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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Micropoetry”

something like poetry


idling on tokyo avenue
waiting for the light to turn green
boston blaring from coaxial speakers
back in the summer of seventy-nine

it’s easy to misremember
exactly how everything
went down in the day
but the music
that’s another story entirely
always open to interpretation





december two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

desert sky


we sang with the coyote
their desert song
in the darkness of a
moonless night

do not be sad my love
although the song may fade
the stars are certain
to align again





december two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

micrometeorite


I understand there’s a second moon
orbiting crazily the planet earth
nothing like the luna we’ve come to love & idolize
but more like a rock
one that you hold in your hand
making it either warmer or cooler
throwing away as high & as far as you like
wondering if it will ever come back





november two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

with winter in mind


a full frost moon
rises & grows & shines
through the leafless elms
yawning & stretching
toward the opposite horizon
a dark red sky
overtaking cirrus clouds
gradually fading
into a deep purple
succumbing to the night





november two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

seven colours


dressing in moods requires
an extensive wardrobe

consider the rainbow
(for example) she says
on the surface only seven colours
but if you possess enough ambition
can easily be turned into countless
ambiguous amalgamations





november two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the law of my beating heart


my heart was water
like a single solitary pond
alone in a field
surrounded by wildflowers
a man-made pump
somewhat in the middle
keeping the circulation going

there once was a trail
starting from the roadside
a circular route
to the center of my heart
beaten down by foot
eventually replaced by
mechanisms purely natural





november two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

no place left to go


so I found you
one piece out of five
hundred
and I placed you
in a place
where only you would
feel comfortable

it’s no easy answer
living day by day
but I’m not sure
if it’s worth it
as long as
there’s no place
left to go





october two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the toymaker


if the toymaker had a number
it would be number nine
she would keep it in a locket
always worn near her heart
a reminder to always empty the tank
for the benefit of all the children





october two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

while under a severe storm warning


in a crowded auditorium
I was hand picked by my teacher
“which direction do birds
fly for the winter” was the question
probably directed my way with a certain
level of confidence in my answer
but I replied with something other than “south”
and thus it was from that point forward
I lost all but a crumb of credibility
at the budding young age of five & a half





august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

gun for hire


she’s out back hanging laundry
a slight breeze cooling
her tanned skin
methodically rehearsing in her mind
precisely what will go down
come this time tomorrow





august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

unboxing the morning


it’s impossible to own the night
but tomorrow
is another story
standing there in the peripheral
as if to say
you are not yourself
your current state of mind
disbelieving
that the stars in your future
can ever be washed away
that the man in the box
is someone you’ve never known





august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

singing in the rain


the rain barrel is empty
going on a fortnight now
and the flowers
oh the flowers
they’re in need of a good cry

I’ve been dancing
every night in the twilight
the dormant grass
beneath my feet
an exhibition
to any god who may listen





july two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lost in late june


it’s late but not that late
the sun nowhere in sight
little ones out back yelling
where did it go
where did it go


nobody knows where the
butterflies went
chased away by roman candles
someone did say
someone did say

lost in deep thought
trapping stars in glass jars
smaller than fireflies
falling from the sky
falling from the sky




june two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

immeasurable precipitation


sadness lingers in the air
going on fifteen days now
absent the once smiling sun
stuffed inside some closet
like a forgotten promise

I keep thinking the end is near
a place that doesn’t exist
simply an inherent idea
implanted into my heart
the first time I witnessed light




may two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the end is near


the road was long
an all day affair
we had no other way
than by foot
so we started before daybreak
not saying a word
keeping a good pace
and reading each other’s minds
[on occasion]
the previous night’s dreams
the passion of the fruit
the destination
well within reach
as we neared the setting sun




may two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

An unfamiliar scene


I attended Philip’s burial today in Maquoketa at the family plot
at the top of the hill in Sacred Heart Cemetery. It was a sunny
& warmish day but a cool wind atop the hill made my Mother
put on her shawl. I counted the number of people in attendance
using less than ten hands, most of whom I didn’t know from Adam
or would ever know. Before getting on with whatever life has in
store for me, I hugged two cousins & shook the hand of another.




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

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