jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Aliens”

waiting for morning to break


I’m like an undocumented alien
waiting in the gray room
blurred around the edges
keeping warm by candlelight

there is very little to read
but content is everywhere
and though drowsy
I stay wide awake just in
case they call my name

rows away children sleep
snickering and whimpering
unintelligible words in the air
like flashes of joy and fear




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

in the way she moves


I’ve been making a living harvesting diamonds
from faraway planets
bringing them back to earth by way of
space savvy drones

this lucrative technology I’ve curated is keeping
rocket scientists baffled
scratching their heads and ringing my phone
twenty-four seven

I’ll be damned if I’ll give them the slightest hint
of what they already know
something about the law of attraction
and how she moves me




may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved

extraterrestrial intelligence


how are we to reconcile recent events
unable to come to terms why we
scratch and crawl and scratch again
expecting to find something brand new
instead uncovering oft told untruths

with shovel in hand it’s easier to go deeper
much further than digging like a dog
but what can there possibly be down below
that we don’t already know

dinosaur bones or diamonds from another world
mass graves from this past century
and the one before
from every century going back until kingdom come

instead of digging we learn to drill with precision
hitting veins of fools gold or liquid gold
eventually discovering wormholes
leading to china or another world altogether
places unfamiliar in a familiar way
leaving us wondering why on earth
we ever felt threatened in the first place




april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

archaeological dig


somewhere along the beaten path
rare earth elements are spotted
here and there
haphazardly discarded by
downright dirty rotten scoundrels

little aliens scurry in the shadows
having adopted stretches
along the way
stuffing recyclables into sacks
refurbishing trash into shiny trinkets

all skyscraper trees eventually fall
their treasure imperially at risk
that is to say
having crashed and imploded
only to be mined many lifetimes later





february two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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

how I wonder


alien boy sits on curb
waiting for night to fall
desirous of first star to appear
bringing back his smile

fast cars with one headlight
impersonate meteor showers
sweeping up passerbys
unable to pay the freight

it’s a million to one chance
but what else is there to do
besides singing the blues
or counting red cars

tomorrow’s hitchhiker
catapults away from superhighway
discovering alternatives to
hunger and desire and fear

there he learns falling out of grace
is not an option
nor dashing through the night sky
perhaps unseen



november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the wisdom that is Bob


I heard they were selling tickets to Mars
down at the corner of Oak and Divisadero
but by the time I got wind of what was
going down it was too late
the little bastards were all sold out

soon thereafter I was relating my
disappointment to Bob over a few beers
and a few shots down at The Page

meanwhile on the big screen Giants
score ten plus runs in the fourth
off the Met’s lefty starter
the scattered-brained afternoon crowd
going just a little bit too ballistic

you know old boy
(Bob goes on to say)
there are no tickets to Mars
it’s just some punk rock concert

yes I say in between swigs
whatever you say Bob



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

river landing


there was dancing down by the river
or so we thought we heard something
streaming on the radio
either that or it was a just a feeling

by the time we reached the river
disco lights and glittery balls
stretched across iridescent banks
ordinary people dancing
like radiant aliens in a trance

past the main dance floor
ushers carry flashlights of sorts
escorting the elderly and tired and mad
the displaced and the misfits
methodically boarding unchartered ferries
destinations undetermined



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

seeing through curtains drawn


this little town was nothing like whoville
though not sure why I mention it
if only to get you imagining
there are other worlds

on the surface nothing changes here
and everyone looks the same
whether or not they’re beautiful
or pretty or normal or something else

down here all oceans are in sync
as are rivers and streams and creeks
each and every tree relative to itself
flowers beneath their boughs
reduced to single digits
propagated by otherworldly intelligence



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

dysphemism


of course the aliens always love to come here
to commingle and make babies
and stop by the coffee shop to catch up on
all the latest goings-on

decades have passed before any radical
changes transpired transparently
subtle reminders that you are a mere
shadow of your former self

but those aliens they are an odd lot
they fit in so seamlessly
quietly stealing souls and trading
them in for a song and a dance



july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

staging an abduction


it seemed like yesterday you said
fear sweet talking people
steer clear their way

but the next day you were gone
abducted some say
by an alien troupe

months passed before we decided
to sell your stuff on ebay
(except for the whisky and blue jeans)
though later became confident
it was you who bought them

each year on the eve of your disappearance
most all the neighbors
put a candle in the window
but as time passed
nearly nobody knew why



july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

How they arrived with clarity and force


Lightning strikes on Miller’s farm
and days later
everything is gone

Are you sure it was natural
everyone seemed to ask
or could it have been an arrow
directed by an angry god

Local preachers try to explain
to congregations of none
exactly what didn’t happen

Meanwhile earth moving machines
continually roll in from far away places



april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: