jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Into the Earth


This poem was my first blog post on December 7, 2011.
It is now the last one on this site.
A very special thanks to everyone who visited my poetry over the years.



In my mind I draw a square
in the very center of the garden

From there I dig into the earth
using the seasoned spade
usually reserved for plantings

The hole slowly turns into a cube
as three mounds resemble
Egyptian resting places

Further down the soil
becomes hard and cold
the clay malleable enough
to mold eternal companions

Satisfied the opening
is mathematically sound
I hold the spade at my side
sweat falling off my forehead
silently instructing the child
to bring forth her loved one
to the newly built altar




november two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

In absentia


I was born in Illinois
along the Mississippi
but actually never lived there

I recently discovered
the hospital I was born in
—St. Anthony’s & more
specifically the building itself—
doesn’t exist anymore

Now I’m beginning to think
perhaps I’m a fortunate son
for having never
ever lived there


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Retreating within


Alone in the backyard
softly singing a lullaby
I once knew by heart
so many years ago

The sky became twilighty—
I heard a lone engine
slowly whining on the tracks
miles away along the river

My little ditty drifted
& faded from memory
giving way to birdsong
ushering in the dusk

Their beautiful trills
transported me inwardly
—somehow sadness
seemed to fill the air


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Maybe I’ll see you at church next Tuesday


For a certain ritual
a small amount of my own blood
is required—how would you propose
I collect it

I’ve been working on my shadow effects
learning how to scare myself in case
my heartbeat gets any lower

With a little more work
soon I’ll be able to see better in the dark

The sun doesn’t shine anymore
a true exaggeration like an all night rain
keeping me depressed

Some questions shouldn’t have to be asked
the more rhetorical the better—
like do you want me to stay

Go ahead and leave me forever
acting as if forgiveness
isn’t even a thing anymore





may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

misremembering


my memory fails me
only when some third party
steps in & says that’s not
how it went down

while that may be the case
my version most likely
plays out much better
for everyone involved


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

WAPO Word Games


One across no dice
a sip of coffee
clearing of the throat
this exercise sans
pen or pencil
thriving in digitization

One down no dice
it’s Sunday morning
this may take a while
Google forbidden
firing up this old
database in real time


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

peace on earth


you should consider
coming along
we’re gonna go high
high into the sky
without ever leaving
the ground

but first we’re gonna
cross an ocean
followed by a desert
perhaps resting at an oasis
to power down & recharge

soon thereafter
we’ll be climbing trees
and the tallest of mountains
knowing full well
each & every day
shall be our last

once on top
we’ll see for ourselves
so-called armed conflicts
no longer exist
in this little world of ours


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

preparation


I lie in darkness
but not silence
paying attention to
my breathing
barely existing
like desert sand

at some point
I will open my eyes
and wonder
where I may be
soaring high
above the clouds
or diving deep
into an endless sea





may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

hydration


all that lotion
thick with lavender
rubbed into your skin
all the cool slide of sunblock
& herbaceous cannabis balm
anything sweetly soothing
—what good does it do
if the glow goes unseen
and you’re the only one
who seems to notice


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

small talk


she sat at the end of the couch

how are the pillows he asked
I fluffed them just for you

she laughed knowing full well
he did nothing of the sort
replied with something amusing

from the kitchen I was listening
working up the courage
to walk back into the fray

meanwhile upstairs
my mother was quietly dying
and there was nothing I could do


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

eating pickles on a sunday morning


I’m usually not a fan
but I got vodka
tomato & veggie juices
tabasco & celery
one real lime
worcestershire sauce
and this wicked horseradish
—and so I thought
why the heck not


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

existing in the liminal


though spreading out
a huge set of wings
they downplay

such power
whether by an angel
or dragonfly

to most its display
is unnoticeable
something perhaps
existing in the liminal

what you witness
by sight or sound or sense
isn’t necessarily
physical

and what one visualizes
be it eerie or uncanny
or unbelievable
may one day return
to haunt or spurn
the most unsusceptible


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

anti-confessional


if you read my journal
you’d be even more confused
where my poetry comes from

in my own mind
I never should have lived
beyond the age of eighteen
either by kismet or my own hand
or that of another

once leaving the house I grew up in
it was never my home again
yet for some undefinable reason
I kept going back

in my journal there is theft & murder
illicit drugs & foreign intrigue
while between the lines you may find
lavender irises
and little yellow songbirds

in my poetry
indeed there may be more of the same
though none of it comes close
to my own reality


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Little Green Men


I swear I spotted Gumby
eating al fresco at
Cliff’s Dive Bar & Grill

Last I knew he was
packed inside a box
in transit from Columbus
to Cedar Rapids

Upon retelling my story
I was rudely informed
what I probably saw
was an alien figment
of my own imagination


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the natural order of things


it’s true when they say
adam didn’t belong here
that he had no
inherent security
—at this point not even an
instinct to eliminate
when necessary

formed from the clay
of the earth
he learned from animals
that had organically
evolved here
coming to appreciate
to kill or be killed

the natural order of things
didn’t absolutely
pertain to his kind—
thriving despite warring
in constant search
of his maker
here at home & beyond


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

born in the war zone


I was dying
in a burning village
—all the while
the seas were raging

the sky was violent
flashing colors from the
crimson spectrum
as if the apocalypse
was at hand

in the dream
I tossed & turned
possibly tumbling inside
the belly of a whale

the morning light
whispered into my ear
saying when I open my eyes
I will have become
a child again


may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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