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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Dreams”

the tenured psychiatrist


the university paid him dearly to lecture
about his dreams
three days a week to hundreds of undergrads
recounting big winnings in vegas
trafficking drugs and humans in all kinds of worlds
and slaying fire-breathing dragons while
strolling through sherwood forest with
nothing but bow and arrow

like a time machine he dialed up
triangles and chains of events
and conflicts of interest
introducing the likes of mozart
and hitler and michael jackson
cameo appearances by jekyll and hyde
and the great houdini —
    elvis and jesus christ and charles manson
quietly waiting in the wings

he used his hands and eyes
to amplify the effect of his words
which were spoken mostly softly
occasionally loudly
and infrequently quite scarily

many would take notes
others would use smartphones as recorders
but the far majority simply sat back
relaxed and indifferent
going through the motions as if
they were living his dreams themselves





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

I can’t get you out of my life


sometimes I pretend we talk
how we’re not going anywhere
and sometimes I believe it

I learned to chant years ago
and I’ve never stopped doing it
for fear I may stop existing

november came and went
just like she always does
promising to return again

you keep revisiting me
in real life and in my dreams
only to leave me time and again
forcing me to move forward





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

early morning murmurations


whispers in my ear
like a dream preceding sunrise
sweet murmurings making me smile
telling me to stay asleep

there is no place to go from here
other than up
and when I awaken I will go there
speeds exceeding
a million miles per hour

play me something relaxing baby
she sighs in these early hours
well before birds begin stirring
conjuring my innermost thoughts
blasting them beyond the treetops



november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

ivory box full of dreams


sun surely needs you
pale in cheek you seem to be
lose the umbrella

dream versus fake world
tap tap tap on your shoulder
wake up morpheus

quiver of arrows
sneaking around a rainbow
aiming for the moon

opiates prescribed
addiction is sure to come
endless nights awake





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

breaking new ground


three in the morning wakes
me like clockwork
as if cock is crowing at
stars falling from sky

was it fever or dream
that shook me wide awake
both former and latter
leaving me in cold cold sweat

I sit up and shift to edge of bed
my feet unable to reach anything
             this room is not mine
and where the door resides
I can’t begin to surmise

how do you escape from a place
that has no address
and how will I ever find the sun
if there are no windows to open
or cracks in walls to scratch





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

winter on our continent


heavy is the rain falling on disquieted river
awakened from a disturbing dream
troubling and bone-chilling
springing forth afterburning energy
recycled into virgin snow
gently blanketing mountaintops



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

children playing in the park


I see her running down the same dream
dressed in white to match her riding horses
locks untamed and slightly afire
tricked into going this way (then that)
ultimately cornered by the eye of the sun

there was nothing left to be done except
bury the dream someone tried to say

that’s laughable they cried in return
for shame
for shame



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

promise not to die


there was scattered lightness
creeping through low lying clouds
but not a witness to testify

darkest part of morning awakens
most everybody asleep inside boxes
lost inside other lands
or sleepcrawling upside down

wake up wake up barn owl cries
mocking the mockingbird
circling rustic citadel
once holding some significance

sometimes scattered lightness
never materializes
and there is this retreatment of sorts
like closing your eyes
promising to never open them again



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

dragon of my dreams


paint a pretty picture and play me a ditty
project brand new images inside this
lethargic and melancholic reverie

there are prized creatures to be caught
larger than anything this lake has ever seen
monstrous with fiery eyes and razor-sharp teeth
meandering and beautifully frightful

I’ve harnessed the wind using magical spells
cast upon my newfound partner
a ferocious winged dragon needing direction

together we paint pretty pictures in the skies
and play the most joyful ditties
swooping o’er the lake and taming the serpent
projecting brand new images for all to see



august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

literary incendiaries


clearly he sought a connection
one in which nobody in the world
could ever have dreamed

how quickly one learns stars are stirred
beneath the belly of its creator
like a newly born burrowing mammal
drawn to its first light

and so he imagined there were only
three worlds to discover
        the second of which
lies upon the surface itself



july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

inspiring to be free


it’s three o’clock and I’ve no place to go
whether it be day or night
or minutes before or seconds after

physically I am not paralyzed
though my mind is working on making it so
playing on the pretense
I have the power to make time stand still

birdsongs stream through an open window
a background score composed and
recorded by a higher power

like a man in a trance I rise to the occasion
and find myself reaching out into the darkness
collecting whole notes and half notes
quarter notes and many other partial notes
stashing them into a leather satchel
so that I may later release them
after I am well on my way





june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

georgia


nothing is real
not even the exception to the rule
to which you have seemed
to execute to perfection

I’ve chased down
many a dream with no end
only to pick things back up
exactly where you left them

you leap from tree to
tree with relative ease
repeating in my mind like a
hand-made picture show

I toss it aside
carefully behind a bush
thinking there’s a good chance
I want to retrieve it

I always tell myself
you should have told me
to stop swinging for the fences
a long long time ago





june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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