i’m borrowing this rock
i keep in my pocket
uncovered years ago
when starting the garden
i washed it off
in the birdbath
dirtying the water
and giving it new life
for however long i can
july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I stayed under the radar so many years
battling wired demons in cyber alleyways
using keystroke shortcuts and ingenuity
to seek and destroy with a sword I call Sam.
Scaling the mountainous leaderboards
didn’t happen overnight but after a while
double agents offered me synthetic cocktails
and promises of money, women and fame.
When uncovering an unlocked window
to the castle of a fabled power broker
my newfound friends soon followed me
into the compromised vault of treasure.
Once inside my instincts sensed betrayal
and I transformed my key into Sam
the two of us eliminating the inferior threats
escaping with intentions of retiring this time.
july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Exactly one hour before the game
the young player leaves his mother
for the solitude of his bedroom
on a late Saturday morning.
Closing the door behind him
he walks past prior year trophies
of Louisville sluggers atop silver bases
spanning across the dresser.
His lucky number seven uniform
lies across the double bed
nearly spotless except for stains
detergents will never call out.
Transforming himself bit by bit
from stirrups and pants to jersey and cap
his mind centers on catch and throw
on aluminum bat ripping cowhide.
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
wishes will always live
in so many forms
health, happiness and wealth
something as grand
as world peace
or refreshing
as a family in harmony
strangely beautiful words
wish to find true colors
worthy of painting
a world beyond tomorrow
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The garden beds never existed
twenty years ago where a sloping
hill begged to be cut into by an old man
in a bobcat, while younger men
With shovels and levels laid stone blocks
across the yard with precision
and speed, like a kid building
a lego wall for the umpteenth time.
As youngsters we ran carefully through
the new garden, leaping on one stone
circle after another placed in no
particular pattern by my father,
While in between young flowering plants
and herbs and shrubs learned
to adapt and prosper in the rich soil.
Season after season my father
Experimented in the garden,
purchasing deer resistant perennials
from the nursery, using his spade
to plant the new and rearrange
The old, pruning in the Spring
and deadheading in the fall,
raising them as if they were
his second set of children.
In midsummer we visit with our own
little ones who love to hop through
the fully mature garden, abloom
in shades of red and green,
Yellow and purple, blue and orange,
with barely enough room
for anything new, still babied
by the man who raised them so strong.
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The insects inside you bore away
for decades, feasting on your tasty
wood as if it were a never ending meal.
Despite the damage you continued
to morph by extending your roots
and creating more rings,
rising above the majestic blue spruces,
your branches and prolific leaves
scrubbing the air around you.
While I always considered your species
a wild and ugly member of the copse,
I never imagined that on the inside
you were eaten alive by starving parasites
hell bent on sending you tumbling down.
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
what kind of life is this
with all the dirt and disease and dangers
having to bring out your dead
once a month
not to mention
not having access to wikipedia dot org
nor understanding the concept
of pursuing happiness
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Along the riverwalk my soul took turns
it had never taken before. The landscape
of skin and fowl and vegetation introduced
a program of thoughts of unfamiliarity
that encouraged oral and penless poetry.
The language inspired Latino rhythms,
challenged me to find words similar
to cerveza and como se dice. And, as my
tennis-shoed feet encountered both concrete
and water, I almost believed I had lived
here before with some sort of importance.
I saw the Alamo but did not enter–
it was aboveground and therefore off limits.
No matter what the reason, I stayed below
and pretended to exist beyond belief.
nineteen ninety-nine
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
You promised you’d make it back
to Iowa where the fifth season
gives us time to enjoy the other four.
The photos from the Farmer’s Market
are fresh in my mind as I sit and wonder
if they made it all the way to Bagram.
I start the sleds in the shed every so often
knowing they’ll be ready for the trails
once you and the snow finally arrive.
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I found your mirror
when looking for something
in the walk-in closet,
the oval, black-framed one
with the ivory handle.
A lightning bolt crack
shot down from top
to bottom, carving my face
with a sharp knife
misplaced years ago.
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i had taken this road
so many times
in my german sportscar
from highway thirteen
to one fifty-one
just as the sun played
peekaboo with the rolling hills
memory and instinct
found me banking
the wide curves and picking up
speed into the straightways
my mind free
from the distractions
of yesterday’s troubles
slowing into the next
historic cottage
i spotted a freshly paved lane
heading towards the valley’s bluff
my machine fast
flying straight off the edge
into a waking paralysis
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
She blew me a kiss
and I snatched it
out of thin air
– like I always do
told her if only
it wasn’t the last one
I’d be a billionaire
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i road my bike around the city
because i had nothing better
to do. i freed my mind and told
myself i could do this
even at my advanced age.
getting out of the valley was a bitch
but i shifted into the lowest gear
and pretended i was walking
down a flattened hill.
by the time i reached the river
i gave my bicycle to a little boy
and took a taxi home.
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The Feathered Serpent
ruled land and sky
a supernatural deity
worshiped for his duality
When the Fourth Sun
perished in the flood
he traveled deep
beneath the Earth
created a Fifth World
by espousing his own blood
through self-inflicted wounds
to transfuse the bones
of the living dead
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The lights on the other side
of the city come in many
shades of gray
or so he told his daughter
driving in from the country
Over time she realized
the colors changed
with the seasons
one day telling her Daddy
she was smarter than boys
When she packed her bags
and waved goodbye
from the moving train
he just smiled knowing
she’d finished her homework
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I awoke around four
on a Sunday morning
and couldn’t get back to sleep
so I got out of bed
and threw my fishing pole
and tackle box in the back seat
of my Bimmer
headed North to the nearest trout stream
When I reached Monastery Creek
I heard a rooster crow
at a nearby farm
awakening all the superstitious critters
who believed I had come
to save their souls
june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 