It’s sixty-thirty
and the deer sauntering down the street
have gotten the dogs agitated
so much so that their anxiety
& their owners’ displeasure
can be heard from the outside
It is winter still
and the night is calm
the air thick from the rising temperatures
giving both the deer & the dogs
the confidence they need
to do as they please
january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
he’s a photographer & AI artist
roaming the city streets
w/his girl by his side
she likes to walk along the pier
each visit like witnessing the ocean
for the very first time
she’s an artist herself
and a doctor & a dreamer
a purple flower & self-made author
concocting stories she’s swears
are as real as the waves
splashing before her eyes
he takes her by the hand
strolling back toward the plaza
asking her what will it be today
anything she responds
as long as he’s present
the only constant in her mind
january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
once the snow melted
the waterways swelled
one tributary feeding the next
from stream to creek to river to street
it would be a mess
how spring had sprung a major leak
flowers sprouting
despite nearly drowning
fish displaced inside businesses
situated within flood zones
shelterless children using spears
to bring home the bacon
for mama to fry
the way things were going
the season of regeneration
was on the verge of perpetuity
all those affected beginning to ask
if the normalcy of summer
would ever arrive
january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the man in the street
consumed by moral injury
has come to memorize
the many moods
of a complicated moon
the night air freezes over
making nature’s carpets crunchy
—naked trees giving little comfort
as the heart rate slows
to an all-time low
handouts are hard to find
especially when freedoms
continue to sail away
like helium balloons
let loose on new year’s eve
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I am not me today
once checking out of rehab
I walk down the sidewalk
a man without a horse
the city’s no place for me
it’s high time I check into the future
where ocean waves
always change but never cease
off in the distance
there is a white horse pacing
up & down the shoreline
protecting the damaged dinghy
[that will one day become ours]
the very one that brought her there
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
when I finished the book
I took it with me to the library
—they said they didn’t have this one
and I said now you do
the pigeons on the front steps
don’t know how to read
but if they did they’d quickly find out
it’s best to hang with the ducks
just a few city blocks away
I made my way to the lake
(which is really just a big shallow pond
w/geese & ducks & an occasional pelican)
a new book under my wing
something about angels
looking homeward
sitting down on a bench
I kept the book shut
watched the walkers & joggers
& cyclists going by
wings tucked under their shoulders
not a single pigeon in sight
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I had them all to myself
but then I lost them
a half-dozen helium-filled balloons
each a different color
I had plucked one by one
from the giving tree
in the city square
and I as I stood there
looking upward
counting them
with my index finger
a tear lost for each one
drifting higher & higher
until I became alone again
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was driving home crossing the tracks
followed by a moderate left bend
a car parked on the river side of the road
to my left a dark figure walking along the railbed
hands in jacket pockets & eyes cast downward
it was early december & the sun had all but set
creating bright streaks of color along the horizon
sparkling across the quiet wakes
the lone figure becoming darker by the second
what could he be looking for this time of day
a scarf or pair of gloves or glasses
maybe some sort of precious keepsake
suddenly I smell rock & wood & steel
as if I was right there with him
but of course by this time
it was too late for me to turn around
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
living in a world of signs
how many of their one-word sentences
can you roll off your tongue in 10 seconds
slow stop do not enter dead end no outlet
etcetera etcetera etcetera
forget the metal street signs
what about those found in the sky
or in a book or in a bus
what of those made from cardboard
or fabric or common sense
the ones found at gatherings
whether protesting or cheering or mourning
colored chalk on concrete
spray paint on chest
magic markers in magic hands
downtown motel flashes no vacancy
corner church digitally welcoming strangers
bearded man parading
his own most obvious message
—the world will end tomorrow
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you breathe easy
you breathe hard
it’s more than just a fine line
what just ran through my mind
a mouse or a sparrow
or a fine white line
you better check on the old ones
and the young ones
they can’t keep after themselves
they keep chasing things
things only they can see
in the backyard
there is a house in the ash tree
neighbor kids climb and get in
—are never seen again
police at front door
issues citation using invisible ink
we offer them sweet tea
and a scotcheroo
but they say no thanks
they gotta go
ask us to keep an eye open
meanwhile we breathe easy
and we breathe hard
one day there is six of us
the next day only five
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
he couldn’t stop looking at
her microchipped eyes
near perfect
like a purple diamond
of course she was smartly
dressed [again]
sporting an accessory
around the neck
another on the right ankle
(otherwise untouched)
her eyes looking upward
and to the right
back in the day
she used to look his way
long before anyone knew her
before fame & fortune
was her new reality
—leaving him alone in the city
walking the streets
& gazing
past storefront windows
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they swept the homeless
off the streets
a project city officials called
operation relocation
days later
a dozen bulldozers
rolled into the landfill
& within hours
questions started flying
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in my twenties at university
my habits were more pronounced
than today—quite like my memory
but nonetheless
I was instantly
taken back there
involuntarily
I guess I got to thinking about
the title of this poem while listening
to the lyrics of an alt-rock song
streaming from my car speakers
—afterwards becoming stuck in my
head like a heartache
from there I found myself
back in iowa city
seated at a second floor bar
[maybe] directly above the airliner
the premises about the size
of four boxing rings
—the staircase in the center
vertically challenging
the details are sketchy at best
but there were nunchucks
& a blade involved
one combatant a karate extraordinaire
the other a cross between
batman & edward scissorhands
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reservedeyes and rise above
where she went
I could not say
having disappeared
once my heart
went missing
alone on foot
I wander city streets
her reflection
in puddles
& storefront windows
street lamps give me
little to no solace
their brilliance
but a reminder
of her smile
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s mid october
& they’re still playing baseball
whether streaming online
or at triple play park
where they added a fourth diamond
two seasons ago
the players seen on devices
are real grown men
getting paid for what they do
in front of tens of thousands
while all the others
are simply boys & girls
running the bags on a
saturday morning
it’s getting colder outside
but that’s not stopping any of them
from donning their unis
& playing their hearts out
long before the first snowfall
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
rumor has it
they’re blowing
everything up
one block at a time
nobody believes it though
claiming they don’t
have the resources
—that it’s all talk
the curtain
slightly adjusted
one eye peers out the window
shadowy figures
darting from door to door
checking the locks
& leaving pamphlets
for now the neighborhood
is safe
but has never
been any scarier
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 