jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “History”

withdrawing to past places


drug deals come and go
and whether they’re legal or not
hasn’t ever seemed to matter to the
general population or big pharma

we used to think we could handle
just about anything
[be it cooked artificially
or arriving naturally]
only later did we realize
what hurts the most
can’t possibly be remedied
without assistance from the
power of the mind

and so that gets us back
why we started in the first place
experimenting without reason
attempting to get back to a place
existing before the written word
before the world had no boundaries




september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a present day anomaly


I’m not in the mood for poetry
but lord knows the world is
calls for it at night
when little ones are sleeping
praying tomorrow
the sun will shine on those
who need it most

throughout the course
of human history
I’ve witnessed firsthand
only a thinly carved slice
and I try to convince myself
this lack of civility in most places
is simply an anomaly




july two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

haunted in america


forensic science is alive and well
in most of these here parts
despite what’s been codified

some internal wars are never over

collisions continue on a regular basis
like rogue comets passing through
rather unsophisticated asteroid belts

those on the ground continue to shoot
at the moon haphazardly
while snipers in the trees prefer
the precision of ropes and ladders

some past sins are not easily forgotten
let alone forgiven

this land of the free is riddled with asterisks
just look to anyone still on the run




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

disproving a course of history


having grown tired of the same old
same old
I’ve gone searching for something new
some kind of different story
one that’s never been told

won’t you take my hand and go
searching with me
weaving through well worn
and not so much beaten paths
until at last

there is quiet resolution
to what’s transpired in the past
as if those imperfect moments
mattered not
as if those infrequent mistakes
have been laid to rest




february two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

sitting down and taking notes on skull hill


I’m not about to stop whatever it is I’ve been doing
skating or stumbling or sleepwalking through
the course of ordinary events

history books never did get it quite right
whether written on walls
or stone slabs or paper or clouds

the best stories are told by the campfire
be they fact or fiction
held to the strictest of standards
handed down from one generation to the next

here I sit alone atop my very own calvary
looking down and shaking
loose the cobwebs
wondering how many more men must die
for the sake of a single solitary hill




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

rewriting history


we live in interesting times
artificial intelligence
replacing original thought
bits and pieces of plastic
entering the food chain
giving new meaning to
garbage in garbage out

man may lose interest
once machines take over
3D designers replacing
likes of archimedes and einstein
shakespeare and da vinci
historical asterisks
sinking in a sea of change




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

nonrefundable


history resides in books
interpreted one way and the next
just as folklore exists in spoken word form
living and dying and carrying on

of course past performance
has no bearing in what may lie ahead
so it’s best to fill your tank
and pack them books and move on

if this town was meant for you
your dreams would have told you so
speaking in no uncertain terms
like hand signals from the dead

now that your guru-slash-savior
has passed on
so too you must move forward
disregarding past sins
(that may or may not be reconciled)
and catching the next flight
as far from your comfort zone
as possible




september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

reconstruction project


faces in the crowd
shed not a tear
assembled
peacefully in city square
collective expression
somber and lacking fear

clock tower strikes
thirteen times
midday sun hurries
behind dark clouds
hangman arrives
children duck and run

lessons relearned
nobody listening
history unrepentant
brokers exchanging
silver and gold
for black & white city




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

in search of flowers


out of thin air shallow breaths are born
giving life where there was once none
providing comfort to those who grieve
to those whose lives are in desperate
need of meaningful nurturing

burial grounds of once mighty empires
have long expired and recycled into
fields of grasses and wildflowers
articulated masterpieces of complexion
breathing quietly and free from harm




may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved

five oaks at the top of the hill


and so the rest of story can be told
now that the sheriff and his deputies
have been stripped of power
marched to the top of the hill
tried with haste and quickly
hung from the row of mighty oaks

it was a reddish pinkish dawn
and the dead men looked surreal
hanging there amongst tears and disbelief
amongst joyous cheers
and raucous jeers

historians and poets and other writers
as well as various artists
work feverishly before their inspiration
is lowered to the ground and taken
away by various men without faces

why women marched their children
up the hill
was a matter of personal perspective
and if you asked any one of them
chances are they would not tell you the truth

long after the hanging this town will continue
to be under attack from inside
as well as out

and all those who participated at the top off the hill
whether actively or passively
will sooner or later come to understand
how one must die for the sins of many





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

children breaking new ground


perpetual revolution
a lifelong struggle defined by tiny stories
woven in and out of blankets
crafted in afghanistan

messages fly halfway across the
planet in a matter of mere seconds
complicating efforts of diplomats
struggling to keep up with the flow

you and I can meet on any street
corner on any given day
reaching for something undefinable
something certainly not touchable

one day children will be forced
to teach children the basics
digging and uncovering
discovering and enlightening

true possibilities do exist
and this concept of history
repeating itself for centuries on end
gradually gives way to hope



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

destined to live and die here


wild horses stampede across
artificial hill outside waterloo
approximate to major shift
mountains and men bleeding
causing much exhilaration

kilometers away once free men
soon comprehend how bravado
and bondage have consequences
banished behind underground bars
joyous songs piping in

it’s been seven months or more
since the sun has shined
yet people continue to arrive
pilgrims and commoners and nobility
partaking in the simplest pleasures
praising daily powers that be



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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