I am reminded of nothing
save shrewd tactics of those I know not
tearing and snarling and shredding
turning fabric into mayhem
like a mongrel in distress
leashless on the streets
roaming like a werewolf in london
big dawg strides unencumbered
attempting new tricks inside
buses and trains and taxicabs
october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
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don’t make me get up I yelled at the dog
(in my sleep) but it was too late
the sun had been down for god knows how long
and though I was close to REM sleep
the almighty stench abruptly woke me up
by the time I reached the kitchen
and turned on the light
the cat was meowing like a maniac
but I wasn’t sure if he was in or out
I walked to the back door
and he leapt at me from out of nowhere
shredding the back of my tee
making me nearly piss my pants
needless to say I (figuratively) kicked him
out into the night
I returned to the kitchen to clean things up
thereafter proceeding to cut up
the watermelon sitting on the counter
along with a few lemons and a dozen
or so freshly picked strawberries
it was still saturday night and since I was
wide awake with no place to go
I poured myself a beer and
retired to the next room
began trying my hand at poetry
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
midnight arrives and a sudden
something wakes me from my slumber
a strike of lightning perhaps
a thunderclap inside my head
I can’t breathe here lying on this bed
lazily and precariously I remove
myself off the comforter
nearly in a trance I pretend I’m
sleepwalking down the steps
I’m far from alone on the main floor
sounds of human breathing
omnipresent and unmistakably eerie
incoherent words babbling barely
I distance myself from dark thoughts
and curl up against sunroom door
cool to the touch my warm body relaxes
moonlight waxing and shimmering
exposing my off-white stripes
august two thousand eighteen
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all rights reserved
we thought he had moved out
for good this time
leaving behind a few possessions
nobody dared to care about
some throw pillows
a trinket or two misplaced here or there
some perishables left in the pantry
and a few dirty dishes
on or around the dining room table
though he never did pay rent
we didn’t mind him hanging out
especially on quiet saturday mornings
what gets under my skin
how he never did leave a note
or better yet sent a postcard from
some faraway place
leaving me second guessing
what could I have done
to make him feel more welcome
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
the rain is too much
preventing the last two doves from
locating the wayward ark
turkey vultures soaring undetected
circling high above singletary shepherds
determined and confident in their ability
to overcome the landscape
and account for every single lamb
entrusted to them by the good lord
march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Groundhog lives in public library
or so I’ve been told from some
somewhat reliable source
He’s got a girlfriend or wife or whatever
a furry green-eyed special kind of lady
who loves to keep him company
It’s a most transparent kind of life
but at least it’s quiet in library
and I suppose there is much snoozing
How he lives a fairy tale kind of life
one where townsfolk and wayward travelers
pay heed to his annual prognostications
And everyone knows his name
so there’s no point in repeating it now
this sunny second day of February
february two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the headlines are loud and clear
wars at home and abroad
national championship game
bull market stock run
millionaire lotto winners
cars swept away in mudslides
russian babies born in miami
they mean nothing when
stitched together haphazardly
presented in pretty picture frames
designed to throw us off course
like some juvenile giraffe
on a mission to make new friends
unable to see the wood for the trees
january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Hop skip and jump
all the way to bank & back
nickels in pockets
pennies in shoes
The ice is thin
but surprisingly strong
watching in amazement
elephants marching on
Many moons smile
only a few may frown
there is orange in the sky
nobody seems to forget
Listen here and listen now
silence and fireworks
commingling on purpose
resting up
for the unrest
january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is truth in numbers
and there is money too
the two go hand in hand
like youtube and click ads
so these cats we knew
decided to get off the grid
cash in their chips
bought one-way ticket to cape town
determined to find truth from
some mojo guru goddess
of course once there
they were told to draw a number
forced to blend in line with
other carbon dated records
all competing to uncover exact
combination to make it out alive
january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they went honey hunting they did
christopher robin and pooh and piglet
and of course tigger too
they flew to the moon and back
their spacecraft refueling on the far side
rocking them back and forth in time
hurtling them toward the old blue jewel
more specifically the hundred acre wood
looking down from the heavens
you can see where they landed
a burst of light microwaving
and expanding through the trees
awakening all creatures
big and small and minuscule
awaiting for what must happen next
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I don’t mind the old songs
but I want something fresh
no matter what its age
I’m flipping through forty-fives
searching for diamond or two
cute couple behind me
whispering comments about
mad magazine covers
without question new beautiful
sorrowful songs reside around here
refreshing like sparkling wine
the kind that turns your thoughts
into nothingness by way of
quiet reverberations
fast forward back home
small brown paper bag sits atop
kitchen counter
community cats returning home
chatting amongst themselves
what must be inside
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s a werewolf
loose again in london
disguised as a dubliner
imbibing ales with
local ne’er-do-wells
strutting down abbey road
alongside chief inspector
chatting about the weather
and that bloody affair
going down last night
in big bold letters daily mail
warns of imposters
dressed quite smartly
wooing unsuspecting partners
who love to do the tango
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
