I saw the light of the faintest star
settle inside your eyes
blinking to life possibilities from
little known places
when the faintest light cast
indelible marks on the surface
somewhat more meaningful
and magical images evolved
expanding from within
creation doesn’t stop when stars
set in the west
just as dreams never drown in light
and that little child of yours
separated from violent strikes
reaches for your love
ascending
august two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I am not Iowa
I do not speak their language
or pretend to understand their history
what I know of them
I learned on my own
thanks to online access
google searches
and wikipedia dot com
My ancestry is not of this land
I’ve traced it back to Ireland
and Scotland and Sweden
and Belgium
I am not Iowa
but I live on their land
their numbers decimated by smallpox
and reduced to five hundred
at the turn of the previous century
I find it fascinating in prehistoric times
the Iowa emigrated
to their new land from the Great Lakes
In the meantime a white race originated
in the great Rokitno swamp
forging a roadmap destined to draw
a crooked line to America
the once Beautiful
august two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
human history isn’t about to change
course anytime soon
the underground is rising again
and the unrest is unstoppable
at least into the foreseeable
everywhere hearts are breaking
shred to pieces from so many angles
mother nature
bad politics
random and not so random acts of violence
organized crime
and disorganized war
vendettas never die
they just get tossed to the next
generation like a hot potato
and while sometimes they get buried deep
they can’t stay underground forever
all the while the sun keeps rising from the east
giving us second chances
july two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
when the telephone rings
it is wise not to answer
for the best news is no news
in these godforsaken lands
I cringe at the injustices
bestowed upon the helpless
how the most brutal minds
can take away anything they like
at any given moment
they were not put on this earth
by the gods who protect me
the gods who taught me
tolerance and compassion
promising a better place
in another time and space
in the meantime the wars
and the mass murders
and merciless distrust between
neighbors prevail
history unable to help
but repeat itself
july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
and the police have sanctioned bullets
and the judges have their natural-born faults
and some of the locally elected are faithful
and some of them are corrupt
and the higher up you go
from city to county
from county to state
from state to region to super region
the higher you climb the greater the ratio
between the just and unjust
between good and evil
and there’s no telling who is winning
because this kind of winning is artificial
artificial like misguided dreams
and make-believe handguns
december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it started with wheels made of rocks
rolling down grassy hills
chased by boys in sparse clothing
whooping and hollering for the damn
thing to stop
such imagination led to saddles for
elephants and chariots for horses
led to rickshaws powered by men
led to river boats exploring the
river euphrates
I remember walking beside caesar
back home via the appian way
I remember shadowing jesus
riding his pony into jerusalem
there are plenty of magic carpet
rides to steal upon
taking you back to that exact
place where you remember
witnessing everything for the
very first time
december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
apparent victors come and go
just like their opposites who crawl
and walk and run behind the scenes
climbing mystical mountains and
sailing impossible dreams
asked to start fires
put out fires and
catapult fireworks into the night
fallout from the blasts twinkling
like a dying star
consumed by the unseen
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the torch may fade from time to time
may flicker like a pilot’s light
disappearing over the sea
below the surface the torch
resumes its glow
likely to be found by henchmen
digging foxholes
beware the silence
they warned
lifting their torches
and charging a newfound
enemy with fiery explosions
in the aftermath smoldering fires
resurrect memories of old promises
feeding those who hunger
rebuilding what was destroyed
as new histories emerge new
generations evolve
securing the torches in submerged silos
believing that without peace
all the yesterdays of the world
added up to nothing
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I do not like the trains
daddy
I do not like how they take
my friends away
those trains are not for people
daddy
they are for cows and pigs
destined for the slaughterhouse
I’ve seen the train stations
daddy
I watched through the fence
have witnessed the police tell my friends
they are going to a better place
they line them up like animals
daddy
day after day all summer long
stuffing them into windowless cars
I know the police are lying
daddy
please please please do not let them
put me on a train
june two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they brought me onto stage
and explained to the
thousands of participants
seated in the open air theatre
exactly what it was
they were about to witness
young ones dressed in white
laid me down on the
table and calmed my fears
naturally deadening my body
before skilled surgeons
unveiled my open heart
november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
She hated the food, the guards,
the very place where her family
and servants were certain to die;
where somehow, miraculously,
the daughters of the Monarchy
would forever shroud any evidence of
advancing the Romanov bloodline.
