blackbird blackbird
visible in my peripheral
perched upon six foot fence post
barely saying a word
blackbird blackbird
surveying golden field
extant and flawlessly beautiful
dreaming up a new song
blackbird blackbird
as old as the living hills
posing ever so noiselessly
no particular place to go
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the explosion in the wildflower field
sent all the horses racing far beyond
the imaginary fence line
violently shaking the earth
these parts had not witnessed in
anyone’s lifetime
leaving the elderly trembling
and the little ones crying
making all the machinery within a
thousand mile radius inoperable
the only other mode of transportation
quickly dissolving into the dying sun
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we’ve done this before
making something out of thin air
whether simple words or complex webs
designed to bring us closer
the power of sleep brings forth
limitless possibilities
exposing past and future lives
such as the spider or the fly
at some point it stands to reason
why the trees have knowledge
and birds perpetuate folklore
why the snake in the green green grass
will one day be your best friend
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
with the opening and closing
of so many doors
you see him and you don’t
like a houdini or apparition
like a mouse that got away
or one out of a thousand
helium balloons
sometimes he hangs out
for hours on end
whether you like it or not
time passing by with nary a word
you say it’s getting late
or hey I’ve got to get to work
but feel free to stick around
and by all means help yourself
mi casa es tu casa
by the time I get back
he’s nowhere to be found
no note and nothing taken
just a strange feeling
that sooner or later I’ll want him back
maybe after a beer or two
august two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
and so I stayed home and polished the rock
until it shined like never before
birds of the air and small animals made of clay
watched with curious eyes as I
placed the gem at the base of the garden stream
before too long the elements took its toll
on the once shiniest rock on the planet
and gradually one by one
birds of the air and small animals made of clay
lost interest in my efforts
eventually carrying on with their lives
june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
press your ear
against the wall of shame
and tell me what you hear
father stopped
taking confessions at noon
so if you want to lighten
your load yet today
you’ll have to wait until
the wine has been blessed
in the courtyard
there is much chatter
in the fruit trees
but they’d be happy to
stop and listen
if you have something to say
a three legged cat
guards the perimeter
with quiet enthusiasm
while headless squirrels
and widowed cardinals
come and go at their leisure
may two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she practices her violin
sitting on the spinet bench
scratching out imperfections
into the midday air
outside it’s raining softly
bookend bay windows
slightly cranked open
letting sounds in and out
the law of attraction
is a two-way street
all the strays standing tall
from the peanut gallery
watching the house favorite
rubbing ankles
with the star of the show
march two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
who will speak to me next
as if in tomorrow
standing here on the ground
looking up
bird’s nest in the open air
curious cat in my peripheral
I realize I’m not alone anymore
it only feels that way
stepping out of my skin
for the very first time
and looking back
through a bottomless mirror
so it seems the bird and cat
have been chosen
to encourage me on
one pushing
the other pulling
both bickering
in their own beautiful way
march two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
so I let the cat out and in
again and again and again
I’ve taken up meditation
attempting to calm my nerves
but he keeps scratching at the screen
challenging me to hold my tongue
his entire repertoire is like a bad movie
and why I didn’t get up and go
after the first few scenes
is beyond me
I never heard of this polar vortex
but apparently it’s a real thing
forcing me to vacate the sunroom
meanwhile we’re all safely inside
staying near the fire
on occasion
he paws at a different door
and as always
continues to politic for treats
february two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
do not dare pick up the sword
and take exception to the earth pig
having last been seen
extending generosity
some three score years ago
as a citizen of america
[make that a descendant
of many an immigrant]
I’ve been molded to admire
the likes of porky and wilbur
piglet and petunia
come february four
let us indeed move forward
with the earth pig
relieving stress
through movement and meditation
picking up the pen
not only to communicate
but to draw blossoming flowers
[popular among friends]
and offering them when fully bloomed
to perfect strangers
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
everyone sees him except you
my dear inspector
walking amongst the living
and very much in the thick of things
whether taking five in the studio
[sitting cross-legged in the director’s chair]
or strolling down the walk of fame
hand in hand with julie andrews
he turns your blues into pink
right before your very eyes
but all you realize is yourself
as if that oversized magnifier
is nothing but a looking glass
some say that ever elusive diamond
never did exist
but that colorful far-out cat
now he was the real deal
blending into every kind of scenery
be it on the big screen or otherwise
january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
nobody talks about birds
growing older
but here we are
sitting on park benches
bread crumbs in our hands
this sitting down is for birds
I say out loud
and you naturally agree
without speaking a word
it’s a warm winter’s day
and our shadows
are barely visible on the
black asphalt
like skinny icicles hanging
ever slowly changing
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
