they like to hang out around here
ever since the place became less volatile
sensing a sea of tranquility quietly
transforming the surrounding terra firma
angelic mysteries elevating the living space
bringing in nature’s philharmonic symphony
one chair at a time
july two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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the birds love it here for many reasons
I wonder if they realize
I love them being here as well
they have no need to know my number
and I don’t need to know theirs
sitting in silence is impossible
as long as they’re around
singing & chatting & discussing
how the winds change their views
the shape & sizes of the clouds above
the colors & textures below
on the back deck I am building
yet another birdhouse
they seem to be engaged & learning
imitating the sawing
the hammering
the sanding
applauding after completion
june two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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how the weather rules
making or breaking the redness
of the newly-picked tomato
imitating the strawberry moon
providing a temporary light
to the eerie stillness
of that night before the storm
devastating crops
wreaking havoc on food chains
and supply chains
affecting the cost of living
of those already inching
toward the precipice
where sea invades land
june two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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where did the snow go
after all was said & done
even the mountaintops
are void the color white
gale-force winds
snuffing the candle’s wick
where did the snow go
after the seasonal rains
brooks & streams & creeks
swelling and flowing
rivers beyond banks & lakes bulging
like the waxing gibbous moon
where did the snow go
or was it simply sleight of hand
eyes looking upward
into an unfamiliar troposphere
tricking the mind into believing
the brilliance is forever gone
june two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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the wetlands are right around the corner
but we’re not going there
instead we’re heading north by northwest
to the grand opening of a discotheque slash karaoke bar
it’s true there are pink flamingos
at the wetlands
this time of year
doing their very own version of the break dance
the winds & crickets
cicadas & amphibians
all contributing to the rhythm of the vibe
the neon lights courtesy of their own imagination
june two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve been waiting for the cicadas
to arrive
waiting for their sound
to replace the day’s
ordinary drone
I’ve grown accustomed to
when they arrive
I’ll be willing & able to join them
if not in song
then by in death itself
leaving behind a translucent shell
as someone else’s prize
june two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
on a cool moonless night
ubiquitous catcalls occasionally
pierce through tightly locked windows
it is a preternatural occurrence
the hairs on your arms
spontaneously rising toward the ceiling
the ceiling itself is a misnomer
and once grasping its possibilities
the sooner you’ll want to leave this world
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
embedded inside a cloud
I scanned the ground below
absorbing the color pigments
into my own virtually brown skin
darkened by an unrelenting sun
I squeeze oils out of the cloud
rubbing them on my body
instantly feeling a warm relief
a sort of self-medicating ritual
leaving me feeling better
about myself & the world below
the panacea spreading like wildfire
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I wonder what they’re saying
chatty birds in nearby trees
clearly heard amid the calm
before the storm
might they be saying
get underground all you fools
or better yet be prepared
to ride with the wind
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
lost in the moment
tree frogs & cicadas
fine-tuning their evening song
the first star appearing
in the darkening ceiling
—worlds far away far from motionless
what were you thinking (if anything)
when you kissed me so sweetly
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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she said if I would stop working
on trying to solve the mystery
of the universe
maybe we’d be living
by the sea by now
I pretended not to hear
magnifying glass in hand
following the spider
making its way across the rug
and you should take that thing down
she went on to say
pointing at the corner ceiling
at the microcosm
of the world wide web
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I walked along the river
its current
streaming through
bone conduction headphones
I turn the volume up
using thought commands
—the early spring leaves
in the very tall trees
growing greener
by the minute
the eagle sees the crow
but not vice versa
hawks circling overhead
escorting me along
the shoulder of the road
zeroing in on the welcome sign
at a trailhead
the river reminds me
home is further from the truth
suggesting its best
to stay close to her banks
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
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though the thrill remains
it has taken a backseat
come monday morning
the rooster down the road
late to the party
mainly due to the fallout
of the geomagnetic night sky
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Heaven is comfort, but it’s still not living.
― Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones
I was working on a lullaby
right around midnight
searching for words that rhyme with
worms & undercover
They say the funnel cloud
sounds like a fast approaching locomotive
but it’s nothing more than a mere dream
when a child is fast asleep
If you ever tore anything to pieces
with your own bare hands
you might have an appreciation for
the reality of true brute force
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is information
in the grapevine
palpitations in the bleeding hearts
tiny mirrors in the garden
playing tricks with the sun
attracting wings of all sizes
protecting the evolution
of a fragile ground game
april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
one day I won’t be a burden
spoken about on rare occasions
about hummingbird feeders
the old convertible in the garage
some stories will be harsh
others fatally funny
near death experiences retold
—the runaway character
the recluse looking down upon the sea
I never expressed final wishes
but once imagined being a tree
planted along the cedar
just as she succumbs to the iowa
april two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 