I always enjoy my time
walking amongst the living
dressed in off-white and
uninterested in success
briefcase in one hand
wall street journal in the other
umbrella purposefully left behind
in a vacated train seat
I once met an angel
while witnessing a stabbing
on sunset boulevard
quickly turned my back
because her light was too bright
her tucked wings a reminder
I can’t possibly find my way
without first learning to fly
october two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
getting lost is good for the ego
especially when deep in meditation
where there is no place to hide
stumbling down the sidewalk
the shopping cart I push
keeps me from falling over
alleyways are always darkest
during the brightest of days
when eyes are shut tight
and I can barely see my breath
I feed birds living on high wires
and encourage city weeds
growing between the cracks
having answered to many names
I am content with the unknown
that is certain to befall us all
september two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
mathematics of heaven
on earth measure up
like the clickety-clack of
wingtip boots hitting
hot summer concrete
on the brightest of days
seven plus one rounds
normally fill a colt 45
its pearl handle concealed
inside the hip of urban
cowboy moving about
in conspicuous silence
waxing gibbous expose
skyscrapers without power
eluding bullets fired
from restless streets that
harbor outlaw scientists
who recalculate and reload
august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she didn’t steal the car
she just borrowed it for the night
drove up and down the one ways
under the friday city lights
puffing on one hundreds
she sang along with the am radio
a cold six-pack by her side
the night slightly becoming cooler
there were plenty of dragsters
biding their time
chomping for a race
but she kept the four-barrel
carburetor purring like a puma
wanting to give chase
local coppers let the young ones
enjoy their weekend fun
but when special bulletins
point to grand theft auto
those boys in blue quickly learned
exactly what’s she’s got
august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s mid-morning early summer
and I leave my little office for a quick
ten minute walk through eight city blocks
passing brick and mortar and black glass
cutting through a bike trail lined
with flowers and trees and park benches
it’s somewhat humid and somewhat hot
and I loosen the knot of the tie from my neck
worrying about sweat staining the collar
of my freshly ironed
buttoned-down oxford
the city is diverse and there are certainly
many kinds to meet along the way
but for whatever reason I tend to change course
when approaching the homeless
those courageous individuals who are already
planning where to spend the night
the disadvantaged who somehow manage to smoke
cigarettes and consume cheap whiskey or wine
only to wake up in a dreamless state
forced to do it all over again
usually by holding out a hand
I tell myself making monetary pledges
and sending off checks to post office boxes
is not necessarily the answer
but it’s the easiest path to take
especially when burdened by troubles of my own
july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
could we press rewind and go
back to houston
back to the space city by the bay
where the districts are alive
like tattooed hearts on sleeves
where glorious voices frequent the
grandest of operas
and the trendiest of restaurants
(lined along historically diverse streets)
place no restrictions on who may sit where
july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she was a beauty without doubt
shined in photographs
everywhere you showed them
to everyone who saw
her skin was cold to the touch
but you would never know
not without getting closer
not without bridging the gap
lost inside a city of angels
she blended in with mere mortals
rubbing elbows with those
she learned to trust
it was back in o’eight after
the world had seemed to crash
an exodus of sorts ensued
and she left everything behind
did she really head back east
back where there was no home
or did she drift into a dreamless state
where only gray matter grows
your badge of courage means
nothing if you can’t solve
the reason why she came here
or the reason she needs you now
june two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how many miles we traveled
far from shore I do not know
the early morning city lights
flickering atop gentle waves
skyscrapers sinking into their
self-induced holes as
madmen rush to resurrect them
the fish were striking at an incredible
pace and the captain had trouble
resetting all the downriggers
while house flies persistently bit
the whitest of legs
reminding the youngest of men
everything comes with a price
at the end of the day as the boat
drifted back to shore
there were no women or children
welcoming them back home
there were no lights
no music streaming from pipes
but the streets
the streets they were weeping
streets littered by madmen
already destroying the next city
june two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
out of nowhere billy lost everything
waking up to a note
