jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Dogma”

california breaking away


and finally the fires extinguished
themselves
giving way to rains and
eventually floods
chasing ants and jesus freaks
to higher ground

and from the heavens angels
watch amusingly
as noah takes up residence
outside beverly hills
repairing his ark
gradually garnering attention



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

walking on water


june has come and gone
but the moon is here to stay
though at times not obviously

poor june dismissed without reason
cast away into the heavens
searching for twins and crabs
on the far side of mercury
perhaps never to return

there was no fanfare
here in middle america
perennial fog hiding the moon
for years on end
frustrating a nomadic people
with nothing left to worship

meanwhile there is news
a new sea forms and foams
somewhere in middle africa
where virgin sands appear
(out of a nowhere)
a newborn sent from god
baptized into chaos



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

jericho dreaming


walls of flowering vines
climbing brick and mortar
stitch and sewing along the way

whatever bends or breaks
before and after winter
can surely be repaired or
worst case replaced

bracing for the worst
no longer fits the bill
not as long as circular life forces
unpredictably barrel along
nearby sea and then some

walls have long crumbled
though flowering vines remain
uplifted by an acceptance
to this day unexplained



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

what’s on your hard drive


joseph had been missing for many
days and the sheriff told lois
mary was a person of interest

she kept insisting he had called
an uber driver the day before
to pick up their son in san salvador

but no such records ever existed
according to law enforcement
but law enforcement had nothing
to do with their predicament
that is being trapped inside
a jesus christ superstar song



july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

how I miss her so


she told me I needed to go do
something before dinner
so I went to my room and prayed

she was my mother and
of course there was no room
but regardless I left the
premises and prayed

along the way I found interesting
things to pick up
but each piece I brought home
served no purpose

you should stick with praying
she said

and so I agreed



july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

wounded angel


I set the oscillating fan on the second
of three settings
blowing warm air straight through
the wounded angel

I don’t think she’s breathing
I say while trying to make the fan oscillate

I don’t know if angels actually breathe she said
wrapping a cold press across his forehead

aren’t angels supposed to be helping us
I say pressing button after button

would you just leave that damn thing alone
she said and help me move her
back into the shade

that damn sun keeps moving I say
he’s not looking so hot
shouldn’t we call 9-1-1 or something

no we’re not going to call 9-1-1 she said
what are you fucking crazy



july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

decoding the killer gene


though knocking loudly at the gate
the brilliant sunrise could not get through


jesus freaks sat outside the borders
healing the other side without lifting a hand
absolving self-inflicted wounds

somewhere in a basement in america
a new code is creating itself
concocted by a lost soul
again reborn

folklore and chronicles and atrocities
fuel an already hungry mind
manufacturing new ambitions by
discovering anti-killing algorithms



june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

too young to be taken away


they said she was dying
and so she was
and so she did
pass away amongst nondescript
fanfare

time passed
and so everyone else living
(or everything else living at that)
continued on with time
some continuing to live in the moment
and others not so much

every so often her name comes up
in casual conversation
perhaps at a coffee shop
or walking past third street windows
pondering and wagering how many angels
were required to sail her away



june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

unwelcomed back home


self-proclaimed prophet travels
by foot from town to town
preferring the company of commoners
freely imbibing at their
favorite places of nightly worship

passages freely flow by heart
finding favor with patrons
cheering and praising his warnings
vehemently believing
until the hour that the morning comes

signs of the times remain unchanged
he would oft repeat himself
drifting to the next town by moonlight
abstinent and confident
acceptance is but a stone’s throw away



may two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

apocalypse then and now


it’s come to this
mammals dressed in pants
fighting for territory on
principles born in the backwoods
countless centuries before christ

before dungeon and dragons
there was this game called
kill or be killed
and for whatever reason (ever since)
programmers can’t seem to shake the code

only the lowly and the few have witnessed
angels waiting in the wings
some perched atop palm trees
others drifting into the bay
hapless and humming
reluctantly waiting for the end to begin



april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

burning down the church


the church caught fire
soon after midnight
awakening the entire
sleepy little town

there wasn’t enough
water to extinguish
the insatiate flames climbing
past the steeple
eyewitnessed by those
trickling in from blocks away

one tanker
two tankers
three tankers arrived
sirens screaming for attention
fluorescent wings giving directions

night gave way to dusk
bird calls beginning to be heard
above the dwindling din
the sun resurfacing
exposing the ruins and the
worshipers singing
inside this town
and the next



february two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

god is in the wine (and the wire)


the light above me starts
humming and pulsating
distractedly
and it was then I realized
some higher power was communicating to me
telling me how there is so much more
to learn about myself

down below in the basement
inside the fuse box
hot wires pass over neutral ones
arcing into obscurity
sending cross currents
to the nearest known light



november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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