jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Dreams”

dreaming for peace


in the dream
a dark cloud follows overhead
like a skeptical stray cat
neither threatening nor kind
unbiased and nearly lifeless

far beyond
stars form stellar pyramids
with eye-shaped apertures
blinking a visual morse code
only warlords understand

in the dream
martin luther king preaches
to a desperate generation
promising harmony and hope
where there is only despair

far beyond
star factories push the limits
within a universe pulling back
brushing aside dark clouds
and bringing change on earth


august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Nothing but a Vestigial Drawing


Thousands of miles from home, viewing gardens
I’ve been meaning to plant, I sit and sketch
with charcoal on textured paper a perfect,
utopian presence like that place in Genesis.

The hotel makes me honestly welcomed
from the “Sirs” to the stars to the telephone
in the commode. In the drawing I see myself
never leaving, ever. I am drawn to be within

The shades of grass and green, contemplating
the reasons I should ever leave the stone
and glass and fabric and hospitality
that has enveloped me in this lofty balcony.

Below the waters are warm. The bodies
are near and brown, living out temporary
yet simple days, their imperfections hidden
beneath the moonlight, their conversations distant,

Calming and inviting. It takes almost nothing
to remove myself from a world a million miles
away; takes a conscious effort to check out
and return with nothing but a vestigial drawing.



original version penned nineteen ninety-eight
rewritten and recorded july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

fishing with jesus


sometimes I just cry myself to sleep
when I think about all the things
I’m gonna miss about this place
I told jesus
as we sat on the rocks
casting our lines out into the sea
neither of us worrying
whether or not there was fish to catch



june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Long Road to Lake Erie


I imagine running in my native land
known only as Windward Coast
existing in the spoken word
handed down from a language
forced upon my people

Awakening to my nightmarish reality
I prepare to run yet another night
my instructions given and repeated
inside a barn outside Portsmouth
known to me as station number nine

We pursue the waning gibbous
across the Ohio and into the arms
of extraordinary people who
provide encouragement and provisions
and a promise our new life is near

I imagine I’ll run even beyond my death
but for our children they will live
unrestrained and without images
of bounty hunters or bloodhounds
chasing them in their dreams





june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Thank You for Asking


There is nothing wrong
with my mind
nothing wrong with my body parts
or the way I go about my day
thinking about flowers
I’ve yet to come across

I can still put together a crossword puzzle
like a son of a bitch
but I choose not to
because there are so many more
important things yet to be done

Sometimes I’d rather sit here
and play online poker
while putting together words
I call poetry
and recite them back to myself
nodding and pretending
someone might like them
a half a world away

There is nothing wrong
with my mind
even though some days I wish there was
so I could just sit here
and daydream
and listen to my heart beat



may two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

all along the lighthouse


adrift on a raft
with no land in sight
you lie back
and make friends
with a setting sun

lost in dreams
the bulging moon
wrecks havoc
on brainwaves
regenerating

distant stars
seek rolling waves
tossing you
into a whirlpool
of endless light


march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

bedtime stories


pretend you slip into my slacks
one leg at a time
button my newly ironed shirt
from bottom button to top

you get frustrated with yourself
because you can’t seem
to get the bloody dimple square
on the regimental tie

the silent alarm suddenly
signals half past eight
you lie awake forever late
to next week’s meeting

the reverie shakes you alive
screaming in your sleep
i hate you i love you i hate
the way the story ends


march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

rendezvous


she spends her days praying
and by night holds your hand
when the stars are touchable

she brought you into her world
and had you entirely expose her
item by item and kiss by kiss

you didn’t know what to think
you just did as she said
and she never did let you rest

in the dark of the morning
you made it back home
safely in your bed
as if nothing ever happened

february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the dream of the butterfly


when i was a butterfly
i floated with the best of them
from country meadow
to urban garden
my world an eternal adventure
of technicolor and sound

when i was a butterfly
children chased me with their nets
but my keen instincts
evaded their hopes
of ever capturing the beauty
forever felt in their hearts

when i was a butterfly
every day was like a dream
of first impressions
repeating themselves
toward an expanding evolution
of psychedelic freedom



january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

how deep is the sea


sitting cross-legged on the floor
my mind shut the door
and i was left alone
in the dark
with a candle and a match

i closed my eyes and focused
on a fire burning in the belly
of a giant fish that swallowed me whole
delivering me to unfathomable depths
where indescribable creatures
ruled an invisible world

as ocean waves crashed on top of me
the door violently swung open
and the room became drenched
with natural light
my hand still holding
the unlit match
the candle
nowhere to be found


january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

casey’s dream


in the dream moses
splits the field of dreams
and turns a bush
into a bonfire in the center
of centerfield

notables like mantle
and cobb and simon peter
chew redman and spit
into the fire
casting pearls before swine
and laughing like little girls



january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

little mermaid


i opened my eyes
to a world full of ice
beautifully blue
and frozen in time

ages ago i called
out your name
chipping the surface
to find you again

with a little magic
i bent the tides
hoping tomorrow
you’d resurface alive



january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

weather woman


i’m in love with the weather woman
but i’m afraid to let her know

i love how she tells me
when my sun will shine

and when the rain
will soak my thoughts
with impossible dreams

and when the wind
will blow my blues away

i’m in love with the weather woman
but i’m afraid if she knew
she would concoct a storm
and send me tumbling away
like some insignificant snowflake



december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

scrying pool


no sooner did he dream
of the shallow pond
it became real
outside his back door

he filled it with koi
lilies and bog plants
laboring with love
on hands and knees

as in the dream
he sprinkled the surface
with crushed meteorite
and butterfly wings

word soon spread
of the man with a gift
who gave visions
to strangers
in need of healing


december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

And So the Skyclimber Climbs


The candles burned to mask the smoke
lingering in the air. He was certain
he’d been in this room before,
though it reeked of unfamiliarity.

He continued on through interconnected taverns
winding upward toward the sky.
Each passing story flashed old photographs
into his mind, only to dissolve and then
reproject themselves as stars in the sky.

Unclear how high the stories went
on and on he scurried. Up above, he swore,
lay reality; down below was just a past
that begged a sniff of upward mobility.


originally written
march two thousand seven
rewrite and recording
december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Big Time in Reno


I made my way to Reno by accident
with a woman much older than her age.
She said she knew a married man there
who seemed to have a ton of money.

It didn’t take long before she left me
for a drifter with some blow, so I decided
Reno was as good a spot as any
where I could work on my old acoustic.

By day I had a gig dealing twenty-one
at Fitzgeralds; earned enough in tips
to keep my lungs full of Old Golds
and my lips wet with whiskey or rye.

I kept telling myself I’m gonna make it big
in Nashville one day, but until then
I just kept singing my railroad songs
for the cockroaches in the rafters.


november two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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