I never saw so much whiteness
how it frightened me so
mountains giving chase to
skyscrapers
crumbling into seas
oh how I thought earth had died
and I alone sang the blues
the thrill gone
vacuumed inside mushroom clouds
survivors if any are free at last
washing ashore
(dead or alive) onto tiny islands
unclaimed by any government
legitimate or otherwise
august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
everything feeds into the next thing
until finally feeding unto itself
you catch words everywhere you go
words and phrases and sounds
you’ve never heard before
I should have given that man
that asked me
a dollar
but I thought I was out of singles
last ones spent on lotto tickets
turning the corner new sounds
enter into the atmosphere
lifting me atop the clouds
where I walked around for hours
there is this hidden turbulence
higher into the stratosphere
pockets of sabotage crouched down
waiting to strike wayward travelers
I’m not denying that I’ve never been there
but since coming back (to earth)
my perspective has never been sharper
august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the boys were out back
barefoot and quiet as could be
lighted candlesticks in tow
so far they’ve had 23 chances
cashing in at near record rates
extending natural highs
though successful yet again
they keep their egos in check
stopping short of euphoria
august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this little town was nothing like whoville
though not sure why I mention it
if only to get you imagining
there are other worlds
on the surface nothing changes here
and everyone looks the same
whether or not they’re beautiful
or pretty or normal or something else
down here all oceans are in sync
as are rivers and streams and creeks
each and every tree relative to itself
flowers beneath their boughs
reduced to single digits
propagated by otherworldly intelligence
august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
open the windows and let cold air in
infiltrating your comfort zone and chilling
your most heated and desperate thoughts
I know not what raises your condition
bringing your ideas to simmering boil
followed by mind-numbing afterburn
I’ve spotted your face in the passing clouds
sliver of a silver moon peek-a-booing
songbirds praising your inner beauty
although impossible to keep you close
I’ve kept your photographs frozen in my mind
turning them into moving pictures
this cold air is bound to heat up again
meanwhile I huddle inside heavy blankets
waiting for winter solstice to show
july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’re so many ways to keep score
you do it your way I’ll do it mine
those thousands dying from war each day
could care less about climate change
cool winds and secret agent men
come and go from man-made skyscrapers
continental shifts and breakaway ice
only separate us more
tug of war versus mother nature’s pull
nobody’s always winning
today’s swords turn into swallows
flying high at the magician’s command
july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’m going to take them with me
each and every one of them
I’m going to box them up neatly
like the prettiest set of flowers
ever assembled
and present them with humility
to the spirit of the skies
july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
mighty clouds bulbous and swelling
swarming through dark starless skies
spinning tales of menace and fear
choosing who lives and who dies
little ones crisscross through cornfields
chasing monarch butterflies
free of cares above or below
on this earth or otherwise
what keeps your faith resurrecting
my dear flower of surprise
oh how you entertain greatness
amidst the deceit and lies
july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
There is loneliness in your words
but your vocal chords
tell me otherwise
I swear you’re one of me
a scorpio without a doubt
but you insist on saying otherwise
refusing to show me
your driver’s license or caller ID
Oh but that was so long ago
in a world that barely existed
how we refused to face the music when
we danced alone
hundreds surrounding us
We are like Lily and Bee
having come this far
nothing to sacrifice
july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sunspot settles into eight o’clock
quite content hanging out there
for as long as I can recall
in the field old men split seasoned wood
boys gather and stack neatly
building towers three times their size
birds and clouds passing by routinely
aided by westerly breeze
pushing forward suspended sun
transitioning perfectly seamless
natural light surrenders
controlled flames reaching for the stars
july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
who’s that singing me to sleep
these late summer eves
waxing and waning like the moon
but oh so minuscule
good vibrations commingle
between life and death
cycling for the better every year
give or take a lunar month
hopping from tree to tree
from bush to shrub
petal to rejuvenated petal
tempted by the bluejay
and coaxed by the stream
making friends with frogs and mice
anything honestly faced along the way
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
rains followed along streams of light
attracted to the illumination of the city
raindrops splattered atop thin ice
triggering flashbacks of fluorescent flying insects
though the winds behaved peacefully
casualties kept arriving at an alarming rate
each lull brought back another storm
arriving like missionless troopers with an attitude
they said to get out while you still can
far away from places casting incandescent shadows
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
out back the boys chewed
on tobacco they called butterflyweed
and not a one of them had a single
thought in their head
inside the girls worked batch
after batch of monster cookies
television set playing in the background
radio blasting pop rock
not a one of them ever not talking
somewhere along the line
these monarch butterflies fly overhead
like an orange sundog drifting along
arcing like a rainbow through the midday sky
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s three o’clock and I’ve no place to go
whether it be day or night
or minutes before or seconds after
physically I am not paralyzed
though my mind is working on making it so
playing on the pretense
I have the power to make time stand still
birdsongs stream through an open window
a background score composed and
recorded by a higher power
like a man in a trance I rise to the occasion
and find myself reaching out into the darkness
collecting whole notes and half notes
quarter notes and many other partial notes
stashing them into a leather satchel
so that I may later release them
after I am well on my way
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
summer has never been so close
knocking hard
loud and clear like a thunderclap
if you didn’t hear that
you may as well be deaf
I murmured
but there was nobody around
to absorb my spoken words
except for nightbirds and spiders
and hackers inside my laptop
there are many weeds needing
pulling and much soil needing turning
I keep telling myself
but in the middle of the night
none of that is occurring
at least not in real time
come monday morning nobody
may remember exactly what transpired
whether it be a history rewritten
or saplings thriving free of gasoline
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
if the morning sun
rising above the horizon
whether seen or unseen
is not enough to inspire you
then by all means sleep in
otherwise rise to the occasion
and take to the skies
awarding your condition
by reaching a peace within
a peace which cannot be attained
without addressing the unspeakable
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 