jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

as seen through innocent eyes


there were dancers in the skies
and songsters in the trees
gentle breezes crossed their minds
casting shadows creeping deep

swollen clouds darkened the pond
scattering notes upon the sheet
flying fish breached the surface
grasping for truths unseen

wildflowers earnestly gathered
produces lively waxing smiles
a child’s hand but a crystal vase
clenching secrets worth their while



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Silo

by Daniella Sciuto & J Matthew Waters

Are you jealous
Of the space between us
Filled with darkness
And twinkling stars

Bereft of passion
The green patina of sarcasm
Lobs my way

Have you forgotten
All those years
Reduced to a mere photograph
Safekept under glass

Encapsulated
In an unmanned
Underground
Silo

Why did you build that bomb
The one that divided us
A mushroom cloud of discontent
Hovering overhead

As our atom split
Turning two into too many nights
Alone and cold in the dark
I tried to seek a sign up above
Past an endless sky without light

Finally I ask myself am I the one
Am I jealous of the space between us
Of the fragile photograph kept under glass

Was it me who built that bomb
Did I hover in discontent
Watching as we split
Lonely in this silo in the dark

july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

sunset boulevard


there is no going back
no fixing of things if you will
no apologies for past decisions
or inspiration to instill upon others

that song buried deep inside you
is like the setting sun in the rearview mirror
seemingly a faraway memory
but closer than it appears
full of deceit and trickery
and almost smothering until suddenly
explodes with a brightness never before witnessed
turning everything black as a ghost

it is a lonely road you chose
the one marched on by millions of men
sent off on their own accord
to conquer their own fears
giving meaning to their newfound lives



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Quantum Mechanics 901


Her name was Resurrection
and she was caught by surprise
many a times
mainly resulting in her own demise

She often fancied herself a catfish
and loved to swim in a sea of names
dominated by tasty tuna
she just couldn’t get enough of

I once tried talking her down from the roof
but she would have nothing to do with it
and weeks would go by before
I would see her again

She often mentioned she would love
to meet Schrödinger in the afterlife
if nothing other than comparing notes
on the natural order of things



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

I read the news today


when the telephone rings
it is wise not to answer
for the best news is no news
in these godforsaken lands

I cringe at the injustices
bestowed upon the helpless
how the most brutal minds
can take away anything they like
at any given moment

they were not put on this earth
by the gods who protect me
the gods who taught me
tolerance and compassion
promising a better place
in another time and space

in the meantime the wars
and the mass murders
and merciless distrust between
neighbors prevail
history unable to help
but repeat itself



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

out of reach


he turned dirt into mud with spit
and gentle hands
nimble fingers changing malleable
clay into lifeless figurines

they possessed no soul
and no hearts beat inside to fuel
their starving minds

high up on a shelf they sat
out of reach from the many visitors
who called randomly
touring the estate but coming up empty
sent to find something inside
from forces unknown

that is all there is he would tell them
and they turned and left
disappointed but certain
there were prisoners inside the place
desperate to be saved



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

but walk I must to free my troubled mind


it’s mid-morning early summer
and I leave my little office for a quick
ten minute walk through eight city blocks
passing brick and mortar and black glass
cutting through a bike trail lined
with flowers and trees and park benches

it’s somewhat humid and somewhat hot
and I loosen the knot of the tie from my neck
worrying about sweat staining the collar
of my freshly ironed
buttoned-down oxford

the city is diverse and there are certainly
many kinds to meet along the way
but for whatever reason I tend to change course
when approaching the homeless
those courageous individuals who are already
planning where to spend the night
the disadvantaged who somehow manage to smoke
cigarettes and consume cheap whiskey or wine
only to wake up in a dreamless state
forced to do it all over again
usually by holding out a hand

I tell myself making monetary pledges
and sending off checks to post office boxes
is not necessarily the answer
but it’s the easiest path to take
especially when burdened by troubles of my own



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

that’s how the money men liked it


back in the day I used to hang
out with Clint
back when we got involved
with those spaghetti westerns

there was hardly ever any
high drama on the set
seasoned cowboys rehearsing
their lines and showcasing
well worn snakeskin boots
spitting tobacco on spiders
and squinting into the sun

I mostly sat in a high chair
fans blowing on my face
my voice occasionally
barking out instructions
but for the most part things
played out on their own



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

beautiful loser


the iceman cometh on broadway
is how I understand it
on stage or in some city park
brought back to life by an imagination
starving for attention

I swear I heard the radioman
repeating the iceman will cometh
to a theater near you

they dug him out of a hole
created back in 1782
apparently buried deep inside
where the frozen ocean
meets the rock

they revived him time and time
again
and each time
he lost a little more of his life
deprived of dreams and oxygen
that would one day save his life



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

passing the torch


if the birds don’t rule this world
nobody knows who does

they fly in and out of dreams
as if they had been here before

first to awaken they stir the frost
with slow motion wings
opening promises above the clouds

in prehistoric times they fed without
fear of twenty gauge buckshot

back in the future they learn
to penetrate outer atmospheres

they’ve seen it all and they pass their
knowledge onto future generations
long after migrating from this world



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

can we please go back to houston


could we press rewind and go
back to houston
back to the space city by the bay
where the districts are alive
like tattooed hearts on sleeves
where glorious voices frequent the
grandest of operas
and the trendiest of restaurants
(lined along historically diverse streets)
place no restrictions on who may sit where



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

why can’t this place be any better


looking from afar she’s a beauty
dressed in variations of blue and white
spinning in place like a ballerina
poised and full of grace

born into a seemingly endless era
she has lived and died countless times
only to return to confront the dangers
the natural order of things create

unconcerned with the scars modern
minds have fatally placed upon themselves
she feeds on mere mortal wounds
knowing time will heal all things



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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