jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Birds”

rock cornish game hen under glass


at the rehearsal dinner father
decided on cornish game hen and
purple potatoes and string beans

everyone eventually figured out
how to get at the damn thing
either by word-of-mouth or
step-by-step instructions

as the servers cleared the tables
all I could think about was how we
used to smoke hash under glass
right there on his dining room table





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

jailbreak


covertly they were collecting doves
over a thirty day period
rounding them up like common criminals
caged in underground cells

there were marches in streets
and scuffles in alleyways
pigeons and geese and sparrows
fleeing the city
lest they too be taken into custody

on the outskirts of town
swallow-tailed kites and red-shouldered
hawks circle high overhead
co-conspiring to take out the sheriff
now that all hell has broken loose





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

sisters feeding robins


oh my how robin sings his sad sad song
perched atop window sill on monastery hill
long after summer suns and autumn breezes

flocks of butterflies sailed off overnight
leaving behind memories suppressed by the sun
abducting yesterday’s rainbow colored skies

candles give light to hallways and kitchens
chaste sisters making chocolates and caramels
tidbits for thrushes certain to arise come spring





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

blackbirds biding their time


twilighty on an october evening
cats a’meowing and quiet moon
maybe making an appearance

I’ve seen you in this race before
maybe it was ten years ago
or maybe it was yesterday

these pockmarks on my cheeks
they don’t mean a thing
I regret you ever saw them

those moons we rarely see
orbiting worlds we barely know
absolutely belong here

and why you decided to go
long before your time
has everything to do with them



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

winter without black crows


how I really feel I cannot ascertain
there are too many rats chasing facts
and not enough truths in the supply chain

and so I retreat into the comfort
that is black and white and oh so very cold

lone blue jay and two magpies
occupy much of my time
now that winter has nearly settled in

outside there are fallen trees to feed the fire
but I venture out only if I must

my deepest sleep often find bluejay
and two magpies flying from treetop to treetop

and as dawn appears they fall back to earth
sleepwalking on nearby trails

come midmorning they find themselves
back in my own backyard
eager to chatter about their escapades
and how next time I should join them



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

heartbreak and misery


castaway doves pick at debris
stretched across the beach
turning white into off-white
and sunsets into nothing

groups of people walk along
waving trash pickers & grabbers
like out-of-control metal detectors
stashing treasure into potato sacks

the fog used to roll in here
like clockwork every foggy morning
setting the tone for an uneventful day
but now all we are left with is this
god-forsaken sun





september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

bird nest


what I saw in the bird’s nest
I could not describe
but the memory of it would
remain with me all my days

there is much to learn
balancing desire and need
focusing on big picture
while paying attention
to details that matter

the inevitable doesn’t arrive
at a premium or discount
it just lingers there
like a delicate fog cowering

and so the nest lives on
(just as you do)
photographed and
painted and
talked about in other languages
described in ways that could not
possibly be you

and so you retreat
realizing there is more to learn



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

promise not to die


there was scattered lightness
creeping through low lying clouds
but not a witness to testify

darkest part of morning awakens
most everybody asleep inside boxes
lost inside other lands
or sleepcrawling upside down

wake up wake up barn owl cries
mocking the mockingbird
circling rustic citadel
once holding some significance

sometimes scattered lightness
never materializes
and there is this retreatment of sorts
like closing your eyes
promising to never open them again



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

brand new bluebird song


there was this poem I used to keep
in my back pocket
kind of like bukowski’s bluebird
only not as hopeful and
not as sad
but plenty sorrowful in its own right

one day somebody asked to borrow it
and I gave it away without even thinking
I gave it away
like it was a knee jerk reaction
like when shutting the door behind you
instantaneously realizing
you just locked yourself out

the poem lives on in somebody
else’s life now
leaving me to explore the city streets
sandals on feet and opera glasses in hand
capturing glimpses of brand new blues





june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

rumors of an evacuation


for some reason only the crickets
came out that night
and before the break of dawn
all of the birds will have left the city

at the inception it was a nonevent
but in retrospect
it shouldn’t have taken so long
before the people started leaving





june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the next rainbow


water-colored clouds fill the sky
painted bird flexing her wings
sitting atop chalkboard line

everywhere there is repetition
right down to nanocreatures
living and dying in nanoseconds
catching wave after wave after wave

clouds give way to a super sun
washing out the painted bird
taken to flight and searching again





june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

like a crow on a sign post


there is an intangible stirring somewhere
perhaps in the clouds or in the water
in the ground or in the fire
it doesn’t matter ‘where’ really
it could be in the economy or in the wars
lying dormant in a billion dreams
it could be current events or
your everyday laissez-faire
but it is most definitely there
designed to reassure
true change is inevitable





june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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