out of the water
near the persian gulf
refugees have no idea
where they are
survival skills
come out of nowhere
or perhaps
from the lessons
of the younger dryas
this desert
once under water
possesses knowledge
buried inside an ark
april two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
stepping back into the void
where all the answers
are laid out in plain sight
where a constant source
of divining light
beckons you to return to that
from which you came
but only when the time
is absolutely right
february two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Where do I begin
describing the beginning
to the end—what business
of this is mine
Something or someone tells you
you’ve been here before
—so very long ago
What kind of ending is this
intimate believer of the faith
—Angels from heaven visiting you
night after night
helping you
up & down
the staircase
—saving yourself enough strength
to prepare a cooked egg
atop a slice of toast
After an exhaustive night
you don’t remember a single one of them
—but somehow their names
repeat over & again in your mind:
Raphael
Jerahmeel
—and of course Michael
How they feed you bits of wisdom
and you nod & repeatedly say:
yes I know
yes I know
I remember you saying so in the dream
Soon
—soon child
—patience will reward you
december two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I shot the Messiah
or someone who looked like him
right there in broad daylight
outside the bath
where there were many witnesses
Word quickly spread
that I shot the Messiah
right there in broad daylight
so many of the witnesses in shock & awe
pointing their fingers at me
When I dropped the revolver
it landed in such a way
the chamber opened & bullets escaped
the witnesses mesmerized & questioning
why I shot the Messiah
The whole scene was surreal
like in a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western
the Messiah shot but not dead
the witnesses adamantly begging him
to save himself
february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s magic
how the camel passes through
the eye of the needle
though there is not a single
witness
they said they remember
reading about it
going further to say
there isn’t any truth in it
that it was merely
hearsay
but I thought
we were talking about magic
the smallest one said
and if that is the case
I wholeheartedly
believe
january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
invisible hands mend broken thought
sweeping what can’t be salvaged
into the recycling bin
roses now grow
in the ditches of abandoned roads
colorful vegetation
wild & plush
painting over what used to be
faraway atop dilapidated roofs
angels eat lemons
waiting on their orders
pointing at the darkening clouds
the names are transmitted via waves
one after the other
an ever-expanding virtual list
of those who may be saved
followed by all the others
may two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the spacewoman arrived
unannounced
right in broad daylight
lowering her hovercraft
onto the open field
where she proceeded
to kill the fatted calf
[soon thereafter]
feeding all of the inhabitants
until they had their fill
from as far away
as the eye could see
april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Now that lent was over
I could get back on with my life
& my sinful ways
Habits & wishlists
have changed dramatically
over the years
but I tell people I’m pretty much
the same as I’ve always been
I don’t go to Easter Mass anymore
mainly to avoid the crowds
& their seemingly good intentions
After brunch
I retrieved my stash
that was miraculously untouched
for forty days & forty nights
As for dessert I mixed myself
a Bloody Mary garnished w/the works
found a quiet place away
from all the noise
& enjoyed a bit of an old staple
called hashish under glass
april two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I keep going back in time
destroying what is already gone
fruitless endeavors
involving radioactive matter
nearly always
ending up in the same place
the mind & body
seek their own independence
one of them knowing
of the eventual fail
the other looking forward
to the next dimension
what’s next remains indefinable
but is as certain as the
capital’s destruction
leveled in the year of the rat
only to rise again after
one hundred million deaths
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
bartender in the confessional
sampling bloody mary mixes
handing them to patrons
through the slider
back in the day they’d be
on their knees
self-medicating philosophers
hitting the streets
dabbling in theology
if you only saw
how competitive things
have become
perhaps you’d consider
coming out of retirement
recruit yourself
a dozen or so disciples
and see where things go
from there
march two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the man on the street
carries a sign reading
the end is near
his hair past his shoulders
his beard twice as long
he is the living & breathing
symbol of the apocalypse
advertising what everyone knows
another mugging gone wrong
another massacre in a makeshift church
another death row inmate executed
by way of lethal injection
all examples actually disproving
what the canvassing prophet believes
february two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there are always questions
and not enough prophets to push us
in slightly different directions
it’s the way it goes I suppose
a common phrase
complementing so many
circumstances
the only church downtown
morphed into a 24/7 shelter
hosting mic night
every sunday at noon
attracting seers of all sorts
propagating their doomsday
scenarios
january two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was reading poetry featuring angels
in one form or another
for some reason
they don’t appear to be
as relevant as they used to
whether embedded in the spoken word
or manifested in the latest
and greatest artistry on canvas
spotting one on the street
can be tricky
their divine light & birdlike wings
most likely kept under wraps
whether trailing someone
at the grocery store
or sitting patiently at the local tavern
monitoring a lost soul crying in their beer
october two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’m not going to rhyme
I swear I won’t
even though this poem
is about a songbird
there are seven of them
[actually]
inside the bush
swapping silly stories
thriving on higher vibes
a single gust of wind
sets them aflutter
alighting where required
to give aid & comfort
september two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
wanting to go deep
past the beginning
the starting place
keeps changing
self-medicating
with various devices
unlikely approved
by the powers that be
haphazardly curing
that which ails me
one unforgivable sin
at a time
before the cock
crows (again)
I tell myself I’ve never
denied you
not in this life
nor the next
august two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
nobody told me what was going on
but I was playing along
sitting in the rear
visualizing all the stations
right there on the wall
the last time I’d been here
I got sick for a month
experimented with oranges
and tangerines
cucumbers & strawberries
anything that could possibly
alter my state of mind
chocolate ice cream
baileys & irish whiskey
usually provided the greatest relief
this time I’m not going in
just zeroing in on those coming out
acting as if they’ve been
saved again
for the umpteenth time
july two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 