it was a deafening ride
to the top of the clouds
and the further we climbed
the quieter the night became
one by one we jumped
through the crescent moon
the relative wind pushing us
toward our desired target
once reaching terminal velocity
we expanded our wings
and eased into the uncertainty
of a hostile territory
february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the poetry i wrote ages ago
doesn’t belong to me anymore
the person that wrote those lines
of despair and shame and utter honesty
has long been gone
it’s almost as if he died from self-inflicted wounds
from too much booze and tabacco
and whoring around
from not giving a shit about work
or baseball
or forgetting to buy chocolate and roses
on valentine’s day
reading page after page of the drivel
i want to tear them to pieces
but something inside me
won’t let it happen
because deep down i’m in love with the words
that used to bring me joy knowing my misery
was no different than yours
february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The lines go back far they do
lines drawn on a map
from somewhere in Pennsylvania
via Antwerp and Brussels
The little girl grew into an iron-fisted
Matriarch who rang the bell at five
to feed her boys the holiest of bread
while reciting hymnals of fear and guilt
Her shepherdless husband
followed her trail to Illinois
to a sleepy town her brother first discovered
years before boarding SS Vaderland
It was there tempers raged within
from the ethnically charged populous
but she managed self-restraint
and seldom raised her hand
against her own Motherland
But for her brother the chains broke
and wickedness unleashed itself
on Christmas Day
as the quietness of the neighborhood
exploded with a single shot of insanity
That dying branch still hangs crooked
on the corner of Rose and Lexington
its venomous DNA lingering
inside a sleepy little child
february two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Dedicated to Gary W. Keena
March 1, 1952 – February 1, 2013
What have you to live for
before you leave this world? before you’re on your own?
What cause will you die for
in your final hour? at your greatest need?
Tell me before you leave, what have you to say?
Tell me of the lonely riddle and the unknown way.
Old man, sit up straight,
don’t cough away your life…don’t hide your eyes.
Listen to my words of wonder;
do they matter? who really cares?
Answer me one question
before you leave this world…to satisfy my fear.
Tell me if you know
where you’re going next…tell me of paradise.
Today, today, it yearns for yesterday;
take me back one day so I might know the secret of creation.
Tell me before you leave, what have you to say?
Tell me of the lonely riddle and the unknown way.
About Gary
Poetry Video
recorded and posted february second two thousand thirteen
originally written circa nineteen eighty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s nothing new
going on around here
except for elvis and jesus
walking the streets again
everywhere around the globe
people are revolting
while special forces make sure
they’re in on the action
the price of oil fluctuates
like the unpredictable warming
giving rise to speculation
the end is already here
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
when i was a butterfly
i floated with the best of them
from country meadow
to urban garden
my world an eternal adventure
of technicolor and sound
when i was a butterfly
children chased me with their nets
but my keen instincts
evaded their hopes
of ever capturing the beauty
forever felt in their hearts
when i was a butterfly
every day was like a dream
of first impressions
repeating themselves
toward an expanding evolution
of psychedelic freedom
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
for centuries the sloping hill
produced a bouquet of artistry
sewn into the grass
and handpicked by flower children
an annual blizzard blanketed
the hill and invited participants
to hasten up and down
using any means possible
as the city slowly crawled outward
leaving concrete in its wake
the sloping hill cried
shaking and moaning and hurting
the forward motion gradually
violated the internal integrity
of her existence
until one day without warning
she simply
sailed away
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there are too many bad guys
running around.
they’re everywhere
and they make everyone nervous.
these bad guys either carry guns
or they have access to them
or they have whole armies
at their disposal.
there are too many bad guys
running around.
they go to school
or work for the private sector
or the public sector
or no sector at all.
the bad guys either work alone
or become organized as gangs:
some considered illegal
and some considered legitimate
depending upon your perspective.
there are too many bad guys
running around and can be found
anywhere on the planet.
just pick a spot.
they are on television
and some of them provide the news
about the bad guys in waterloo
or shanghai or timbuktu.
there are too many bad guys
running around and they aren’t
going away anytime soon.
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
waves created from a kiss
blown from the palm of my hand
transverse through space
in a spherical spin
attracting electrons and positrons
in twin phase arrangements
before completely absorbed
deep into your skin
‘transit kiss’ youtube video
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
thoughts begin to falter
as my blood pressure
takes a sudden drop
helicopter blades cut
into the dark night
racing toward the cross
on the ground miracle
workers scramble
to prepare the table
it’s gonna be all right
someone told me
is all that i remember
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she’d been crying
but that was nothing new
nothing a few drinks couldn’t fix
she adjusted herself on the park bench
stretched her neck and
crossed her legs
eyes clearing and focusing
on all the people walking by
if only i could warn others about him
she mumbled
there wouldn’t be a next victim
and his toxicity
would just drain away
like a dead car battery
if only i could tell others
to run the other way
if they ever encounter
this monster
they would never know
how he’s destroyed a few homes
and brags about sleeping
with married women
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sitting cross-legged on the floor
my mind shut the door
and i was left alone
in the dark
with a candle and a match
i closed my eyes and focused
on a fire burning in the belly
of a giant fish that swallowed me whole
delivering me to unfathomable depths
where indescribable creatures
ruled an invisible world
as ocean waves crashed on top of me
the door violently swung open
and the room became drenched
with natural light
my hand still holding
the unlit match
the candle
nowhere to be found
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in the dream moses
splits the field of dreams
and turns a bush
into a bonfire in the center
of centerfield
notables like mantle
and cobb and simon peter
chew redman and spit
into the fire
casting pearls before swine
and laughing like little girls
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i searched everywhere
for the button
that fell off my favorite jacket
but i just couldn’t find
the damn thing
it was as if the world
was testing me
to see if i would dare go out
wearing such a beautiful jacket
with a button missing
i opened the refrigerator
and there stood
a dozen pale ales suggesting
i drop the needle and thread
and let the button go
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i left the house unlocked
with all the lights on
and ventured down the hill
in the dark and in the cold
within minutes a warmth
surprised my cool thoughts
as the faraway wall of clouds
evolved into pink and red
and purple and blue
as my meandering mind
marched further away
a bright red fire truck
appeared out of nowhere
blasting its dominant horn
and racing to save the day
a trio of three dogs named
java and cocoa and sally
halted in their tracks
as if envious of the dalmatian
sitting at attention and
riding shotgun
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
screams crescendo down
the narrow roadway
bouncing off adobe walls
of old townhouses
bodies racing recklessly through the corridor
as arms and legs
flip exaggeratingly
propelled into the air
by the jerk and thrust of enraged bulls
whose nostrils snort fear
and blast steam
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 