jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Nature”

cool like pink lemonade


sun falling fast behind frost-covered hills
shades of pink glorifying the horizon
variable winds swirling and sweeping
speaking in languages I’m sure I once knew
images of elephants coming to mind
marching high in midday sky
sporting hides bordering on pink
drifting in and out of cumulus clouds
turning hot and sticky summer days
into something inexplicably cool




november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

clearing the way


new moon held in cupped hands
like a wounded fledgling
feeling powerless
yet slowly warming
to this idea of finally flying free

trusting the process is not easy
for anything grounded
nevertheless you uncup
your trembling hands
observing the sky in a new light




november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

autumn leaf


there is this word on my mind
hanging like a colorful leaf on a branch
a few inches out of reach

by the time morning arrives
it is no longer dangling
rather part of collective whole
mixed with all the others
strewn across the lawn

for a moment I ponder the importance
of getting down on hands and knees
uncovering the very word
etched on my mind
holding it up to my eyes
like the holiest of grails
and memorizing its every detail




november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

my whispering moon


how the moon motivates me
wakes me when she rises
whispering in my ear
promising the world in exchange
for my undying devotion

hours before the cock crows
I find myself mechanically
walking city streets
dodging occasional headlamps
wondering where you are

weatherman proved wrong again
about mostly starry skies
your whispers reassuring
affirming you are nearer
than my eyes could ever see




october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

and the last shall be first


summer dies and autumn awakens
another beginning to the fatal end
inevitable like simple thoughts
segueing into fantastical dreams

night skies are clear and stars abound
shooting and falling abysmally
luckiest person alive looking upward
casting doubts on winning streak

open windows suddenly become shut
weakening sun filtering through
giving hope to those with tired eyes
blinking and dying to see tomorrow




september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

life again


I left the city for fields of goldenrod
painted by many artists over the years
fresh in my mind for reasons I cannot explain

if I had stayed I’d surely be dead by now
having fallen to the atrocious ills of society
either by murder or apparent suicide

I am far from home but closer to reality
like the shepherd is to his flock
like a mother to her newborn




september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

one minute past midnight


I wish tomorrow arrives without fanfare
lazy saturday morning
nondescript and unpretentious like
orange slices and strawberry fields

magic clock on wall running backwards
chasing white mice without purpose
having nothing better to do
than nibble on yellow eye of the sun

how many mornings have I awakened
to the silent strike of dawn
cricket wings translucent and exhausted
surrendering to avian multiverses




september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

staying grounded


how dark it quickly becomes
while inside random lights appear
revealing the corner of your smile
sparking further conversations

off in the distance
thunder slowly rolls forward
majestically introducing itself
and its lowdown entourage

there must be love in the air
or so you say to yourself
winds approaching out of nowhere
from the south and west
and all points in between
twisting and turning and
shouting for all the world to hear

oh how I desire to witness
rains falling for the last time
but I’m far too busy reversing course
repairing damages previous
storms left behind




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

snapshots of rainbows


we used to chase them just like we chased
butterflies and rabbits and tornados and daydreams
pretended to store them in mason jars in the cellar
(or the lower level as we like to say)
sealed tight and placed on web-laced shelves
like ordinary bottles of homemade beer or wine
or better yet experimental body parts
ensconced in formaldehyde
and though we talked at great length of our
supposed prized collection
nobody in their right mind dared go underground
to disprove their existence




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

summer of sixty-nine


so we were roaming out back at twilight
swigging orangeade and
swatting fireflies into oblivion with the
palms of our hands

someone from the inside yells
‘you leave them insects alone’
and we said
‘damn your eyes’
they got no place else to go

out in the open field
children run half naked
fearing for their lives
pretending to be fireflies
steering clear of predators
holding mason jars high




july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

sunflower


there’s this story I’ve told
ever since running away from home
and for whatever reason
it’s never grown old

oral traditions are alive and
well in so many cultures
but in my small space few listen
leading me to believe
my story will gradually fade

unexpressed emotions remain
buried underground but very much alive
skipping this season and
perhaps the next
one day breaching the surface
when least expected




july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

back pocket


we keep planting seeds not knowing
what if anything will come out of the ground

sometimes we are pleasantly surprised
yet other times we chalk the results
up to luck of the draw

there is nothing charming about bad seeds
but somehow we learn to live with them

every so often I go back to the clinic
to have them tested
and each time they’re slightly different
the good doctor telling me
there is nothing wrong with change

given a clean bill of health
I bring home a new garden spade
hang it unceremoniously on the wall
a packet of wildflower seeds
shoved inside my back pocket




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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