jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Poetry”

walking between rain and sunshine


glass floor to be danced upon
shiny and bright by full moon
anxious to be noticed
spotlighting raindrops
falling from tallest ceilings

I’ve been inside this maze before
and always come out
smelling like roses
blowing my kisses into a mirror
constantly reinventing itself



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

when reaching for ice cream


he kept repeating once the paint had dried
pink would turn into salmon

neither salmon nor lake trout made it here alive
but the crabs sure arrived on time
and we showered them with
praise and boiling water

meanwhile in the basement
the freezer chest hums along
keeping solid that which may never thaw



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

weathercock


break of dawn rooster crows
ushering in wintry winds
twisting and turning atop the barn
singing bye bye american pie

fog rolls in and tractors stay put
weatherworn eyes cautiously shut
waiting for any ultraviolet rays
to jumpstart his lonely heart

nary an audience in sight he croons
anthems and ballads and rhythm & blues
hitting high notes with precision
ofttimes bellowing like a baritone

dealing in world real or imagined
winds come and go without reason
contemplating rain or sunshine
always searching beyond the skyline



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

one night in august


somehow I lost you on a hot august night
whisked away by a bevy of thirsty angels

we had just left the tic toc tavern
our wits still in tact after discussing
the absence of the sun

looking back I had seen them all along
sitting quietly at the round table
pretending to be roadies for the show

as it would seem their murmurings
had everything to do with you
and how you would guide them
to their next destination



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

innocence takes many forms


out of sight out of mind
black and white images
unconcerned by various mainstreams
a dark contrast to the very places
they can’t possibly comprehend



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

mister moon and me


I hadn’t noticed how much the moon
had changed in such a short period of time
and I was beginning to believe
perhaps it was I evolving even faster

I told my daughter the other day
I wasn’t the same person from ten years ago
and as she nodded in agreement
I wasn’t sure she truly believed me

I keep sticking my hands in my pockets for
no particular reason
and everytime I bring them back out
I look at them in complete amazement

I remember as a child I would play in the bathtub
with armies and fishes made of soap
and after a while I would exclaim
look mom I have old man hands again

now the moon is the oldest man I’ve ever known
and I tell myself I will get there one day
as long as I don’t lose sight of its wonders
and the all possibilities it displays



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

line in the sand


I never saw so much whiteness
how it frightened me so
mountains giving chase to
skyscrapers
crumbling into seas

oh how I thought earth had died
and I alone sang the blues
the thrill gone
vacuumed inside mushroom clouds

survivors if any are free at last
washing ashore
(dead or alive) onto tiny islands
unclaimed by any government
legitimate or otherwise



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

wall of denial


everything feeds into the next thing
until finally feeding unto itself


you catch words everywhere you go
words and phrases and sounds
you’ve never heard before

I should have given that man
that asked me
a dollar
but I thought I was out of singles
last ones spent on lotto tickets

turning the corner new sounds
enter into the atmosphere
lifting me atop the clouds
where I walked around for hours

there is this hidden turbulence
higher into the stratosphere
pockets of sabotage crouched down
waiting to strike wayward travelers

I’m not denying that I’ve never been there
but since coming back (to earth)
my perspective has never been sharper



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

resurrecting false blue indigo


false blue clouds hang over
from day before
blotting out an anxious sun
adding worries to an already
dramatically murderous summer

it was the year nothing bloomed
as world wars waged on

but the vegetables we grew
and harvested (underneath the radar)
were more than completely edible
but keeping it secret
played out to be impossible



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

backyard gig


the boys were out back
barefoot and quiet as could be
lighted candlesticks in tow

so far they’ve had 23 chances
cashing in at near record rates
extending natural highs

though successful yet again
they keep their egos in check
stopping short of euphoria



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

witnessing glamorous sunrises


I’ve been drinking with those demons again
the ones that show up at midnight just when
I’m exhausted from living this so-called life

they prop me back up and somehow get me
back on my feet pacing back and forth
like some expectant father with no place to go

I turn lights on only to turn them off again
walking through walls like some confused ghost
stitching my own wounds with needle and thread

I’ve seen this show before and it never ends well
and I swear there are no more sequels
even though I’m still in the prime of my life



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a curious visit


she showed up unannounced
like a mongrel looking for a free lunch

it had been so long I didn’t recognize her
until she started speaking

she had been beaten so many times
her eyes were as uncertain as the sea

she spoke softly but with quick hands
small and unbelievably smooth

curious to discover what brought her here
I would eventually become disappointed

although she wasn’t exactly welcome
she was family
and there was nothing I could do



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: