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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
jet fighters crisscross the skies
like high flying bishops
licensed to fly
at control central pawns
surround the queen
fanning her with anything
they can get their hands on
at all four corners
white men wage war against
all other colors
wielding maces and knives
flashing suicide switches against
her majesty’s wishes
all the while horsemen
silently breathe into the fog
anxious for that chance
to live and die another day
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
It was carnival season and the town
gradually transformed itself
becoming grotesque and queer
and emotionally exhausting
Determined to move forward
Billy and me walk hand in hand
he nursing along a quart of malt liquor
and me drawing on Virginia Slims
By the time we reached the bridge
they had just finished
reenacting a past less distant than
most locals care to admit
Uncertain how I could possibly hold
back the tears
I tell Billy what they did to my people
is unforgettable
unforgivable
Without saying a word
he squeezes my hand tighter
draws me nearer as the
Chickasawhay River shamelessly
snakes by directly below our feet
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the ground trembled beneath bare feet
like an audible sigh from a troubled mind
even the birds paused their morning song
shifting to interpret the mother’s warning
exhausted yet incapable of finding comfort
relaxation eludes the weariest travelers
though peace on earth may one day prevail
the natural order of things indicate otherwise
february two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
