood. It was never any choice you made,
By Conor Matthews6 months ago in Poets
Why I'm Not Worried About AI. Top Story - June 2025.
Entering our third year of a post-AI world seems to have done little to dampen the hype around it. Buzzword or not, it’s hard to ignore the vigour in which tech is determined to crown itself the new feudal lord, constantly banging the marching drum of progress to the beat of enforced adoption. As a creative, I’m just as aware of the encroachment of AI, threatening the livelihood of artists, musicians, and writers.
By Conor Matthews7 months ago in Writers
Living
The mournings are the hardest times, Seeping with the rise of blues, Strunk with the bird songs on wires. The stinging dead eyes cower,
By Conor Matthews7 months ago in Poets
The Crazed Prophet
Gargling utterances without aim, Swearing and shouting without shame, A mad woman holds up her sign; “The government invented moonshine!”
By Conor Matthews7 months ago in Poets