there is symmetry in your words
aloft and capacious
passing through like clouds
I used to love the way you talked
but that was long ago
and though I’ve tried I can’t consciously
recall the rhythm or the flow
those wind chimes you hung
still haunt me so
how they suddenly appear out of thin air
colorless and perfectly soundless
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
water-colored clouds fill the sky
painted bird flexing her wings
sitting atop chalkboard line
everywhere there is repetition
right down to nanocreatures
living and dying in nanoseconds
catching wave after wave after wave
clouds give way to a super sun
washing out the painted bird
taken to flight and searching again
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve found myself so many times
it’s hard imagining finding myself again
in the garden everyone feasts
the bird
the butterfly
the rodent and the worm
insects and felines and canines
stamens and pistils
day lilies and night owls
tree limbs and branches hanging fruit
angels and devils and humans
shoving shovels into the ground
stirring and spawning new life
meanwhile the sun and moon
(and the season known as spring)
continue to operate like a heartbeat
june two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
vanilla wafer moon clears away the clouds
showering my window with midnight light
slowly stirring me to consciousness
undoing the spell long ago cast by my
darling clementine on her deathbed
may two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
from what I understand
any day now the poles
are going to switch
and the dinosaurs
they could soon thereafter
be right back in the picture
may two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is this disconnect that exists
somewhere inside us
hanging out on the fringes
shadowed by a sun dog
pretending to be a drone
virtual viruses take a back seat
to the literal kind
the ones that erase real people
at incredible paces
unable to be stopped
(let alone undone)
by a simple kill switch
when you tug on the string
dangling inside your periphery
do you get a showering light
spreading good news
or is it something quite the opposite
or something else entirely
may two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s the first of may and all I have left
is this desire to sleep and
witness ruby-throated hummingbirds
feasting upon the flowers
may day two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s impossible to hear the spoken word
when the rains fall so hard
killing the song
making good intentions just plain wrong
these eyes find light in the strangest places
sitting alone in the dark room
conversing within
making up stories without lies or deceit
walking in broken shoes on crushed stone
I listen for the least sound
signals from the sun
still images of havens inside the wasteland
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she arrived unannounced
redirected from an unknown god
breaching the exosphere without a sound
though coming to life by starlight
she disguised herself as human
finding solace within her own garden
as time passed the ground flourished
showcasing colors never before seen
reshaping the landscape of a parallel world
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Lightning strikes on Miller’s farm
and days later
everything is gone
Are you sure it was natural
everyone seemed to ask
or could it have been an arrow
directed by an angry god
Local preachers try to explain
to congregations of none
exactly what didn’t happen
Meanwhile earth moving machines
continually roll in from far away places
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the forwardness of the day
and the unpredictability of the night
carries on in perpetual motion
like a universe continually unfolding
sparking the purest electricity
out of the tiniest of matter
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we can pretty much do anything
out here in the fields
except piss on concrete buildings
or turn boxcars into artwork
the bus driver went one way
while the rest of us went another
confident the slender moon would
never lead us astray
april two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you lost me when I wasn’t looking
like a silver dollar vanishing
via sleight of hand
when the poles switched
nearly everyone became displaced
like foreigners held
hostage inside their own homes
those less fortunate were
forced to learn a new language
whether it be spoken or not
in the city center they hung
disobedient juveniles
upside down by the ankles
shaking the contents from their britches
making all the little ones appear out of nowhere
like cockroaches scrambling on all six
march two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is more to this than scrambling
from one life to the next
deciding who wins and what memories
are worth replaying time and again
the rocks by the water are flatter
than the ones on the hill
but both have surrendered to their fate
indestructible forces that they are
when your calls for help go unanswered
you may need to look elsewhere
though perhaps it’s wiser to lay low
and let patience be your friend
one day the tulips will rise oh so belatedly
delayed by a recent avalanche
covering the ground like an afghan blanket
neither suffocating nor impenetrable
march two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I saw some poetry while walking in the woods
but it quickly scurried away like a frightened ghost
did you see that I asked myself but I did not respond
determined to take a course unbeknownst to anyone
blood flows through my veins on borrowed time
at one within a place where hollow trees rise and fall
convinced there is no way out other than from within
I slow down my pace and surrender to the sound
march two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
stained glass hearts
tarnished over time
void of even the faintest
hint of crimson on the
brightest of summer days
on occasion lonely hearts
glisten back to life
slowly reaching out on the
clearest of nights at a
bulging moon turning blue
march two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Note: this poem is linked to Crow’s Open Mic Invitation
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