jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Dogma”

of the almighty sun


who is he hiding in the shadows
among the naked trees
changing size and color and shape
coming and going as he pleases
depending upon
the angle of the sun

I’ve come to accept his presence
yet still I wonder who is he
hiding in the shadows
ever changing
approaching and receding
with a blink or two of an eye

neither friend nor foe
inevitably he will show his face
as prophesied in my dream
flexing his crimson or ivory wings
depending upon the angle
of the almighty sun




october two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

prodigal son


it was time I went back home
perhaps for the last time
to pay my respects
just as the commandments
had once taught me

I arrived clean shaven
and with half an appetite
sitting at the table
there was nothing but chit chat
and I dare not admit
the last time I’d made it
to confession

the house was too big
much bigger than
even I had remembered
somehow they’d managed
to keep it well kept
and up-to-date all these years

in the kitchen a little placard read
‘heaven hath no dust’

after lunch we settled into
the screened in porch
a baseball game streaming on the
muted television set
each of us with a beer in hand
silently asking for forgiveness
and giving thanks to god




october two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

according to the gospel of jesus


I mean you no ill will
churches of the old world
god knows it’s high time you die
a swift and cleansing death
reborn into a new truth
distinctly separate from your
inherent corruption and greed
and preconceived paranoia

the temple is your soul
and the steeple not a structure
but a symbol of committing
to the most basic tenets
such as loving your neighbor as yourself
or even more radically
loving your enemy and blessing
those who curse you




september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the valley of bones


listen can you hear it
the changing of the guard
constructively rattling sabers
as if directed by the stars

at birth we were promised
there’d be peace in our time
yet the war machine rages on
so many years past our prime

who am I but a mercenary
or a prophet sent by the lord
reborn on this earth to deliver
a final cannonball of hope




september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

assuming a lesser role


I’m in your movie
perfectly still by a window
shadow like a black bird’s

you feed me my lines
spoonfuls of revolutions
followed by pregnant pause

everywhere people are hungry
overdosing on knowledge
breathing shallowly

and here I remain on the edge
plucking old traditions
and creating new rituals

I usher in the next morning
stretching my wings
and singing higher than an angel
just as you had written




september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

strangers passing by


there were four of them
marching down the sidewalk
a band of brothers and sisters
as if on a mission from god

it was quitting time and I was
getting into my car as they
were swiftly approaching

to get a closer look
I used my rear view mirror
and then directly outside my window
as they passed by excitedly

they were talking to one another
laughing and smiling and seemingly
unconcerned about privacy

though I somehow understood
every single word they said
their demeanor and inclinations
told me they must be aliens

and before they made it to the corner
their aura pixelated and dissipated
like a mysterious fog quickly lifting





june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

coming back into the spiritual fold


why do I keep going back to the well
when I know the well is dry
what is it exactly I’m expecting
some sort of miracle
here at the eleventh hour
as if I deserve some sort of payback

I stopped saying my prayers
somewhere along the line
stopped worshiping in the traditional sense
thinking maybe it’s best
if I’m not seen hanging out
with all the other sinners

but lately I’ve been thinking
of unpacking my bags
of picking up speaking to god again

of course I know I’m fooling myself
thinking such foolish thoughts
knowing full well I’ve been
down this road before
the one in which I convince myself
this time things will be different





may two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

water in the pail


I’ve not walked on water for so long
I’m beginning to fear it may
never happen again

contemplating such improbabilities
I’m often carried back in time
becoming water in the pail
transported from the river to village

once among the populace
I’m both a god and commodity
bringing smiles to little ones’ faces
and comfort to the weary

but if I had a choice
I’d remain at the water’s edge
hoping for a chance to walk again





may two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

breaking my fast


it’s good friday
and I’m thinking of downsizing
yet again
sell the place as is
and buy something with just
enough room
to keep my thoughts
all to myself

of course I’d donate
a closet full of clothing
and sell most of the furnishings
giving a tenth
of the proceeds
to the immaculate conception
that inner city sanctuary
renown for feeding
the hungry
and saying mass in spanish
every day at noon

there are plenty of other
crosses
I’m in need of bearing
thinking they may
lighten my overall penance
but for the moment
I’m content staying put
resting my eyes and
breaking bread
come daylight





april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

black hole earth


third world angels wrap themselves
around the loneliest of children
god ever placed on earth

they amble these ancient streets
and back alleys virtually unseen
admiring the crumbling architecture
as the children somehow fall fast asleep
jet fighters crisscrossing the frozen skies
reminding everyone that this time
nothing will be different

come daybreak birds sing and angels weep
opening their wings and knowing
in a naturally universal way
that this place in time
will be neither the first nor the last





april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

little lambs on the run


we pushed through the crowds
on a sunday morning
parting the layers of worshipers
basking in the sunlight
hoping for a final glimpse
what may lay on the other side

a scattering of us lived on
forever hand in hand
snaking through the spirited mob
as if we always existed
intention in our eyes
and redemption in our hearts




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a gathering of armies


they held the stars for ransom
loveless creatures of the night
coming and going as they please
like outlaw angels on the run

it’s difficult to track that which
leaps from moon to moon
pitting fire against magic
and heaven from hell

this is not the first or last time
boarding chartered flights
eyes shut tight and chasing
death to armageddon and back




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: