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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the month “January, 2018”

31 Jan 2018
18 Comments

a winter that wasn’t


there is a package on the doorstep
but nobody is home to accept it

another package is added to the first
and then another and yet another

letterbox has slowly been filling
and gradually overflows

passersby notice the accumulation
their curiosity growing
some thinking they can hear telephone
ringing and ringing and ringing

a grey tiger gazes out picture window
but nobody seems to notice how
desperate she may be

eventually thieves pick up the packages
and empty the letterbox
eventually cat abandons window sill

weeks go by
followed by people coming and going

gradually things seem to change for the better
the color of the siding
the style of the windows
the vehicles parked in the carport

come springtime there are children
playing in the backyard
and the people strolling by
are once again smiling





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged ,
30 Jan 2018

two parlors


practicing piano in silence
exercising like stranger in the night
bouncing high tides off lows
mixing black keys with white
breaking barriers near or far
like rising moon trying to hide

next room artist paints on canvas
debutante draped in sprawling blue gown
practicing scales and
segueing into newfound adventures
like solitary mariner chasing down
old stars from dusk until dawn





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , | Leave a comment
29 Jan 2018
4 Comments

I smile when I’m nervous and sometimes I laugh


there are marks on my skin
some naturally placed
others self-inflicted

I told you I’m afraid of needles
but that doesn’t seem
to matter much anymore

what used to be painful
has transitioned into
this numbing of thought

believe me when I tell you
everything will be fine
once morning comes ‘round

you gaze out picture window
arms behind your back
anticipating moon’s rising

I refrain from breaking the silence
dead certain I only ask
rhetorical questions





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
27 Jan 2018
2 Comments

call me crazy or call me dead


it’s never too late for poetry so queen
says to her tea party

it’s past midnight but fire is alive like
bulging moon high above

sometimes long lost friend surprises you
coming back from shallow grave

brand new vinyls replace old school ones
rising up from hellbent ashes

I’ve never been to heaven but I’ve been
to southern california

newly arrived house sparrows build nests
using hammer and nail and trust

in central park all is calm and quite cool
long before all hallow’s eve





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
26 Jan 2018
5 Comments

count your blessings


eggs in a carton sitting
next to basket on counter

what could it possibly mean
and which came first
the basket or the eggs

in the fridge there is guiness
and I pull one out
meticulously pour its contents into
slightly larger than pint glass

I’m home alone
except for this here stout
and one dozen farm fresh eggs
latter of which has no idea
if they’re coming or going





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
25 Jan 2018
4 Comments

healing power of venom


she called me baby
like spider said to butterfly
giving pause for thought
and endless possibilities

youthful wings grow tired
folding in and suspended
giving into paralyzing sting
and singing in my sleep





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , ,
24 Jan 2018
8 Comments

there are few places to hide yet so many to be found


she has slumbered into
some unrecognizable state
her smile not quite sincere
perhaps bordering on sinister
her dreams once beautifully relevant
now unabashedly contradictory
especially to the majority who know a
thing or two about wings and prayers

petty characters in fairy tales
continue to play their part in grander things
participating in tea parties and
feeling free to criticize alices and mad hatters
all the while ignorant and/or unconcerned
how their imaginary enemies may be
digging tunnels or scaling walls





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
23 Jan 2018
6 Comments

see how they run


I imagine you’re sleepwalking
while I’m intermittently dreaming
your whitish curly haired lap dog
dressed in holiday sweater
leashed and pleading to go outside
to greet rising curved moon

it’s another mid-winter night
and I roam from room to room
trying to track you down
but as usual you’re one step ahead
sometimes disguised
as three blind mice
other times the carving knife





