jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Nature”

the garden reprised


we’ve done this before
making something out of thin air
whether simple words or complex webs
designed to bring us closer

the power of sleep brings forth
limitless possibilities
exposing past and future lives
such as the spider or the fly

at some point it stands to reason
why the trees have knowledge
and birds perpetuate folklore
why the snake in the green green grass
will one day be your best friend




september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

ethereal like the fog


and so we stretch our limbs
turn our thoughts from solids to liquids
as if we are something more
than mere human

if you run fast enough
there’s a good chance taking flight
without wings or cape
nothing more than inner strength

oh how far we’ve come
from ocean to moor to rooftop
synthesizing plant with mineral
further projecting time




august two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

stirring the seed in the soil


it seems the trick is to feed your body
with specific types and amounts of oil
or so I’m learning there is more to nature
than leaf and flower and feather and bone

to the perfect alien we are one in the same
especially when viewed a million miles away
subtleties at best captured in a mirror
attached to a wall countless centuries ago

in the urban garden there is more to life
than surveillance and common temptations
abundance showing itself in spades
evident on low hanging vines and branches

folklore and concoctions openly compete
promoting cures and extending lives
nearly all sharing a simple solution
showing respect to the goodness of earth




august two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

make amends with you


an endless sky and sun so close
melting muscle into bone
stripping clothes from your back
surrendering to your natural self

you’ve taken to this task before
making amends with yourself
peeling one layer after another
sweeping dead skin into tin can

do not confuse the sun with fire
the latter of which burns man-made
objects to the ground
the other capable of recreating
your own ashes into something new




july two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

what have I become


how am I to follow suit
on such a sorrowful day
sun beating down so hard
keeping even ants
from working on the hill

he had died in my dream
countless times
but now that I’m older
than the dream itself
others may visualize
my youthful presence
as a mere memory

I never should have followed
irrational commands
disturbing the soil
where the earth god
works her timeless magic

what have I become
if not a shadow
of my former self
having shed thoughts
of those who made me
instead focused
on rebuilding hills I once
foolishly destroyed




july two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

wildflowers in the wind


I wish to be intimate with ideas
that have yet to materialize
brought on by a slight breeze
brushing against my cheek
and slightly opening my eyes

out of thin air they arrive
and mysteriously disappear
incomplete thoughts needing
nurturing and time to mature
like sporadic seeds in the air

I wonder how they’ll affect me
these intimately idyllic ideas
existing in the peripheral
occasionally testing my mettle
as if they know me better than me




june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

aerial conversations


I forgive and forget
it’s easy to do
or so the birds of the sky
tell me so

they speak to me often
believing I’m not listening
but I fool them
and take everything in

there’s nothing to forgive
ergo nothing to forget
I keep telling myself
like a man in a trance

when I’m alone
the birds of the sky
keep me company
they think I don’t notice
but I most certainly do

as time passes
they learn to trust and believe
feeding from my hand
as I stand like a statue in the wind
my eyes fixed
above the setting sun

they speak about life
and speak about death
but when I ask what will come next
their chatting becomes silence
and I am left to imagine
all on my own





may two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

precious is the night


I was looking for some sort of sign
a little something to let me know
you were alive and well

as the electrical storm rolled in
I could detect your precious thoughts
coming through in fits and starts

though the pain in my hands
worsened from the impending doom
I managed to subdue my foreboding
whilst transcribing reassuring poetry





may two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

late bloomers


it still feels like April
the world going nowhere fast
like a vinyl forty-five spinning
soundlessly on a turntable

of course there’s nothing
wrong with slowing things down
at least according to Simon
who relentlessly kicks
down cobblestones

cool rain comes and goes
like a game of peek-a-boo
tamping down
good-intentioned deeds
and daffodil dreams

despite all the outside noise
a quietness remains within
silently reminding you
there’s always a way out





may two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

change in forecast


the hour is fast approaching
and the well has run dry

a mother sends her child with pail
in hand out into the wild
instructed not to return home
empty-handed

the city is safer than the jungle
during the rainy season
talking heads on social media
furthering the debate

a fire breaks out in the country
ignited by lightning
chasing four-legged chattel
into the next county

a daughter sits alone in chair
rocking slowly in the dry heat
feeding her thoughts with patience
while practicing her breathing

the hour is fast approaching
and suddenly the well is overflowing





april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

attracting butterflies


how the garden grows
in my absence

photos clicked and sent
my way via
short message service

I don’t own a device
anymore
but I can still receive

be they still or moving
or downright blossoming
it matters not

I like the bleeding hearts best
almost always first
or second to arrive
depending upon the winter

I promise I’ll be back soon
it’s only temporary
where I’ve been
or where I’m going

if memory serves me right
the tulips will be next





april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

drawing lines in the sand


with earth day fast approaching
how cannot images of
cosmic collisions cross my mind
planets spinning
dramatically out of control
elsewhere within the milky way

astrologically speaking
the local gods continue
to reconsider scientific law
the orion arm their local playground
occasionally bringing
mother nature to her knees





april two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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