Soldiers patrolled the mansion turned
prison, walking the halls as muffled conversations
seeped through the walls and floors,
the Czarina’s voice carrying through
the airspaces and into the room
where her daughters sewed hurriedly.
Anastasia found such affairs interesting,
her mother’s motives incredulous;
moved her emotions to extremes, especially
with thoughts of surviving the execution,
saddened at the thought of losing everything else.
Just before the Czarina and the girls
were blindfolded and taken away,
they had feverishly finished tatting
the final, precious stones
into their executional clothing.
As the boots kicked in the doors
and pointed their rifles at the family fortune,
the girls fastened their bullet-proof vests,
marched down to the cellar as commanded.
Nicholas II and Alexandra fell,
as well as their weakened son, Alexei,
his doctor, and three servants.
Just after the bullets ended their consciousness,
the eleven marksmen lowered their rifles,
gunpowder overtaking the dankness in the air.
As the shots rang out all eleven
fell; Anastasia and her sisters
lost all life in their limbs,
their minds make-believing death,
their faces touching the blood
that was not to live on.
Over and over and over again
the Czarina implanted what actions
were necessary for survival.
And as her daughters fell
they never made a sound,
and prayed to Jesus
they would live another day.
rewrite from november two thousand six
audio recorded march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The lines go back far they do
lines drawn on a map
from somewhere in Pennsylvania
via Antwerp and Brussels
The little girl grew into an iron-fisted
Matriarch who rang the bell at five
to feed her boys the holiest of bread
while reciting hymnals of fear and guilt
Her shepherdless husband
followed her trail to Illinois
to a sleepy town her brother first discovered
years before boarding SS Vaderland
It was there tempers raged within
from the ethnically charged populous
but she managed self-restraint
and seldom raised her hand
against her own Motherland
But for her brother the chains broke
and wickedness unleashed itself
on Christmas Day
as the quietness of the neighborhood
exploded with a single shot of insanity
That dying branch still hangs crooked
on the corner of Rose and Lexington
its venomous DNA lingering
inside a sleepy little child
february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s nothing new
going on around here
except for elvis and jesus
walking the streets again
everywhere around the globe
people are revolting
while special forces make sure
they’re in on the action
the price of oil fluctuates
like the unpredictable warming
giving rise to speculation
the end is already here
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
reborn from the ashes
of ancient man
my new robot registers
some 2.4 million
years of age
her memory recalls
walking upright
from the very start
when dinosaur parts
sold on street corners
newly retooled in a shop
in downtown phoenix
his synthetic upgrades
looked as real as
tomorrow’s avatars
aware its architecture
forever evolved
it didn’t take long
until i was integrated
into the next release
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The sow was insane
doing what she did
to the little girl
while six piglets
stood by her side.
Given a public defender
the pig was dressed
in man’s clothes
and escorted
to the courthouse.
Witness after witness
described the horror
in which the animal
tore into the child
for no good reason.
In her defense
the accused cried
on the witness stand
as her six piglets
suckled away.
Quick justice found
the defendant guilty
sentenced to hang
in the city square
on the taxpayer’s dime.
may two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Based on a true story.
For more information google “1386 pig hanging”
From the highland region
Where the northern breeze
Brings inland the sea
Ancient trails once escorted
White men on well-dressed horses
Into a beauty called Bridgetown.
Besides its honesty, the grandeur
Of this place—wrapped
In ancient walls
And storied history—
Has little to do with surviving
Illicit trades or ugly slave wars
But in knowing the raging sea
Turns nearly empty dreams
Into untold realities.
september, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 