all things are eventual
if not downright equal
why not let them play out as they may
instead of contemplating
various scenarios inside map rooms
where alternative endings
are inherently undesirable
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
so many songs about saturday night
up and down the radio dial
forever cast into eternity
thanks to artistry and antigravity
and there you are behind the curtain
hairbrush in your hand
belting out your favorite songs
younger siblings doubting your sanity
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
roadside singer
quite colorful and
resting comfortably atop
curved guard rail
counting blue cars
and red motorcycles
racing by like clockwork
ruffling feathers
and drowning out
magical sounds
inspired by god herself
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
sometimes I’m a little late to the party
and sometimes I forget to show up at all
either way there is constant commingling
going on between this world and the next
come sunrise strangers begin to stir
chatting amongst themselves in the parlor
recounting the previous night’s events
and taking bets on my reappearance
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
I pretend it’s still April
on account of the pouring rain
tamping down my inner thoughts
thinking of huddling in the dark
when they take me down
I imagine I’ll be fighting all the way
calling on gods for yet another chance
should the world forget my name
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
old blue jeans tired and tattered
stitched and patched and faded
fit perfectly like kindergarten friends
skipping hand in hand for miles on end
making up new words that rhyme with
biscuit and nugget and peanut and butter
she’s swinging a small bag back and forth
something for show and tells she says
refusing to let me in on her little secret
so I imagine it’s a miniature scarecrow
stitched and patched and faded
tattered like a pair of old blue jeans
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all right reserved
weep not my love
for there is hope in isolation
and beauty in sorrow
though showers may fall
a window remains open
welcoming a warm breeze
clearing your uncertainty
and soothing your fears
past the horizon
and high above the clouds
your light is burning
dying to be seen
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
unfinished tabletop
wishbone resting on windowsill
dishes in the sink
roses abloom on the vine
outside kitchen window
nature’s fragrance floating
scattered thoughts
pieced together like a dream
disguised as poetry
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
looking down from the ninth floor
there was nowhere to go but up
michael may have been missing
but I knew he was within earshot
though I was tiring of the routine
I had no intention of checking out
instead reestablished my footing
attempting to regain communication
with anyone who may or
may not have wings
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is desperation in the wind
causing fires to spread
and lonely thoughts to cave in
good lord handing out hail marys
like there is no tomorrow
it’s 4:30 in the morning
and you tell yourself the sun
may never rise again
and somehow you forgive yourself
finally resigned to fall asleep
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I made pekoe for two
in my red porcelain teapot
but it was just me and my thoughts
retiring to the sunroom
bird songs in the background
streams of consciousness meandering
inside sublime daydreams
mixing fantasy with memories
and all that was meant to be
february two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
quintillion of stars shine
down upon all corners of planet earth
perhaps an inspiration to us all
but alas we are far away from reversing
billions upons trillions of dollars spent
equipping programmatic minds
beautiful machinery capable of killing
singularly or massively like clockwork
december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they put in sidewalks where there used to be grass
on the old side of town thanks to that penny tax
three whole blocks for three whole weeks
disrupting traffic and making everything ugly
heavy machinery and piles of dirt
candy corn pylons and cement trucks
men and women dressed fluorescently
an occasional open hand in my face
or arm motioning me to get on with my life
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
shortness of breath
I decide to hold it
pretending to be a child
cheeks expanding and reddening
eyes bulging like goldfish
it’s all you can do not to laugh
nonetheless there is much laughter
crescendoing and sad
easier than simply crying
surrendering to the crash
like a desperate goldfish
dying to breathe
november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
an ordinary autumn day
colorful trees swelling like a piñata
stretching to reach a bright
and amazingly beautiful blue sky
pretty pink pigs with angel wings
noisily floating overhead
october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
and finally the fires extinguished
themselves
giving way to rains and
eventually floods
chasing ants and jesus freaks
to higher ground
and from the heavens angels
watch amusingly
as noah takes up residence
outside beverly hills
repairing his ark
gradually garnering attention
october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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