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
in the kitchen uncaged canaries
chat amongst themselves
swapping oft-told tales and
keeping secrets from
black & white cat crouched
against shadowy wall
outside red-breasted nuthatches
mimic dog barking at jet airliner
piercing cumulus clouds
waiting for aforementioned feline
to give them another chance
at target practice
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
sun falling fast behind frost-covered hills
shades of pink glorifying the horizon
variable winds swirling and sweeping
speaking in languages I’m sure I once knew
images of elephants coming to mind
marching high in midday sky
sporting hides bordering on pink
drifting in and out of cumulus clouds
turning hot and sticky summer days
into something inexplicably cool
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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
all rights reserved
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
copyright j matthew waters
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
