jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Dreams”

I died in my dream last night


do you remember me
I was the one who died in his
sleep last night

as I recall you were with me
and I had pleaded
that you slow things down
but we went veering off the path anyway
projected into an orbit
defying quantum mechanics

it wasn’t the first time
I went sailing off into space
never to return
the world below me gradually
becoming smaller
the next one
suddenly
becoming familiar





may two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

late bloomers


it still feels like April
the world going nowhere fast
like a vinyl forty-five spinning
soundlessly on a turntable

of course there’s nothing
wrong with slowing things down
at least according to Simon
who relentlessly kicks
down cobblestones

cool rain comes and goes
like a game of peek-a-boo
tamping down
good-intentioned deeds
and daffodil dreams

despite all the outside noise
a quietness remains within
silently reminding you
there’s always a way out





may two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

once there was a way


do not confuse my words with reality
they are conjured at night while my eyes
are rapidly interpreting current events
sometimes seizing the moment
like a champion in the ring
other times adrift at sea
neither lost nor found
but diligently tracking familiar stars
eventually finding my way back home





april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

I can’t change


no I don’t hate you
in fact I don’t know you
know not where you
live or what you stand for
the color of your hair or eyes
the language that you speak
or religion [if any] you practice

no I don’t hate you
fact is I adore you [from
a great distance] like a dream
long ago escaping me
leaving me aching and asking
how can I ever get back
to a place that never was





march two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

REM Sleep


I told everyone we were married
that you were my wife
that we had met on a rainy night
somewhere in paradise
and it was love at first sight

Although none of this is true
her image forever remains
stamped in my mind
projected on ceilings and walls
as I hopelessly roam
from room to room
in my futile attempts
to bring her back into my life





march two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

on the fringes picking up pieces


you see me in your dream
taking notes on the sidelines
while the rest of the gang
sit on high like a panel of judges
or a murder of crows
calling on the next witness

I keep my wings tucked
inside my black jacket
pacing back and forth
along the roadside
keeping my mouth shut
and pretending I’m all alone

you’re the only one
recognizing me for who I am
perfectly capable of joining
your little inner circle
but modestly more at ease
scavenging on my own terms





march two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

second story mariner


there is a boat docked outside
my window on a cool
autumn night
brightly blue and appearing
out of nowhere

I see it there
rocking in place peacefully
brilliant moon high above
slightly waning
drifting in and out of
thin porous clouds
like a fair-weather friend

who could have ordered
such a vessel my way
and why do I stand at the
window motionless
hands on hips and
eyes mesmerized
seriously considering
my next move





february two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

getting to know thyself


the faces are inspiring
whether real or appearing
in one-off dreams
faces in the crowd
popping up from one spot
to the next
by any means necessary
be it by foot or uber or bus
or train or aeroplane
exhibiting happiness or grief
pain or sorrow or glee
eyes and mouths wide open
or reluctantly shut
teeth clenched or relaxed
pale-faced or rosy-cheeked
hurried or stymied or grounded
it matters not

I swear I know
each and every one of them
much like how I know myself




february two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

feeding the dogs


mama’s in her element
barefoot in the kitchen
sporting blue pocket bib apron
wooden spoon in hand
tall boy budweiser in the other

adjacent room mostly in view
she takes in sights and sounds
expressing neither pride nor prejudice
pretending to understand
present and next generation

her boys should be gone by now
but here they remain
entertaining friends via
rock ‘n’ roll and video games
oblivious to an outer world
that is cruel and dangerous
and quite possibly alluring

if she had her own way
she’d have traded this scullery
long ago to be lost at sea
hand in hand with her young mariner
the one who promised her
the world is here for the taking





january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

asylum seeker


I was listening to rock and roll
like I tend to do after midnight
eyes closed and breathing deeply
allowing every chord and note and lyric
to possess my otherwise vacant space

I find myself climbing stone walls
wondering if paradise resides
somewhere on the other side
and for some reason I am smiling
as I methodically scale the barrier

comfortably seated on the top ledge
one song ends and another begins
observing without judgment either side
one in which I’ll always know by heart
the other my soul destined to love




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

counting sheep on a sunday night


it’s getting late and poetry escapes me
my favorite moon having left me for another

lying down and I give in to silence
barely breathing in the dead of night
counting blessings and honestly questioning
whether or not I can feel my age-old bones

two scores ago I’d be falling fast asleep
transistor radio my only companion
rhythmically influencing my dreams
mysteriously quiet come mid-morning

if I could escape I certainly would
exploring the night like an owl or dormouse
flying high above or crawling on all fours
secretly returning home in the nick of time

it’s getting late and poetry escapes me
the midnight hour peacefully drawing near




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

my story retold in the third person


these flashbacks
occurring with greater frequency
how young will I be
three or four hours from now
once giving in to the idea
the night is endless

I’ve come to accept
they’re no longer merely dreams
rather ageless recordings
reshuffled and replaying
a not too distant past
from a totally different perspective

at three-thirty in the morning
I’m wide awake
and quite positive
I’ve always been fast asleep




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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