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poetry by j matthew waters

there is murder in the room


he sat in the rocking chair and thought about whistling

he wasn’t really rocking more like nodding
thinking of the day when he was a boy and
learned to whittle basswood with a pocket knife

he remembered the days when he used to sing
serenading like a fool until he finally won her over

he remembered when she finally said yes
remembered how the birds sang

but then day turned to night and winds
blew with neither a beginning nor end

oh how the winds did blow he remembered

oh how the winds took her away

he did not like being here now
where shadows waltzed in white dresses
whispering to themselves and laughing

his thoughts soon turned back to the pocket knife
how the wood reminded him of the remington
the one his father taught him to shoot



march two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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12 thoughts on “there is murder in the room

  1. This poem makes my favorites list. It’s captivating. It paints a vivid picture and tells a story while leaving a lot to the imagination. It also plays with the reader’s emotions a bit. The beginning made me miss my grandpa. The end blew me away. Excellently penned. I’m looking forward to reading more of your work.

  2. Wow. That’s a great story! There’s a lot of space for the imagination to roam… and yet a rather well honed wind to guide.

  3. Chilling and Hitchcock-ian…kind of scared me!

  4. Brilliant storytelling within poetic verse!

  5. Nice story. Very well penned.

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