with stained glass wings
the damselfly dances in a realm
of emerald green
where sunlight reflects
low-lying rainbows
the delicate body shimmers
a kaleidoscope of colors
performing dazzling twirls
and pirouettes
like a natural ballerina
feeding along the stream
effortlessly at ease & in balance
it skims the water’s surface
barely whispering into
the fading twilight
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
to understand the language
is to know how the stream
becomes a river
to be a flower you must first
become a pod and a seed
learn to feed off the earth
without sunlight
the rain is stored inside stone
buried & dug up & buried again
alive like human remains
to fly is to study the wings
of bird & insect & angel
listen to their mechanisms
—close your eyes and rise above
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
one of hundreds of thousands
dangling precipitously
I am momentarily
a participant of a
greater collective
awe-inspiring to those
who love all the colors
of the third season
destined to be released
as a single solitary flier
slowly drifting downward
governed by the wind & gravity
my eventual resting place
a shallow muddy puddle
on the side of the road
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
where ducks once floated
now feed on algae-like grass
echoes in the valley
bounce off the bluffs & dissipate
into a stream
that once
was a river
raptors surveil from up high
zeroing in on the lowest denominator
—their symphonic wings
ushering in
the distant lightning
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I sat in the quietness
of the evening
believing my visions of
september daffodils
& october madness
had merit
I told myself
time itself will tell the story
the natural light
in my peripheral
fading minute
by precious minute
september two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
dormant grass
shades of failing green
& dirty brown
river splitting the city
sluggish & low
rocky bottom exposed
clouds in the sky
like carnival animals
refuse to precipitate
manufactured rain
sprinkler casting prisms
children dash & leap
september two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I can’t seem to shake her
anywhere I go
by land or by air or by sea
always on my tail
like a puppy or a shadow
an unshakable soul
I am rarely lost
but often found
hanging out at the shoreline
breathing in the promise
of an unmistakable
tomorrow
come morning you will be here
like a blue moon
in the making
once upon a time thin
as a wafer
relentless & unwavering
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the mountains look like
giant snails
inching their way
toward the bay
the serpentine river
snakes its way
through them
unceremoniously
high above the big sky
—like open arms—
reveals the magical mysteries
each & every night
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’m unable to finish my thoughts
interrupted by the winds
the voices they carry sounding
somewhat familiar
I strain to capture the words
struggle to interpret them
imagining how far they must have traveled
to enter my realm
I come to find they want to know
certain things
answers I do not possess
it is a test I tell myself
the winds die down & the voices fade
darkness settles in
—a coolness arrives
capable of finishing my thoughts again
I write down the words & phrases
handed to me by the winds
spreading them out on the corner table
piecing them back together
my inner voice gaining rhyme & meter
the window always open
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
what’s the point of smashing particles in a
machine that goes round & round ad nauseam
I am a greyhound
racing around the track
chasing the rabbit that somehow
runs faster than me
but miraculously I don’t break into
millions of tiny pieces
having given up on the rabbit
I decide to take the form of a roadrunner
running in circles in the desert for no
good reason
my speed increasing with every lap
my body staying perfectly intact
eventually I retire into the night
my body once again changing shape
this time becoming trillions of grains of sand
trapped inside a glass timer
slipping ever so slowly from the top
to the bottom
until at last
I am a mass of nothingness
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how far back can you remember
chances are if you try
you can go so much further
than ever imagined
imagine if you will
the sounds of the deep deep ocean
surrounding you in serenity
la niña & el niño
alternating in near perfect
harmony
and before that
you sailed past worlds
you can barely remember
slowly coming back into focus
the further you drift away
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it should have been different
than the way it transpired
the way the garden progressed
into a disarray of entanglement
above & below ground
the tame intermingling w/the wild
performing some kind of erotic ritual
—onlookers in awe & disbelief
mouths open & eyes fixated
unable to shake off the images
emblazoned into their psyche
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I fell though by no fault of my own
wavelengths in my brain
crisscrossing atmospheric conditions
with single grain whiskey
when I fell the weather radio went off
a mayhem of sounds of fury
highlighting the sightings of EF5
tornadoes racing across the plains
as I lay there lost & paralyzed
my eyes blinking as if in REM sleep
I witnessed past & future lives
barreling toward my rescue
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
seeing things in the peripheral
that are not there
a roman soldier delivering the mail
a mother suddenly in tears
an angel pirouetting
beneath the streetlamp
who’s to say what is not real
on this here & now planet
presenting images as she pleases
occasionally in obvious ways
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
colors fading on a warm
summer day
a blanket of low lying clouds
forbidding the sun
to display its muscle
the boy asks if the sun
is a god
& I reply
maybe when it’s not raining
he nods his head
questioning the answer
[from within]
his lips moving
but his words unspoken
there’s much work to be done
I tell the boy
but since the colors are fading
we will wait in the wings
until the coast is clear
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they’re talking about us
refractive plants
exhibiting arms
& shoulders
working on
additional features
if you cut them down
will they bleed
if you dig & divide
will they multiple tenfold
there is concern
in the fields
where the alien plants
[in short order]
mimic what they’ve learned
on earth thus far
soon they will be
able to think
soon they will be able
to speak
is it merely a coincidence
that the harvest moon
is scheduled to arrive
any night now
july two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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