jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Dogma”

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

sharing the wealth we possess


we fished off the docks
overcast sunday morning
praying for a break

weatherman says
tomorrow should be better
once churchgoers
and earthworms are all
back at work

most of us don’t
give a damn
about day jobs or night life
let alone the cost of
living or dying

river keeps calling
finding ourselves responding
come rain or come shine




november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve

A feeling of not being there


I didn’t tell you I was scared of heights
because I assumed you knew me
better than I knew myself

How wrong things turned out to be
soon after your star seemed to take off
now falling fast and further
than anyone could have ever fathomed

Clouds at ten thousand feet are much whiter
than they appear from the ground
and I believe you when you tell me
heaven is not any closer




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

ones that got away


there was fish in the basement freezer
bluegills caught in the mississippi
taken home and cleaned
filleted and carefully placed in ziplocs
each dated by way of sharpie

each day a story unto itself
each story a small piece of the life
and times of a solitary man
long removed from
an ordinary working life

if you don’t move you will die
he told his son
carefully stepping down the stairs
unlocking freezer door with key
he kept hanging on a nail
fearful the fish might one day escape
and find their way back home




september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

there at the end of the road


how can I possibly change now
or can I see the world in a whole new light
a paradigm shift so to speak
where I am no longer the victim
but savior of my own home town

I didn’t return here only to be idle
someone said there were roads to lay
replacing gravel with yellow bricks
all the way from otter’s creek
to the mouth of the mighty river

and there at the end of the road
(or shall I say the beginning)
there I stand wading in the water
like the renegade baptist himself
proclaiming the possibility of a new life
to those who dare to dream




september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lifting up the blinds


there is an undefinable sweetness
lingering in my mind
leaving me curious as to whether
I may be dead or alive

I’ve been walking in a fog now
for nearly a fortnight
kicking the dirt beneath my feet
wondering if it’s the very earth
I was miraculously born into

there’s no need to worry
or so say the angels in the field
shadowing flock beneath their wings
guiding them toward shelter

sooner or later morning fog will clear
burned away by memories
past and present and future




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

his eloquent elocution


he was electrocuted like some uncommon criminal
right there on live television for all the galaxy to see

federation of planets feared his demise was
anything but permanent
summoning their agents across vast jurisdictions
as herod once did

there is no telling what will come next
once the newborn has survived infancy
growing unnoticed and unadulterated
ultimately mastering his eloquent elocution




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

after the saturday morning rains


in the morning church bells will be ringing
and ambulances will be screaming
those dying search for a higher purpose
finding themselves on their knees
praying man and bride complete the
transformation by becoming one

universe changes at a pace
incomprehensible to the human brain
traveling at the speed of light when
shut down for the night
only to awaken in quicksand
convinced there is no way out

outside the double doors an odyssey
awaits your arrival and departure
cautiously you step out into the open
casting your eyes directly overhead
spiraling steeple pointing to a place
you understand more than you know




july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

when your angels can’t sing


it’s late in the afternoon
shadows stretch toward the river
covering its rocky banks with a
thin layer of geometric trickery

I find myself at the edge
standing calmly yet powerless
visualizing what changes must be made
to continue on this journey

opportunities run rampant
ubiquitous as the setting sun
brave and polished and callous
I pick one or three out of thin air

courage is overrated
or so I try to tell myself
lifting my spirit above my body
if only for a moment in time




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

unearthing old stories


behind the hermit’s gate
stories are being told
transcribed and archived
like nobody’s business

free passes do not exist
but those who slip inside
are put to the test
and ever seldom leave

there are grottos and graffiti
in need of attention
improved upon by signs
of the cross and hail marys

although spoken words
were outlawed long ago
they remain alive and well
buried deep underground




may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved

wherever you may go


as much as I think I should
I don’t pretend to know you
stranger in the midday sun
dancing in the city park
as if nobody is around

I sense undercover angels
hovering above you
unseen agents pulling strings
adding to your improvisations
interpreting forward movement

though grief is your dance
your eyes tell me otherwise
giving me pause and hope
that you may extend your hand
and take me with you




april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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