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , ,
22 Jan 2018
2 Comments

waking up entire neighborhood


pretending new moon
shines upon streets of singapore
I am reminded
of candles in window

flashing lights scream across
inner city streets
red and blue and white hot
giving chase inside
some long forgotten dream

bursting open barriers
words make inner sounds
slowly raising my consciousness
at two twenty-two in the morning

unopposed to where I landed
I play out my part in the dark
arms raised
and mouth wide open
cornered in some well-lit alley





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
21 Jan 2018
6 Comments

ticket to ride


it’s way past tea time
just like it was on the night
they called you away

you had no place to go
so you were told
and they strapped you in
one-way ticket in hand

everyone seemed indifferent
about seeing you go
but I was not convinced
pleaded with anyone who would listen
to please reel me back in
and explain one more time
why moon keeps changing her shape

nobody really knows
but there are better ways
to decipher between good or bad
reality versus fantasy
or better yet why this world
keeps spinning without you

it’s best to keep
bullets by your bedside
just in case night watchman
decides it’s your turn to take a ride





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
19 Jan 2018
5 Comments

business as usual


a brush with death
chance to change the world
comes but once in a lifetime
if at all

this path goes nowhere
or so it seems
sun shining from heaven
fading like a weeping child

something has to break
shut down
turn off
only to start back up again
like a weather vane
finding new direction

in rearview headlamps
flashing blues and reds and whites
gaining ground
reawakening borderline paranoia

inching ever closer to the edge
you pause and check
off more boxes
recalling particular vow to never
bow to the pressure

gliding back to earth
you land once again on your feet
resuming the journey
as if it’s business as usual





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged ,
18 Jan 2018
4 Comments

breaking the law of physics


they were bootlegging bread
(manna for their souls)
across the desert aboard
solar-powered getaway carpets

there were many contracts out
bounties on their heads
dead or alive mattered not
not as long as they had bread

some say they were aliens
newly arrived for umpteenth time
practicing rituals underground
living on contraband flatbread





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Aliens, Dogma, Poetry and tagged , ,
16 Jan 2018
2 Comments

An uncertain smile


I swear it was Stan sitting there
in the Iowa City ped mall
full head of hair and black beard no less
complete with Salem in hand

He appeared to be drawing
charcoal pencil on cotton paper
backpack and camera strapped across
bench made of iron and wood

Of course it couldn’t possibly be him
afterall it will be nineteen years
this summer since Stan
had vanished into thin air

I wanted to walk up to him
and ask him twenty questions
ending with exactly why he went away
and was it really the right decision

He must have detected my stare
and before I turned to face the crowd
I tried to put on a smile
he waving back with great uncertainty





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged ,
15 Jan 2018
7 Comments

fifteenth of january


the world aches
is in so much pain
perhaps from all the dancing
party-going and binges
designed to make all things
temporarily forgotten

tiny islands go up in smoke
making trees weep
and birds migrate aimlessly

there are arrows flying in the sky
unfortunately not the kind
penetrating a young man’s heart
forever changed to love

it seems to be neither tears
nor laughter that remains
but unforgettable impressions
discovered at most unexpected times




january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
14 Jan 2018
7 Comments

california calling


someone had it right
not sure if it was eagles or
kid rock or red hot chili peppers

I’m done here
there’s nothing left to do
except buy me some cowboy boots
and head out west

I’ve been there before
san diego and napa valley
further north to humboldt bay

nothing’s ever permanent
but this time will be different
finding myself camping atop cliffs
inevitably crumbling into the sea





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
13 Jan 2018
8 Comments

snowed in on a saturday night


it’s another saturday night and all I got
is some elton john and guess who
your aces and eights beating
my sixteens and seventeens and eighteens

it’s gotten to the point it’s not funny anymore
though I tell you to shuffle yet again
expecting a different outcome

you’ve got me hypnotized she would say
but all I could see was her wide awake eyes
showing me signs throughout the night
I’ve never once considered

I keep changing vinyls on turntable
mostly long plays but some forty-fives
plenty of sunshine stored in the fridge
otherwise keeping warm by candlelight





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,

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