jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Animals”

apache helicopter down


the helicopter crashed on the side
of a hill on a sheep farm

the sheepdog was the first to arrive
followed by the sheep themselves
and finally the shepherd

the dog sniffed all the way around
the main part of the mangled mess
marking it here and there for good measure

most of the sheep vied for position
for a look-see in the cockpit
but it was vacant

“they must have jumped out before
it crashed” the shepherd murmured
under his raspy breath

there they stood on the hill
the shepherd scratching his head
and the sheepdog licking his balls
the sheep themselves looking
down at the village where the
peaceful inhabitants once lived



february two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

feeding time in the stable


the horses are mind readers and can sense
your footfalls hitting concrete steps
from over fifty yards away

though they’ve been fed they’ll need
another meal somewhere down the line
in between new hired hand
hauling empty pails
up thirty-three steps seven times a day

the trails are sloppy from the january thaw
but the horses are quite content
staying put for the foreseeable future
and reminiscing about longer days
about a scoop of grain and two flakes of hay



january two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Little Bo Peep’s Awakening


She wore a cotton dress on a warm
and sunny day
slightly off-white and sleeveless
complementing and accentuating
her light brown skin

He wore his casual Sunday best
strolling along
white button-down oxford shirt
starkly contrasting pleated charcoal slacks
creased perfectly

Sitting on park bench imagining
her breathing slows
her inner thoughts pressing on
unaware of sights and sounds passing by
before her eyes

From out of the fold he reappears
like a lost lamb
wandering most aimlessly
a blot on the vastness of her dreamscape
off-black yet bright



november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

what happens here may not stay here


inside your walk-in closet you keep
a wooden bowl atop your dresser
filled past the brim with little things
little tidbit kinds of things that have little
to no value like bottlecaps and matchbooks
rubber bracelets and key chains
a deck of the tiniest of cards you’re
quite sure has played solitaire

sometimes you imagine a little spider
lives inside the tidbit of things
milling about mostly in the dark
but occasionally coming out on afternoons
to unwind atop the deck of cards
basking in the filtered light
leaking through diamond-shaped openings
that really aren’t here nor there



october two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

hey mister can I pet your dog


he is the one from down the street
the one everyone seems to be afraid of
the one without teeth
barking at bare legs and packages
and pissing on anything plastic

he doesn’t know where you’ve been
but if you open up your window for a second
he’ll figure it all out
and on the next go round he’ll zero right in
better than any old bloodhound


august two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lost and unfound


the cat chased the crescent moon
deep into the night
encountering near death experiences
along the way
living and dying by the hour
until inevitably unseen

with the scent of the cat
fresh in the dog’s
sensory perceptions
he searched for days on end
until finally losing track of
his long-lost friend

promising to return another day
the dog headed back home
guided by a bright satellite
looming over the city
stray cats springing from the shadows
and jumping over the moon




Oscar & Chester


january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Quantum Mechanics 901


Her name was Resurrection
and she was caught by surprise
many a times
mainly resulting in her own demise

She often fancied herself a catfish
and loved to swim in a sea of names
dominated by tasty tuna
she just couldn’t get enough of

I once tried talking her down from the roof
but she would have nothing to do with it
and weeks would go by before
I would see her again

She often mentioned she would love
to meet Schrödinger in the afterlife
if nothing other than comparing notes
on the natural order of things



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

never a dull moment


I saw that young grey squirrel
all winter long
chasing cars and
scaring dogs on leashes
jumping at them from out of nowhere
then zigzagging here then there
zipping out of sight laughing

I imagined he had stashes of nuts
all over the neighborhood
because he always looked
lean and mean
more energetic than any winter
squirrel I ever did see
scampering all over like it was spring

on days when the magic seemingly
runs dry I wish I could
reach into his bag of tricks
pull out a masterpiece that
makes you suddenly hit the brakes
sending your sedan swerving
over the curb and
slamming into your own snowman


january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

catbird singing (in the dead of night)


catbird chirps along stone walls
saying look at me
follow me
this way where the water flows

trim and proper in tailored suit
catbird mimics
moon walking
whistling across dance floor

tricks up sleeves and a beak
full of pranks
catbird screams
like a wee lad crying wolf

one eye on brighter side
falling sun
invites night flight
catbird chasing brand new day



august two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

number nine doesn’t live here


you rarely recall that night
you should have died
yet every time it surfaces
you completely understand
how kissing the world goodbye
is as simple as
landing on your feet

you imagine you were born
a feline with siamese blood
running through your veins
a cool cat who’s been
around the block six or seven
or eight times
but certainly not nine

crouched behind a waning moon
you patiently wait for hope to rise
above the horizon
feeding your mind with
enlightenment
giving you courage to carry on
yet another day


december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

little piggy


he practices his complaints
before entering the store
knowing full well
he will leave unsatisfied

the return desk at his back
he mutters underneath his breath
a receipt and a little credit
tucked inside his fanny pack

on the way home he stops at
wendy’s for a bacon cheeseburger
then after a while reminds himself
he’s got changes to make


november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lennon’s cat


this cat lived with us for about a year
and she was far out

she spoke many languages
and loved to recite poetry
while sipping on herbal tea

we loved to listen to her stories
about how she always
caught her mouse
or made the dude next door
shit his pants

one day she left the house and never
came back

we just figured she needed a break
before spending the rest of her
lives at the dakota


october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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