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
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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
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
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
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
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
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
I showed up with plenty of time to spare
so I ordered myself a beer
nothing was really happening and I began
to wonder what brought me here
perhaps we had met in a previous lifetime
and me being here
was nothing more than a memory
or perhaps I’m still alive and only daydreaming
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve always wondered what would happen
if I drew back the red curtain
would there really be a stage for me
to embrace and be myself
or would it just be a wall
rusty red and falling apart
but that’s another story to be told some day
when the last thing you care to know
is how the messenger had been cheated
there are no bullets to be found anywhere
but the gun is still warm
talk is cheap but there is plenty of it
perpetuating rumors of manslaughter
police helicopters pretend to be beacons
but night is already day and they are useless
easy targets for anyone from the madhouse
to take them down one by one
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Author’s Note:
This poem is loosely based on the
song of the same name by Golden Earring
I’ve not seen it all
this movie that weaves
in and out of close encounters
actors are not what they seem
on any kind of stage
whether supported on oak trestles
or razor thin wire
the money flows like milk and money
brewed and bottled on the black market
where trade secrets are available for sale
anywhere from one to a million bitcoin
sometimes I like to daydream
during the night
just to shake things up
excited to rehearse those parts
I’m least familiar with
may two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is a shadow in my periphery
merely a glimmer of my future self
the moment I sense its presence
it reshapes itself and disappears
leaving behind a lingering desire
that which cannot be defined
interrupts my ordinary days with
perfectly placed subliminal messages
I’ve learned to decode and encrypt
slowly making sense of my former life
diligently uncovering its suppressed dreams
little did I know the shadow in my periphery
was nothing but an outcast heart seeking light
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve seen the future unfold
like a flower without a name
like a child without a home
the recent past soon enough
becomes all but translatable
like a familiar foreign language
like a lost memory
resurfacing
inside someone else’s dream
this road has been lowered
only to be risen time and again
each time you are there in some
shape or form
sometimes dragging the dirt
other times on your hands and knees
paving the way
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I slept in on Sunday morning
and when I awoke I didn’t know
what day it was
I had been dreaming about time
travel and god knows
how many centuries I covered
that last hour
If it wasn’t for the sudden urge
that startled me awake
I probably would have witnessed the
birth of a King
After I had emptied my confusion
into the toilet bowl
I came to the realization I had
no place to go
other than the hardware store
to purchase
a replacement stopper
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I miss everything reckless
and I’m bound and determined
to make another run at it
barreling down river road
giving chase to the current
most times it’s impossible
to catch the leader (of the pack)
let alone decipher exactly
who put what in motion
even without all the facts
I’m prepared to move on
singing a song I’ve not forgotten
when once upon a time
I dreamed I was a little girl
march two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it started from no single event
like global warming did
or the demise of a species
first he borrowed some
free time and stuffed it into
an ornate box
lined with red velvet
it was furnished with a
red-cushioned chair
a painting
unbeknownst to none
hung from one of the walls
but he kept his eyes closed
sinking into the chair
barely breathing
eventually the air collapsed upon
itself
until inside the box was nothing
but a passing thought
february two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the bounty on my head
keeps going up
or so I’ve heard from the
monotonous talking heads
streaming in the air
I’m feeling much better
since crossing the mississippi
heading east by northeast
toward an unknown place
where sanctuaries still exist
secret agent men
keep hunting me in my sleep
but I manage to elude them
by rolling over into
a new form of reality
I know every inch of concrete
and railway between
this world and the next
where I am destined to settle
into indescribable peace
february two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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