jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Alibi


I took him out I did
the one with the rich man’s gold
gave him the gun & buried the booty

It don’t matter which way the winds blow
the landscape constantly changing
go ask any old Sasquatch

What else is new
besides being on the run again
rolled up maps in my quiver
treasures in the southern hemisphere





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Blackhole


In the morning
everything is neat & tidy
a round of robins
hanging out in the pear tree

People on the outside
briefly look in but back off
the white light from within
intensifying into sudden darkness

Years later passersby
seem to take to the new windows
how they make
the manicured grass
take on a certain shade of green





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

living doggedly in the present


the trick of the brain
differs from the trick of the soul
the former having to do
with mental calisthenics
the latter all about dreams

repetition goes a long way
toward mastering
the memory of dreams
always deep within
rarely showing their true colors

it is like a two-edged sword
this need for solving dreams
reliving past lives & futuristic skies
though seemingly forever
stuck in the present





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

in the dead of winter


I’m on the fence again
like a crow at the county’s edge
contemplating his next move

winter lasts forever here
sunlight bouncing off the white carpet
and back into space

I’m not much for small talk
and the pace can’t get much slower
thoughts frozen in time

inside beside the burning fire
a notebook & sharpened pencils
whispering my name





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

after sending men to the moon


yesterday I didn’t have the time
to work on any mysteries


the ones without any clues
like Seger used to write about

brand new songs coming of age
laying the foundation on

black vinyl & eight track tapes
single cassettes inside shirt pockets

the moon was already conquered
and all the stars resided in California

they’d all come out at night
and we would wish upon them

now fast forward to today
and nothing is what it seems

the world a colder place
bi-polar & increasingly disordered

the new normal more like paranormal
chances of surviving borderline





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

on reforming a terrorist


she died as a homegrown terrorist
having succumbed
to the voices
inside her complicated mind

it wasn’t the first or last time
she’d have died
so violently
this time by way of chemicals
mixed precisely so

how she wished she had
a dying wish
something she’d learned about
throughout the centuries
but for some reason until now
never had a chance to express





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

unfollowing the leader


it’s taken hundreds of years
for eyes to open
and hearts to swell
still the correction
has not been fulfilled

strong forces push & pull
changing men
back into animals
reverting to basic needs
orchestrated by the alpha

the crucifixion was only
the beginning
thousands of years since
human trafficking
and genocides prevailing

to the child we say
yours is the generation
destined to start the process
(of not undoing but)
repairing broken mindsets





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the gate & the raptor


there is a bird at the gate
a juvenile raptor
stopping me in my tracks


do you speak english I say

he appears to be in some sort of a trance

I ask him the same question yet again
but only silence

past the gate is where I’d like to be
where I imagine
eternal happiness resides
the kind of place that keeps you coming back

there is a stone bench
low to the grassy ground
so many yards from the gate & the raptor
where I sit down
and wait my fate
from someone or something
I know nothing about





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

summer of twenty twenty-nine


if it was a sunflare
it couldn’t have possibly
reached the ground

but that is what they
would have you believe

anything requiring energy
simply isn’t working
not even battery
powered flashlights

cash is king
and there’s been a run
on candles & matches
and brown paper bags

the girls on the corner
are making a killing
selling shots of lemonade





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

anecdote of a glass globe


hand and eye and mind
crafting old world ideas
spherical globe made of glass
evolving into shape

inside rivers flow
between green rolling hills
different shades of white
circulating up above

you shake it gently
and the seasons change
spherical globe made of glass
sitting pretty on a shelf





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

on becoming reborn


yes it’s true I was lost
for the better part of my life
chasing the impossible
self-harming
neglecting & dismissing
deep inside the mosh pit
the dark cavern
the constant turmoil
with thousands of other
lost souls

the bell is ringing
its origin dating back
a half century
but I’m unable to locate
the source
its home
a place that once was
and ceases to be

all this time I thought I was
advancing forward
but truth be told
I’ve been regressing
in search of discovering
that who I truly am





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

hanging out at the motorpool


you tell me people you don’t know but love
keep dying

I tell you I’m sorry
but there’s not much we can do about it
now that the cat’s out of the bag

I keep thinking about the crisis unfolding
on the border between Ukraine & Russia
wondering what the hell Snowden
has to do with it

you know I’m dying don’t you
you say
but since I can’t see you I say yes
in all probability you acquired the virus

I don’t ask if you’re vaccinated because
I could give a rat’s ass
now beginning to wonder why you bothered
to call

a decade ago I wouldn’t have answered
having been stationed in Afghanistan
keeping all the Humvees running

I can hear you breathing from the speaker
as if you’re upstairs in the bedroom
and I’m sitting at the kitchen table
pouring myself a shot of Jack





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

radio signal


hash brownies or under glass
one getting you focused
sooner than later

it was an unusual night
radio waves not quite
behaving like they should

an interstellar oddity
traveling nearly a lifetime
breaks through your exosphere

there it is there it is
you shout in excitement
handing over the telescope

outside it’s a beautiful dawn
hands upraised & open
welcoming the next chapter





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

By art itself


I’m not too concerned
if I don’t hear from you again
you see I have you locked
in this utopia
complete with a flower garden
apple tree & snake
white sands nearby & heavenly
clouds up above

You’re not the only one
to have it made there alive
the rest of us recirculating the works
filling stadiums with zealots
and unlocking
more & more mysteries
some by way of science
but more often than not by art





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

café au lait


birthmark upon my face
for what reason do I deserve
your benign designation


is she a flower or a weed
a ship sailing across the sea
destination unknown

what past truth lives inside
commandeering my dreams
seeking to be found

oh how mere strangers
stare & point in my direction
at my poetic imperfection





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

One day I am the wind & another the lightning


I’ve been reading Camus & Sartre of late
thinking of the things that
should have been
the people I should not have lost for no
good reason
the sights I swore I would see


I tell myself I’ve seen the Acropolis
in another lifetime
long before it’s great deterioration
and my own tragic death

I’ve been listening to the likes
of Beethoven & McCartney
knowing full well it wasn’t the first time
they were performing at their peak

It’s true I once had a pretty face
but that was before the accident
before the jagged edges
and the separation
detached from another past
circling headlong into the next





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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