segued by a pink slip at work
months later evicted from his
place in philadelphia
sally took it all to minnesota
life and child crammed inside
u-haul speeding north on 35
not a tear in her eye
nor ounce of shame left behind
unable to cut it on the streets
billy hit the road south to miami
playing drums and keeping warm
lip syncing in the shower
and banging his head on blue tile
back in arizona sally arrives on time
stepping off the plane
taken in by a friend of an online friend
homeschooling by day
and singing late into cool nights
on his fortieth billy falls back in time
with a young sally on coney island
arranged by a matchmaker
from oklahoma city
wishing to remain anonymous
april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they fly by as streaks of light
zipping through the city
cruising in and out of sight
sometimes pausing like shadows
inside innocent songs
other times resting within sounds
of desperate poetry
they are neither real nor imagined
but they are certainly alive
much like the wind
hurtling through the night
with nothing near or far
preventing it from existing at all
april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I saw jesus on tokyo bay
speaking spanglish and
directing fishing boats
like a venerable traffic cop
dressed in seamless jeans
and oversized shirt
he unveiled the sun with his hands
welcoming all to follow in his wake
docking close to disney at night
the city prefect greeted him with
flowers and rings and keys
proceeding to escort his entourage
to the enchanted tiki room
swapping stories and feasting
on the day’s catch
tourists gradually gathered round
sampling the uncooked bounty
imported from half a world away
april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The last time we danced in Vienna
the stock market had yet to crash
and the very idea of Austria as her
very own state seemed preposterous
Though a Yankee I spoke perfect German
both in and out of
pubs and proper places
quick to blame my loving Mother when
questioned about my presence
I remember you telling me Vienna would
never be harmed
because you said
she represents the soul in everyone
I remember you telling me
the foundation era would blossom into
a flower of unimaginable artistry and peace
I believed everything you told me
just like it was yesterday
Detained for questioning for what I believed
had everything to do with your talents
how could it be I would never see you again
left to search your peaceful streets
as the world around us
descends into chaos
march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
he was tired of being nice
so he moved on to better things
hooked up with some of the boys on
thursday night south of eighteenth street
his woman wasn’t happy with some
of the choices he was making
proceeded to tell him so friday morning
he bought a handgun and spent
his saturday at the pistol range
clearing his mind by repeatedly
reciting bang bang bang
on sunday she sat polishing her rosary
wearing dirty white gloves
church bells ringing in the distance
when monday night mob turns raw
he slips into a brand new world
picking up instincts and aiming
to get a clear shot at something
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
things build up inside
so when you can’t breathe right
you reach for something
that really isn’t there
like that new stuff you heard
just arrived to town
clean for weeks
you walk the streets
hitting bistros and internet cafés
but you steer clear of the bars
where former junkies
prey on innocence
chasing down demons
is not your specialty
but for the moment the madness
inside remains at bay
moving away from the lights
your inside limits have no bounds
(as if you have no bones)
and for the moment
you are afraid but convinced
your breathing will not stop
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I walked the back streets into the
heart of the city
pulling on cigarillos and
spitting on beetles
it was noon and I should have
been in school
but the gray sky somehow
took hold of my mind
led me away
to where I was needed most
weeks earlier I had been hoping
to hook up with the outlaw josey wales
but that opportunity had
come and gone
and I was left holding my
head in my hands
(I reminded myself that back home
there is only so much dirt to sweep)
god’s plan is not mine to question
but I’m grateful for the few
hundred dollars in my front pocket
not to mention a one-way ticket
and my mother’s rabbit’s foot
december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Lost inside Saint Petersburg
I travel by foot toward the river
church bells ringing silently
deadened by the dank air
creeping down my neck
I swear I see your pretty face
among the many gathered
‘round Palace Square
faces reddened by the wind
or wrapped in woolen scarves
Just as metallic music erupts
below the darkening clouds
young souls scream to life
and storm center stage
like a swarm of angry wasps
Lost inside Saint Petersburg
I blow on my hands and
stuff them inside my jacket
my feet taking me closer
to the river and back to the
University where I belong
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 