how do i decide
what to believe is real?
should i follow my thoughts
or just live out my dreams?
there once was a time
i worried about my heart
but as the years pass on
i know it’s my soul
i most trust.
september two thousand seven
audio january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
lying flat on the floor
first I bend my mind
then my body
from there I wonder
where my soul takes me next
temperatures rise
then fall to record lows
the crow flies due north
searching for something new
moving pictures
stored on the ground
and in the cloud
suddenly freeze
lying flat on my back
I close my eyes and
pretend I’m breathing
for the very first time
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we prepared our minds with
foolproof lies and
carried on about our lives
as if darkness never
overshadowed anything
what was once reinvented
can be invented yet again
and those monsters
lurking behind old photographs
remain buried alive
unsuspecting memories
hang in undisclosed caverns
like misplaced dreams
tapping your shoulder
night after tireless night
without thinking we pushed
onward through the air
like a refreshing wind
blowing away the morning fog
that once weighed us down
december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we worked the wet sand
into old world castles
restarting aqueducts and
protecting the bridge with
toy soldiers
overnight tides washed
away recent memory
giving way to daybreak
and the innocence of
virgin beaches
starting from scratch
we sawed and
sanded and hammered away
convincing ourselves
things will be different
december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
buried far beneath the earth
in the garden of good and evil
lies dormant the key
to man’s heart
the seedling had failed
to germinate
while the tree of knowledge flourished
thereby leaving man
selfishly singular
it’s been said treasure can be found
somewhere in the cradle of civilization
its hidden secrets
more powerful than the words
of all the enlightened masters
who left this world
dreaming of lasting peace
december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
those stars we used to wish upon
the ones first appearing in the twilight
or the ones falling from the
sky while sitting on the front porch step
where have they gone
now when you need them the most
sometimes I think of a certain star
that shined so bright it had no choice
but to crash and burn in some
remote forest you’ve never heard
those are the kinds of stars I miss the most
this universe is nothing but a free verse
poem with a little sizzle and endless syllables
spherically rotating around your ever
expanding mind
your inner child
charting the course of events
of every single moving object
december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I awoke violently
as if someone had grabbed my
shoulders and shook me
with all their might
Gasping for breath
as if dying or coming to life
I recall striving to push my imagination
from beneath the surface
out-chasing the nightmare
that is the unborn
Within the darkness
I hushed myself back to sleep
pretending nothing
ever happened to the sun
december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we took the long road
to the top of the island
believing by the time we got back
to the ocean
your father would be gone
pausing along the way
we listened to the distant waves
while lying on our backs
nibbling on treats and
pretending the clouds
flew like pink elephants
the rhythm of the water
slowly put us to sleep
our dreams commingling
as your father’s footfalls
echoed ever closer
december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I crawled out of my skin
and curled into a ball
allowed the wind to kick me
down an endless winding road
along the way I witnessed
invisible claws dig
deep inside an open field
uncovering ancient treasures
as diamonds gradually
overwhelmed the sky
I unfurled my mind and
surrendered my spirit
to the next reality
november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
visions arrive in feverish shapes
testing my sanity
in a darkness protected from a
cold november rain
flashes of restlessness appear
out of no where
reminding me of a dogged past
certain to hound me again
voiceless visitors with a certain
je ne sais quoi
talk me into believing
this night will never end
november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we walked between the lake
and the rail yards
smoking cigarettes
and spitting on
century-old ties
wondering if the midnight train
will ever arrive on time
it was a year ago tonight marshall
died on these very tracks
attempting to escape
his own restlessness
his dream of starting a
new life
in st louis or kansas city or santa fe
seemingly interrupted
we made a fire
like we always do
and sat in a circle
our voices as quiet as
stones skipping on water
our karma just a little off kilter
one of us asking out loud
why there is no moonshine
november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there are certain things I’ll take to the grave
I said as I raised my half-filled glass
trying to figure out
if it was half full before
transferring the past down my throat
to the grave the patrons chanted
swallowing what remained of their
bottomless dreams
contented by the friendship of
lonely people
unbothered by next month’s bills
morning arrives without a demon in sight
the truth temporarily impaired
allowing me to get on with it
as they say
and forget all over again
those things going to the grave
october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s something
terribly wrong with me
it seems everyone knows
what it is but me
I ask the doctor
what the hell could it be
I don’t know he says
try talking to your friends
sleepless friends whisper
empty promises
and in the morning
those promises live on
october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
No wires needed here
just plant yourself
in a pod
plunge yourself in
fantastical worlds
Supersonic speeds
flash images
long ago
boarding upon
magic carpet rides
History repeats
on movie screens
living dead
pretend nothing
ever existed
One way tickets
turn into gold
down below
where white rabbits
introduce new holes
october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
nobody asked me to share
my dreams with anyone
so I kept them to myself
nurtured them as best I could
in the middle of the night
silence awakened me
beckoned me to walk alone
in streets that never sleep
along the way I imagined
the sad ones called my name
reaching out like lonely stars
dying to find a home
I gathered them in jars
full of oxygen and hope
promised to return again
when eyes are laid down low
september two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the bird in the stream
loves to scream at midnight
when deep in her sleep
she dreams of elegant legs
to-die-for tail feathers
and a graceful neckline
no longer interested in
fly-by-night playboys
she catches her limit
before the rooster’s crow
august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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