we sang with the coyote
their desert song
in the darkness of a
moonless night
do not be sad my love
although the song may fade
the stars are certain
to align again
december two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
a full frost moon
rises & grows & shines
through the leafless elms
yawning & stretching
toward the opposite horizon
a dark red sky
overtaking cirrus clouds
gradually fading
into a deep purple
succumbing to the night
november two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the wind brought the robin’s
farewell song
briskly whistling through
the crabapple tree
high up in the sky
recycled machine parts
fall in a straight line fashion
picking up speed
but not disintegrating
the crabapple attracts
scores of robins
copping a buzz & chattering
like blue-haired biddies
at a mahjong tournament
no matter how fast
the wind blows westerly
it can’t forever prevent the sky
from crashing the party
november two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s october again
we start talking about pumpkins
and apple orchards
two miles from the highway
gravel road
sure to make an impact
on this life & the next
a sort of roadmap
linking the planet earth
to some place
we’ve not yet visited
a remote fortress if you will
far from all the madness
happening inside a spinning top
colored ocean-blue & elmer’s glue
october two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
at some point I will return
& nothing will be as it seemed
highway 52 has since turned green
all the way from cinnamon roll hill
past the flourishing hamlet of saint donut
the river still runs through everything
creating new veins along the way
mainly thanks to the passage of time
existing in the imagination
the rust on the rocks
have long dusted themselves off
& artificial creations
once made to be transparent
have returned to their original
peacock-like colors
september two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
There are no conclusions
only a somewhat consistent restarting
of forward motion
When you die you may hop aboard
The Accident
commuter train filled beyond capacity
traveling ten times the speed
of her nearest competitor
Anyone lucky enough to step inside
will never want to leave
and those who accidentally get thrown
will mysteriously become a failed
star or a forever satellite
september two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
No matter how many times
the story changes
we can never quite make it
out of the woods
Subtle messages
slip through the treeline
by way of sunlight
If we’re lucky we’ll catch
a few more lines
from Snyder or Whitman
or Mary Oliver
And so we listen
with our hearts
& our minds
attempting to capture
that which is given
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
for Aubrey Jean Mayer
We start naming things
out of the clear blue sky
that oak tree is a monkey spider
the park bench
a Tyrannosaurus Rex
I tell you I’m older than those
hills like white elephants
but you shake your head
and say no way
and I say yes way
and you say no way Jose
She says she loves
puzzles & trains whistles
and I say yes I know
walking hand in hand
further inside the
Hundred Acre Wood
july two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the ocean pulls back
& the moon
wanes
unattended smoldering
slowly advancing
call it a slow burn
if you will
call it a cleansing
a purging
fire on the water
strangely inviting
the earth has never
been this quiet
the airwaves nearly vacant
except for what
the stars
& the quasars giveth
june two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s late but not that late
the sun nowhere in sight
little ones out back yelling
where did it go
where did it go
nobody knows where the
butterflies went
chased away by roman candles
someone did say
someone did say
lost in deep thought
trapping stars in glass jars
smaller than fireflies
falling from the sky
falling from the sky
june two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
mushroom hunting & collecting
stones on a sunny
sunday morning
the river runs through this place
you can hear it from
a mile or so away
you can feel it in your veins
your eyes gradually
become clearer
the stones go in the satchel
the mushrooms
in a bucket
luckily either are easier to find
this time around
some of the trails have
started to fill in from lack of
human footsteps
this place slowly becoming
scarier than it seems
april two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we’re going back to nature
cooking up our own microdoses
bringing our senses back to life
the city is finally far away
having left by way of high wire
after arriving looking up
to my old-time friends
teaching me to breathe (again)
there is much to be found
at eye level & on hands & knees
recipe in tow
& delicate ingredients
at my fingertips
april two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
let me see
let me gather my thoughts
like I gather flowers in the garden
one precise cut at a time
there is something on my mind
it lingers like a ghost
on the shady side of the garden
I sit & wait for it to edge closer
some days are easier
than others
that is widely known
and those that are not
drop hints & clues along the way
a subtle progression
that keeps me wanting more
april two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the bluebells were transplanted
long ago & they’ve been through
their ups & downs
you could say they were borrowed
and never returned
living & dying lo these many years
sometimes posing
other times shying away
as if not caring to be seen
march two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
march unleashed the lion
and suddenly everyone
started breathing again
it won’t be long though
before she’s dead & gone
naturally replaced by
wildflowers & pollinators
march two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how do I go from here
now that the waxing gibbous
is nearly full
stealing my thoughts
and making me motionless
she is a glorious pale melon
rising above the whiteness
that is winter
saying look at me look at me
I am as cold as cold can be
bright like a lantern
on a visibly cloudless night
she exposes my
somber & aimless thoughts
my body warm & spellbound
january two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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