billions of stars
drawing a map
across time
adrift in an
endless quest for
intelligent life
setting suns
give birth
to new moons
new life spawns
deep inside
planetary waters
august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the bird in the stream
loves to scream at midnight
when deep in her sleep
she dreams of elegant legs
to-die-for tail feathers
and a graceful neckline
no longer interested in
fly-by-night playboys
she catches her limit
before the rooster’s crow
august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she sits by the fire
surrounded by limestone
and dying wildflowers
holding herself in her arms
her eyes smiling at the dancing flames
of yesterday’s summer sun
august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the stream imagines
whatever lies inside the mind
projects audial nuances
favorable to the heart and soul
the stream has babbled on
since before babylonia was born
before the seeds of creation
transfigured into the living garden
the stream provides sustenance
and everlasting grace
offering those who worship her
glimpses of alpha and omega
august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in the dream
a dark cloud follows overhead
like a skeptical stray cat
neither threatening nor kind
unbiased and nearly lifeless
far beyond
stars form stellar pyramids
with eye-shaped apertures
blinking a visual morse code
only warlords understand
in the dream
martin luther king preaches
to a desperate generation
promising harmony and hope
where there is only despair
far beyond
star factories push the limits
within a universe pulling back
brushing aside dark clouds
and bringing change on earth
august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
born into the dark ages
the children loved to listen
to the chronicles of the sun
rising above the hills and
making everything on earth
supernaturally magical
august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I thought I heard something
but it was just the wind
I think she said
sitting in the living room
I perked up and turned down
the baseball on TV
started to listen in
like one of those creeps
repetitive silence ensued
followed by curious winds
sneaking in
through the attic vents
rushing in I reached out
begging her to take
my hand
before the winds do
july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
ants are everywhere
and most of them are downright
industrious
then there’s the spiders
and snakes and whatever nature
wants to sally forth populating this place
ground squirrels moved in
last week
little sons a bitches
neighbor says he’s got a
groundhog
living up there
behind them bushes
wolves and foxes make for
scary noises
beyond the border trees at night
or maybe it’s just two cats without gloves
settling an old match
or better yet
an adolescent sasquatch
out looking for a snack
beneath all the commotion
subhumans thrive at
twenty-four seven bazaars
peddling flashlights and canteens
and cuban cigars
dark chocolate squares
and high-powered rifles
july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
when you love something
so deeply
that you cannot live without
and the primitive nature inside you
supersedes the laws
of logistics and morality
take notice
for your best laid plans
in conquering your desires
may unwittingly leave you choiceless
and as baseless as the next man
july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the industrious child spent
his morning picking up the fallen fruit
of the maple tree
placing them one or two or three at a time
into a plastic orange pail
as his mother sat on the glider
on the front porch
rocking the little one to sleep
comfortably in her arms
both bundled within a shawl
a cool breeze made the boy’s cheeks
as pink as the tulips that bloomed
nearly a month ago
and when the pail became filled
to his satisfaction he disappeared
into the house
only to reappear in a second story window
where he proceeded to pretend
a fleet of military choppers
converged behind enemy lines
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the moment you start looking back
and analyzing every misstep
chances are you are not where
you want to be
and all the hopeless wishing in the world
will leave you even more wretched
consider the beauty of the butterfly
and ask yourself if your life isn’t worth
just as much
and maybe then you will understand
moving forward is the only option
with or without a migration map
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
your garden is all grown up
said the daughter
to the old man as they
sat in front of the fire pit
listening to the wood talk
she remembered way back when
there were stepping stones
throughout the garden
and she would jump from one stone
to the next like you would
playing hopscotch
the stones were still there
camouflaged beneath the jungle
barely noticeable amongst the greenery
blossoming a spectrum of colors
rainbows inspired to imitate
do you remember
when we put in the stepping stones
asked the old man
yes I do
answered the daughter
I was just thinking about that
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I grow bleeding hearts
in my garden
where there is no sun
they thrive in the shadows
where tears
are not seen but heard
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this old blue jewel continuously
reinvents herself
through orderly chaos
using beautifully destructive forces
to tear herself down and rise again
in unimaginable creativity
she is her own god forever conjoined
with the serene sky
the strands of creation
emitting sparks from her fingertips
fashioning transcendental elements
into a supernatural world
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you spent a lifetime
away from home
discovering wormholes
this side of saturn
breaking old laws
and discovering the mother lode
leaving you to question
how many postcards
are better than earth’s
may two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
on the most sorrowful day floral arrangements
accompany the winding road
as the birds of the field sing their joyful songs
nearby wildflowers weep and sway
newly clipped roses wrapped in paper produce
smiles once believed long gone
wherever a child is knee-deep in raw color
never let time pass away
april two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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