jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “In the City”

Seeing Red


The capital city is sinking
but there’s no place left to run

The entire world is on lockdown
though tickets to Mars
are selling for a dime a dozen

If digressing to an archipelago
is on your mind
I may have to ask you
exactly in which dimension


april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

wanted (dead or) alive


the neighbor put up a few signs
saying his boa constrictor
busted out of jail again

the sheriff deputized all the children
in a six block radius
saying do what it takes
to bring in the bastard
dead or alive

meanwhile
the neighbor was last spotted
in a fake mustache & beard
purchasing little white mice
at a nearby petco

these kinds of poems
never end well
& this one
doesn’t stand a chance in hell


april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the rise of the discontent


living in a multiple choice world
I’ve elected to call in sick
having no real ailment
except for the ones
instilled into me by academia

in & around happy hour
I catch the bourgeois walking
out of glass-covered skyscrapers
smart bombs in backpacks
maybe a pearl-handled derringer
cleverly concealed

some say the dark ages
are right around the corner
if not already upon us
ignited by the discontent
lying low in the wings
brought back to life
by the progeny of the privilege


april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

unforeseen


downsizing
minimizing space
something deemed necessary
to complement my remaining days

house & car traded in for cash
found an efficiency
in a downtown tower
a room w/a singular view
the river
an oak tree
aliens passing by

now you see me
again you don’t
a game played from dusk till dawn
& in between
almost anything goes
all of it virtually unforeseen


april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

one way out


mostly a quiet neighborhood
complete with a cat colony
and an underground network
of russian-speaking moles

I’d been here for years
over two decades to be imprecise
come to learn change
doesn’t necessarily taste any better
with a grain of salt
or dash of tabasco

one year the winds swept
most of the trees away
another canoes & kayaks
became the prevalent mode
of transportation

in one corner of the garage
laid out plans for jet propulsion
& kitty-corner from there
a pair of unrepaired angel wings


april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

block by city block


there used to be a park there
look at it now
not a single tree stands
the 2.5 acres transitioned
into a living breathing pancake
leveled to the ground
by the stroke of a wand
turning past reality into a
futuristic burial ground


march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Friday night recruits


a packed downtown
another Friday night
business as usual
as long as you remain
on the big fat streets
that is inside so-called
boundaries

neon lights abound
the white lights of the theater
the jumbotron flashing outside the
magnificent arena
a touch of coolness courtesy
of a slight breeze

here individuals
become the collective
participants in a cosmic party
—and from up above
from the eyes of drones
you may well be more
than just a cog in the system





march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

half past new


there was not a chance for rain
but there he was
ambling down third avenue like clockwork
decked out in a three piece suit
and umbrella in hand
(the ladder doubling as a walking stick)
occasionally looking upward at a
limitless blue sky
nary a wisp or puff to be found





march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

this too shall pass


something reeks
did somebody leave something on

it could be the wind
bringing in the stench
either from the corn sweetener
or water treatment plant

people stepping out
their front doors
hands on hips
some pointing southeast
others northwest
kind of looking at one another
and shrugging their shoulders

one by one they return
back into their safe zones
mindful that funky bouquets
are usually innocuous





march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Thank God It’s Friday


It seems anymore
the days are ruled by extremes
like horses bolting through
closed barn doors
finding themselves stampeding
the wrong way

Meanwhile back at the Hamburg Inn
a displaced marionette
does the dishes in the back
not benefiting much from $12 pub burgers
dreaming of gigging again
in open air arenas

Along the river
youngsters fish for money with their feet
while old-timers grow out their hair
& practice walking on water
striving to achieve ‘mystic’ status

Down at city hall
hundreds assemble peacefully
singing protest songs
& gathering stones just in case
passersby invariably crossing the street
their eyes looking the other way





march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

living on the edge


In a sense we are all doomed,
even if we stay away from black holes.

~ Stephen Hawking

the purple mime
practices his craft in the city center
a square space of grass
& concrete & active imaginations

there he scales the tallest tree
having transformed himself
into a spiderman
finding himself higher than the
tallest nearby building
the spectators looking upward
hands over mouths

using not a single word
somehow he explains
how he’s reached the event horizon
& that possibly
quite possibly
not even escape velocity
could save him now





february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

on leaving the door unlocked


she took up half the couch
small glass dish atop her lap
shelling pistachios efficiently
directing each discovery
into her mouth

it was around midnight
the three of us seemingly
invading our own townhouse
having spent hours
painting the town pretty

our sudden entry didn’t seem
to interrupt her rhythm
calmly letting us know
she believes we live
three doors down





february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a failed Seinfeld segment


when we arrived at the party
Jerry put me in charge of the ice

I said yeah sure whatever

I strolled into the kitchen
to survey the situation
only to discover some two-bit actor
guarding the ice

hello I said to her
how’s the ice situation here

it’s cool she said it’s cool
but if you want some you can’t get any

why’s that I asked

I don’t know she replied
but it’s what Jerry wants





february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

shadow of the sun


unseasonably cool
on a sunsetting saturday
european starlings accumulate
atop rows & tiers of downtown parking ramp walls
inviting the attention of passersby
more or less curious
of their rhythmic chatterings
like an orchestra fine tuning
leading up to their eventual shadowing
of the sun





february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Dead Bug


It was a brick house
& it burned down overnight
a fire set by the Arsonist who goes
by the name Dead Bug

Missus Maloney & Molasses
were rescued by 15 firefighters
called into action
as the Full Moon struck midnight

Dead Bug’s motives
remain unknown at this point
diverse in its targets
& quite possibly
simply a Disgruntled Alien





february two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

telepathy


do you know what I’m thinking
she asked me out of the blue
her voice as distinct
as I had remembered
in god knows how many years

her words were inside my head
as I sat outside a corner cafe
deviceless on a sunny morning
the traffic light but loud
pigeons plentiful & pecking away

I turned to face my right
& then my left & backwards
my hands on the top rail of the chair
fooling myself that she could be within earshot
as opposed to eternally lost
in a sea of consciousness





january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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