I’m losing my eyesight
it’s been a slow process
transpiring since
the day I was born
a genetic reality passed on
by nobody’s fault of their own
as a lesser prophet
my visions are my voice
and whether or not
you like what I say
the darkening of my peripheral
has no consequence of the word
december two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is no test tonight only theory
a flashing picture show
beaming from your eyes onto the white wall
an abandoned starling adolescent
gathering himself on the window ledge
you spend a moment trying to read his mind
you blink and suddenly he’s gone once & for all
the color of your eyes change from blue to green
from your vantage point all you see
is what’s behind the ledge
something blue & something brown
you untangle yourself & rise to your feet
what you expect is no different from yesterday
the same day you gave out dollar bills
one after another to complete strangers
emotionless & robotic you carried on
everyone around you gracious & concerned
some of them calling you the chosen one
november two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
oh wait dear lord
for I am not quite ready to rest
peacefully at your right hand
first you must cast me out
back into the streets
where my voice will rise above the chaos
higher than the skyscrapers
yes all will listen and the gathering
will grow into a purposeful swarm
weaving and sweeping through the streets
our words knowledgeable & lyrical
reasonable & rhythmical
becoming the next great communication
delivered with newfound authority
though it is my voice they are your words
echoing throughout the night
leaving behind a trail of new thought
scattered like seeds in our wake
july two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
for the time being there’s nothing left to look at
everything’s been torn or burned down
systematically destroyed if you will
there’s talk on the street
everything’s going to be rebuilt
only this time
the landscape will be completely different
& best of all it will only take three days
june two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they say there’s an open book test afterwards
taken in a room full of empty school desks
geometrically formed like a military cemetery
you’re the first one to sit down
and soon thereafter
every person you ever knew
fill the remaining seats one by one
true or false when you were twelve your mother
made you smoke a cigarette in front of her
and afterwards warned you ‘never again’
multiple choice was your first fish caught
from the banks of the mississippi
a cat or a smallmouth bass or a bluegill
it’s okay if you don’t remember
it’s all ancient history by now
like bill & monica or romeo & juliet or adam & eve
this test has no time limit
and the clock on the wall has no hands
and those winged creatures walking back & forth
between the endless aisles
haven’t anything better to do
while waiting for their number to be called
with each wrong answer you’re beginning to wonder
what the consequences could possibly be
I mean will they cast you back & make you start all over
april two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The city center is dead
like Lazarus of Bethany
three days removed from reality
soon to go on four
There are fewer varieties
of pigeons sweeping the streets
and even fewer homeless
following not much further behind
Looking for food here
is becoming a scarcity
leftovers abruptly becoming
buried with the past
aeries and penthouses
gradually vacated
Behind some high-rise windows
so many untold stories
behind off-white shrouds
varying degrees of light
flit & flutter like a butterfly
suggesting there may be life after all
april two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
First the stock market crashed
that emotionally intelligent bitch
always overreacting but always spot on
on her general assessment of things
Second the walls starting crumbling down
but unlike in the fall of eighty-nine when the
destruction ushered in a new era
this time fortified walls were swallowed
whole by the earth herself
further separating millions more
Third but not least all places of worship
were boarded up or locked down
desecrated or burned to the ground
and all the people of faith
no matter their object of devotion
believed it was only a matter of time
before theirs will be raised again
april two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s palm sunday and almost anyone
who gives a rip is doing high-fives
in web browsers and church parking lots
there’s a long line of cars stretched
for blocks near the epicenter of history
as if the life of the most famous person
in the city is hanging in the balance
in the old days there were no combustible
engines making the skies sadder
than they already are
mourners journeying to burial grounds
for what seemed to take a day or two or three
april two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s friday
and the sun is in hiding
a fugitive
an accessory to the crime
once the great life source
now on the run
it’s anybody’s guess
how long
the rains will last
it’s been three days
since the cleansing began
hope begins to rise
march two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was asked to say a prayer
on her behalf
having passed unexpectedly
unknown how many years
before her time
all eyes locked and unblinking
blank faces
wrapped in cellophane
barely breathing and in dire need
of comforting words
they say she’s still plugged in
and purring right along
keeping time
with each iteration
one rosary bead at a time
january two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
a lone dove circles
high above ancient metropolis
well-trained in surveillance
and deception
like a modern day drone
miles away at desert’s edge
a lone donkey materializes
out of thin air
soon to be surrounded
by a dozen escorts
crawling towards the city
cloaks and branches
line inner city streets
crowds abuzz and growing
all eyes witnessing
21st century possibilities
december two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
no matter where you venture
the devil is in the details
whether along museum walls
or forest trails or narrowing alleyways
unfocus your eyes and look past the obvious
past those unmistakable realities
keeping you from looking the other way
casting your eyes downward
doesn’t guarantee gravity
will always be in your favor
but looking past the everlong horizon
might give you the freedom you desire
whether finally forgiving others
or absolving your own original sin
november two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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
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
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
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
jdubqca 