jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Birds”

it filters through


some birds are back but the temps
are well below zero
either they never got the memo
or they’ve come back early
for some unknown reason

I slowed down for a murder of crows
while taking the long way home
a hundred or so
cleaning up a spill of sorts near
the corn sweetener plant
once in my rearview
anxiously getting back at it

shifting gears past the hill
the music meets the sun
and the speeding locomotive
sounding off along the river
eagles circling high above
sparrows racing in my peripheral
nearly anything with wings
busily chasing dreams




february two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the spirit will find a way


lost in thought on this late
december afternoon
oak leaves circulating
throughout the neighborhood
wet and scattering
and firmly planted
in the back of my mind
tens of hundreds of them
their varying shapes
reminding me of summer clouds
imitating anything imaginable
derailing my train of thought

I see an angel and elephant
pooh bear and little roo too
a steam locomotive
chugging across an endless plain
while out of the corner
of my eye
a red cardinal
perched stately on picket fence
calls me to my feet
awakening my lost spirit
and freeing me
from my sunday melancholy




december two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the bird and her fiddle


listen carefully there is a bird
 warbling from the moon
  how she got there is anyone’s guess

is she yellow or is she red or blue
 plump or thin or somewhere in between
  can you tell by listening carefully
   to the tenor of her fiddle

there is a feel to her presence
 sublime and pleasantly inviting
  when will the world stop spinning
   and listen carefully to her message




december two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

monday morning wishes


days have passed since the poor bird
was knifed a hundred different times
its remains divvied up amongst the guests
dished into disposable containers
never to be seen again

days have passed yet reminders remain
sights and sounds and lingering smells
laughter and tears and silence
talk of getting back together
a wishbone hanging on a branch




december two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

picture window


what shall I see tonight
that the blind cannot
wind chimes
dying to be heard
behind double panes

birds wintering
outside my window
do not cry
and though their song
is uniquely sad
they neither beg nor steal

I’m a pretend prisoner
inside this castle
free to roam
inside these storied walls
unable to feed the birds




november two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

old school thrush


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 garden reprised


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

lesser gods and weaker minds


looking for something new
I gaze out the 10th floor window
catching a glimpse of October
waiting in the wings
closely held by unsuspecting vultures
cleverly disguised as angels
coaxing me to open my heart and soul
[and inch closer to the edge]
in exchange promising riper fruit
and even brighter sunrises




september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the far side


wake up and listen
cool wind from the north
ushering in the smallest of birds
chattering before daybreak

between dream sequences
you drift in and out of reality
believing what you are hearing
resides on the far side




september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

call me up in the middle of the night


I wake up and I’ve got nothing to say
rather listening to birdsong
infiltrating through screen windows
reminding me the need to sing like them

it seems to me they know something
more about life than they let on
leading me to believe I should spend
less time hanging out in the weeds

I’ve been busy making birdhouses
mainly because I don’t know
how to build a rose

I’ve been busy navigating maps
designed to get me from this point
to the next sunrise

it seems to me that by this time
I should know something more than you
but truth be told we were both born
with all the knowledge in the world

I wake up and find myself whistling
a song I learned long ago
a little ditty always close to my heart
whether wide awake or dreaming




july two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the dawn chorus


first there was the final dream
approaching morning light
bedroom curtains breathing in and out
mimicking my own circadian rhythm
and welcoming the dawn chorus

birds beginning to think it’s spring
how they invade my subconscious
pretending to be children
reincarnated from fallen leaves
singing from the tallest trees

one morning that will be me
having not awakened from the dream
free falling like a leaf among many
reaching out and believing
finally participating in the dawn chorus




july two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

breaking away


I try not to overthink it
this place where I’ll be born
whether made simply
or woven intricately
it matters not to the world

from what I understand
others are born in knot holes
or shallow depressions in the sand
kept warm by nature
and a mother’s instincts

I doubt I shall ever remember
that from which I came
crowded and loud and loitering
most of us focused on vying
to be first to break free





june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

temporaneous


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

aerial conversations


I forgive and forget
it’s easy to do
or so the birds of the sky
tell me so

they speak to me often
believing I’m not listening
but I fool them
and take everything in

there’s nothing to forgive
ergo nothing to forget
I keep telling myself
like a man in a trance

when I’m alone
the birds of the sky
keep me company
they think I don’t notice
but I most certainly do

as time passes
they learn to trust and believe
feeding from my hand
as I stand like a statue in the wind
my eyes fixed
above the setting sun

they speak about life
and speak about death
but when I ask what will come next
their chatting becomes silence
and I am left to imagine
all on my own





may two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

wondering what tomorrow will bring


white swans on the lake
united as a collective or afloat
as solitary souls
spotted here and there
like triangular sails at a standstill
soft and steady raindrops
pelleting the reflective surface
all around them

soon all daylight will be gone
and I will have exhausted my stay
an unfamiliar melancholy
sinking in as replacement lights
emerge one by one
leaving me wondering
how long the swans will remain
after I’m gone





april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

bluebird missing outside my window


today I shall shed a tear
and attempt this thing
called poetry


a half a world away
you lived
though I swear you were
next door
scratching out words
for all the world to read
one morning
one day
one night at a time

there comes a time
when the bird no longer
tweets her morning song
and is it then you come to realize
we’re no different from one another
no different than the branch
is to the bough
no different than the song
is to the bird
more melodious than ever
lamenting outside
our southern window





march two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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