jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Dreams”

the curse of the autumn rose


it sits there mostly indisposed
the patience that is death
awaits us without detection
carries on like a muted songbird

in the endless dream
death is nothing to be feared
the ancient moon cycling peripherally
offering to keep you near

nothing is left behind
for death is indiscriminate
& those who mourn
shall always be mourned
& they who stay forever cursed





september two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

The Absence


There is an absence that is indefinable
as if the ghost dog who once roamed freely
throughout the house had suddenly departed

It was the cat who first noticed the absence
bringing it to my attention by way of behaviors
that were secondary to her nature
entering my dreams unconventionally
revealing other lives I once lived

In the morning I stand in the shower
warm water washing away dirt & blood &
anything strangely unsettled or emotionless

Going through the motions is an expression
best left for those who have given up
no longer searching & thereby incapable of
finding the smallest of things that had been lost





september two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

wet dream


don’t call us they kept repeating
in my dream
actually they were singing it
don’t call us baby
we’ll call you


it was as if wolfman jack
had somehow gotten in
shadowing me like a wild thing

running at full speed
every chance I could get
only the corners could slow me down
inside this inner city jungle

hailstorms preceded
intensely global temperatures
leaving everyone soaked to the bone
wondering what kind of animal
they had become





september two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

working on a mystery


playing with house money
we experiment with more odds
mixing wisdom with youthfulness
courtesy of an unknown god

you scratch your proverbial head
asking which way next
pretending to comprehend
how the road only goes ahead

you’re in the passenger seat
someone else behind the wheel
no longer working on a mystery
mere mortals merely dreaming





august two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

heaven or hell on earth


below ground
coincidence can be found
bone & rock & history
loosely wrapped
inside places even your
imagination can’t fathom
unless you’re dead asleep

in the air is where it’s at
high as a kite so to speak
transported by coal-consuming
flying dragons
firing on all cylinders
taking you to places
only years ago unthinkable

if you can’t escape
the exosphere
you’ve no choice but to die
a stone cold death
or fall back to the surface
reborn to climb yet again
or dig into oblivion





august two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

between a rock & a hard place


you just can’t turn it on
it doesn’t work that way
not like a car or a night light
not like making coffee
before sunrise

there you see it
& there you don’t
how dare you tempt me
posing as a dream
only to be long forgotten

so you sit there
at a loss for words
asking yourself what would
Bukowski do
what about Dorothy Parker





august two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

tornado alley


it was complete madness
throwing blueberries into the blender
what next
peanut butter & a rabbit’s tail
a few dead triple A batteries
a mix of trail mix including
rocks & such

the wizard opens the lid
and there it is again
unleashed & spinning madly
heading straight toward your dream
cows & pigs in flight
will you awaken
or will you die





august two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

pardon me for my intermittent absences


excuse me but something
has taken over my life
call it a shadow I’ve never known
call it anything that you will
just understand what you see
can’t possibly be me

dreams are everything now
a new reality filled with pathways
carved through the pines
filtered light from the heavens
spotlighting all the souls
we’ve come to know

it’s as if I’m going in & out
of consciousness
smiling on the hour every hour
throwing boomerangs beyond
the tallest of trees
always zeroing back in on my flesh
each & every time





july two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

not necessarily in my peripheral


not looking for sympathy
but an irreducible remedy
a little bump that gets me
from here to there

one minute you’re close
the next a living memory
lurking by day
& haunting by night
whether in my dreams
or real life

you tell me in so
many words
you’re but a chameleon
still loving to play
hide & go seek
practicing & reinventing
the fine art of deception
one superfluous life
at a time





may two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

on the shortest day of the year


I fell in the dark
awakened by a dream
& I crawled on my knees
coming up empty
in search of a safe haven

I’d been here before
helpless & nearly breathless
the watch on my wrist
completely useless

this time will be different
isn’t that what they
always say
free falling deeper into the pit
arms swinging
upwards & wildly





april two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Nuclear Sub


three AM here we go again
sleep walking across the ocean floor
gills for cheeks
& breathing quite naturally
gravity simply a concept
from twelve thousand feet below

once back in the racks
REM sleep returns to sender
a sailor & his sweetheart
the latter whispering
we’ve just begun
please make it last all night

ninety days fast approaching
the awakening is near
lights flashing & sirens sounding
the crew in position
the captain commanding
prepare to launch ASAP





march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

overnight in the underground


paranoia is a dangerous thing
unpredictable & delirious
like a deadly spider in a dream

there are no photographs to be kept
either having been burned
or lost to the forest
taproots turning them into new
memories for the dead

fear the dark knight
the rider of your subconscious
galloping full speed in the darkness
consumed by the fog of war
& willing to die by the sword





march two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the dream of the wildflower


the fire burns
but does not warm
& I find myself
digressing past oblivion
that place where dreams
replace realistic scenes
ones you’ve not seen
since the start of the
previous season

it was a temporary life
these wildflowers
wrapping them in damp
breathable cloth &
transported with haste
a few precious petals
secured inside
heart-shaped boxes
all others transplanted





february two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

living doggedly in the present


the trick of the brain
differs from the trick of the soul
the former having to do
with mental calisthenics
the latter all about dreams

repetition goes a long way
toward mastering
the memory of dreams
always deep within
rarely showing their true colors

it is like a two-edged sword
this need for solving dreams
reliving past lives & futuristic skies
though seemingly forever
stuck in the present





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

rabbit’s foot


we came from the depths of the ocean
and learned to breathe differently
one day walking upright on earth

years became decades became centuries
and soon peter would learn to catch fish
and levitate on the sea of galilee

time would accelerate undeterred
rebirth begetting evolutionary rebirth
what were once fins becoming wings

there is no final frontier here on earth
whether at the near outer edges
or beyond the unconscious universe





january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the dream interpreter


every time I come to some sort of conclusion
the next riddle presents itself
and I am forced yet again to deal with
this thing called life

when the next riddle presents itself
I tend to sleep in
using my dreams to my advantage
writing them down in fits & starts
and taping them to the wall
pacing back & forth
sometimes a forefinger
placed on my lower lip
other times with hands on hips

not everything is solvable
at least not in this lifetime
where dungeons & flying dragons
plastered on tear-stained walls
are as real as death itself





december two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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