jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “Nature”

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

the rise and fall of immigrant ants


after days of all night rains
black ants finally infiltrated the kitchen
weeks of planning coming to fruition
once the perfect storms rolled in
their triumphant march
short-lived in and around canisters
filled with flour and sugar
and assortment of teas
their massacre eventually swift
long to be remembered by those
repulsed of their presence
having neither program nor policy
on how to deal with their sudden arrival
and disturbing disappearance




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

pulling me in


I don’t feel tired at all
(oh no not at all)
I’m feeling like a breaking wave
rushing toward ocean’s shoreline
angels singing by my side
clouds full of rain following above
waiting patiently for me to make landfall
destined to become nothing but a puddle
dying to be loved by the sun itself




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

summer rains and falling stars


stardust in the exosphere
older than the moon
purveyor of time
mysteriously coexisting
and quietly contributing
to the evolution of life

wayward meteors
breach the surface
children of the earth
pointing and marveling
saying look there goes
another shooting star

oh there she goes again
bringing with her
more ancient stardust
making it fall like rain
nourishing the very ground
we so heavily trod upon




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

soaring high by her side


he instinctively wants to feed her
but has no idea where to begin
unable to comprehend
if he should start with the seed
or pick the fruit from the vine

she understands him much better
than he knows himself
but does not say a word
instead focuses on cleansing
his shoreline by bringing
wave upon wave upon wave

she nourishes him subconsciously
sublimely feeding him music
soothingly repeating his name
weaving wildflowers in his mane

he dreams of cherry tomatoes
and purple grapes
widening his mouth like a starved fledgling
having no idea one day
he will be soaring high by her side




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

at the speed of light


skipping rocks in space
the flatter the better so they say
skimming along invisible waves
making wishes as they fade
light years away

where they finally wind up
nobody really knows
(except the creator)
perhaps as a collective of
gold-colored coins
deposited into a simple pot
strategically placed
at the end of an endless rainbow




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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