jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Queen sacrifice


I’ve been stealing ideas out of thin air
and making them my very own
since the day I was born

I won’t pretend to lie
but my reality is based on fact
and though at times indisputable
I often find a need to prove myself

It’s true I discover raw inspiration
in a child’s song or a falling leaf
innocently singular and colorful
repeating itself in search of perfection

Her majesty is like a stranger
beautiful and approachable
leading me to believe her existence
is eternity personified




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

war correspondent


it’s not like I’ve not been trapped before
in the most dangerous cities in the world
keeping my sanity by recounting
what I can in my own little black box
capturing complicated stories
of lives on the move

play zones exist anyplace imaginable
especially for toy soldiers
expanding their capabilities since birth
learning to run without or without
a gun to grasp or hand to hold
duck and covering instinctively

with greater frequency I’m unable to reload
either from fear or lack of supplies
waiting on a lull in the action
a chance to buy or steal more ammunition
before once again shooting at will
at men inside boxes with eyes sewn shut




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

maximizing net pleasure


she sang and danced in my sleep
arousing my senses and touching my heart
making me believe she was all I needed
from this day unto eternity

once awakening I felt exhausted
having lost patience and time and body weight
attempting to relive what had transpired
before it was forever gone

there is this overwhelming desire
residing in the recesses of a curious mind
creating and recreating an epicurean reality
momentary and indescribable




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

no matter what our bodies say


waiting for the rain to end
we talk about loving each other
to this very day

we walk hand in hand
taking in fragrances happening
to arrive our way

there’s no mistaking
how this path is meant to be
on this earth and beyond

we’ve no sense of slowing
this day or the next
no matter what our bodies say




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

haunted in america


forensic science is alive and well
in most of these here parts
despite what’s been codified

some internal wars are never over

collisions continue on a regular basis
like rogue comets passing through
rather unsophisticated asteroid belts

those on the ground continue to shoot
at the moon haphazardly
while snipers in the trees prefer
the precision of ropes and ladders

some past sins are not easily forgotten
let alone forgiven

this land of the free is riddled with asterisks
just look to anyone still on the run




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

this land is our land


one piece of paper filled with legalese
tells me something opposite
of what I thought to be true

I’m finding what’s mine isn’t exactly
what I imagined
especially since ill-equipped
to put up a fight be it physical
or intellectual or otherwise

I’m not interested in reliving
the wild wild west
squatting or dueling
or taking it to the streets
where sheriffs and marshals
take the law into their own hands
whether by what’s been writ
or by brute force




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a thousand maniacs


where am I to look
now that they’ve taken my view away

here I sit with a fob in my hand
wondering what if anything it controls

I have many visitors
throughout the night
none of them saying a word
but rather shaking their heads
and stomping their feet
as if heavy metal fills the air

there’s a guitar propped up
in the far corner
I imagine I’m shredding it
like I used to do
and everyone in front of me
is screaming
like a thousand maniacs




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

not as long as you allow it so


no one can help you
is what she was trying to tell me
in a language not my first
and though I may have comprehended
I pretended not to understand

we went about our merry ways
and days went by
until out of the blue she sent
me a text in my own language
saying no one can help you

for some reason I reacted reflexively
swiftly swiping it away
and thinking to myself
when in the world was the last time
I ever asked for help

weeks and months ensued
and I went about my days per usual
all the while thinking to myself
how right she was when saying
one one can help you
not as long as you allow it so




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the wounded marionette


it was hard to see the strings
stuffed inside his rucksack
as he rode the train from one town
to the next
all slumped over and needing
a miracle or two
to bring him back to his former self

they stopped the bleeding
back on the battlefield
stitched him up as best they could
sending him on his merry way
cross bar and all

staring out at the countryside
he went in and
out of consciousness
the landscape as desolate as his thoughts
leading him to wonder if the good doctor
would be able to save
his most precious possessions




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

chasing idealism with or without wings


out of thin air resides reality
like a butterfly suddenly taking flight
reminding you of days gone by
when every moment mattered

you take a stab at it
that imperceptible tipping point
hoping to reel it in and relive
a particular space in time

your subconscious orbit
always seems to get you there
but every time you awaken
the outcome never changes
and the butterfly lives on




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

early evening reading


it’s early she said
there’s plenty of time to recreate
the world as you know it
won’t you take a long break
and come play with me

from what I could gather
she’s the one wanting to recreate
that which she’s been reading
nearly naked on the bed for an hour now
her freshly shaven legs
like parallel images of crescent moons




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

wildflowers in the wind


I wish to be intimate with ideas
that have yet to materialize
brought on by a slight breeze
brushing against my cheek
and slightly opening my eyes

out of thin air they arrive
and mysteriously disappear
incomplete thoughts needing
nurturing and time to mature
like sporadic seeds in the air

I wonder how they’ll affect me
these intimately idyllic ideas
existing in the peripheral
occasionally testing my mettle
as if they know me better than me




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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