This blank white page
is about to be changed
is about to be creased
and bent in ways
never before imagined.
At the mercy
of folds and reversals
this piece of paper
takes on various shapes
such as triangles and trapezoids
and quadrilaterals
in the end resembling
some sort of
prehistoric creature
with bad intentions.
february two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Walked a mile to see a friend
On the last day of his life
Just to hear what he had to say
Just to listen to his lies
I study his eyes they tell me
Something you should know
They tell me about the monsters
And how they stole the show
He talked of his days in poverty
And how he rock & rolled
Showed me worn-out photos
From the days he worked alone
But we all knew another tale
The one he’d never tell
Like one day up upon the hill
The monsters looked so real
The monsters must have took his life
The monsters must have won
They took away his sanity
They stole away his son
But we all knew another tale
The one he’d never tell
When one day up upon the hill
The monsters looked so real
He said his past was not for real
He believed in another time
He walked the halls of yesteryear
And searched up in the skies
He never lived without the fear
Knowing that death was near
Never found the greater truth
Until the monsters took his hill
The monsters must have took his life
The monsters must have won
They live down deep inside of us
They’re always having fun
two thousand four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
We drove through the cemetery
in the dead of winter
until we found the blue canopy
flopping in the wind
Many inches of snow had fallen
the night before but the plow
had cleared the lanes
A bright sun and dress shoes
hit the asphalt with purpose
As many as a hundred faces
converged on the canopy
in steadfast silence
Gusts of wind arrived from the west
and tossed snow off the roof
and onto the gatherers
Familiar prayers were recited
between coughs and sniffles
and one woman’s weeping
When a bugler played
a familiar lullaby
the vacant faces drifted
in varying directions
whispers of sorrow filling the air
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we dove into the waters
and found a way
to not only survive
but thrive
without the usual oxygen
we once took for granted
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
He entered the house where decades ago he slept in a crib
in one of four bedrooms. Once inside a curious sense of loss
breathed throughout the rooms void of knickknacks and heirlooms.
A flurry of past and present images projected onto the walls
as memories both vague and succinct darted here and there.
In the kitchen the refrigerator exhaled and ice hit the empty tray.
Bending on one knee he reached his arm and unplugged the unit,
a slight emission emanating a smell much like Marlboro Light.
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I love my little wiener dog
she loves me just the same
we like to go on little walks
and play the chasing game
Her legs are short and stubby
they move so very fast
her snout is long and funny
and good for hunting rats
We like to go into the woods
where she can sniff and dig
sometimes we come up empty
but mostly come up big
I love my little wiener dog
it’s such a simple fact
we like to cuddle on the couch
and munch on Scooby Snacks
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Her photograph had faded
over the years
its corners bent
the once off-white border
discolored from finger-oil
Over time she slipped inside
a plastic sleeve
her visage turning softer
her smile faraway yet forgiving
To be sure no words matched
the strength of her photograph
her haunting thoughts
filling my dreams
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The cat roams the house
like it owns the place
talking to humans only
when hungry or wanting
a door open
She can be found
where the sun shines
like on a window sill
or in complete darkness
like a closet
depending upon her mood
She makes few friends
and is absolutely in love
with the woman of the house
which is sometimes her
Even now I’m not sure
why I ever give her
the time of day
or her very own poem
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Mama always sat on the glider
on the front porch, slightly
swinging and knitting away
on a scarf or such,
looking up every now and then
to keep tabs on her chickens.
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Man.
We contempt and condemn
compromise and concede
ridicule and joke with
and otherwise
turn a blind eye
to the fact
we have no proof
the roller coaster ride
outside the Earth’s orbit
is meant for our kind.
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Beyond the atmosphere
enjoying the colorful scenery
flying really fast
Earth is my dartboard
and I am way off base
I wish I could hit the ground
but I am just one
out of trillions
flying beyond
any gravitational pull
I would lie
if I said I was part
of the dinosaur extinction
Would be wrong
if I said
I was a twinkle
in someone’s eyes
Truth be known
nobody has any idea
where I landed
beyond any planet’s horizon
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i am the bird
resting
alone on a wire
listening to the wind
and waiting
for something to die
i am the wind
blowing from the east
bringing fresh air
to a flower
desperate
for better days
i am the sunrise
on a cloudless morning
burning the sky
with intensity
and promising
life after life
december two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
This trail used to go deep
into the woods
where trees grew twenty stories tall
and wept at night
when the wind blew just right.
Exactly half-way in
a circular fire pit made of round stones
and built by natives
brought order and clarity
inside this forgotten place.
Whenever I lose sight
or long to reminisce
I close my eyes and dream
of the Indian Trail
I miss so much.
december two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Forgotten allusions
conjured at night
reappear when least expected
and make our lives
a little more interesting
like who we really are
or how we could be
Remembered dreams
either delight or haunt us
it is their inconsistency
or congruency
which lead us to accept
or pretend
not to live with them
nineteen ninety-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Whispers could be heard
Beneath the leaves
The ones fallen seasons ago
When there was no reason
To believe time would ever end
Softly worded thoughts
Seemed to travel close to home
Yet when trying to pinpoint
The source it became clear
It was something universal
Out of disharmony beautiful
Music seemingly appeared
Played by angels pretending
To be popular nestled
Comfortably in the backyard
On a cool autumn evening
march, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
A team of urban gauchos
surround a wandering cow
on a colorful street in Delhi
the sacred animal managing
to snarl traffic for over an hour
The arrival of city-hired cowboys
with their oversized truck
and ropes and bells
bring applause and protests
by the neighboring swarm
of residents and tourists
Calls of instructions compete
with the constant honking of horns
some warning the cowhands
not to harm the beast
while others suggest transporting her
to the nearest butcher shop
Eventually the cow catchers
convince their newfound friend
to mosey up the plank
and into the truck bed
casually whispering into her ear
the grass is much greener
outside the city
october, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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