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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the category “War Poems”

regimental marching band


they appeared out of the west wing
of a virtual stage
sleepwalking puppets
marching along a shoulder-high wall
made of various shades of reddish
brown pavers
held together over countless scores
by weeping concrete

their wooden heads bobbed and weaved
eyes dark as night
and gazing at hazardous skies
some carrying arms
while others waved flags of various nations
those pushing up the rear
keeping time on tom-toms
and bamboo fifes

off they went systematically along
the bloodlined wall
never again to return
surely to be replaced by a band of brothers
temporarily held together
by the thinnest of wires
or no wires at all



february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

fighting over rings and things


we can’t ever forget hate
it’s tattooed on our biceps
trademarked on baseball bats
and army issued khaki pants

we walk around with grudges
taped on our faces like some
splintered biblical family that never
went to church on sundays
nor practiced what they preached

real estate is abundantly spacious
once you are dead and gone
catapulted into the farthest
reaches of the unknown
but in the meantime
we treat it like some precious ring
nobody in this world
deserves to possess



february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lord of my machines


he took the microphone
and introduced himself
men without souls below him
fists raising and voices cheering
redefining their short-lived lives
chanting ingrained mantras

he convinced them they are
more than mere machines
destined to find praise and glory
long after the killing is done



january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

more dangerous dead


twenty-five lifetimes ago
there I was
witnessing the truth with my
very own eyes
chronicling
the birth
the childhood lessons
the ministry of the baptist
(and his beheading)
the sermon on the mount
the riding into town on a donkey

since then throughout
all these centuries
I’ve watched this beautifully
tolerant notion of community
torn down and
snatched by ordinary thugs
manipulated and maligned
encompassing the earth
like thin strands of truth
woven from east to west

and if you pluck one here
or strum a few over there
you just might create
a little harmony

or a whole lot of war



december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

spinning further and further out of control


time has brought change though it seems
everything remains the same
except that there are more of us going about our lives
doing the things we love to do and
doing nothing about the things we hate
because the challenge is just too daunting

so we allow all-powerful corporations to
continue making profits on weaponry and war
allow all-powerful governments to preach
peace while covertly perpetuating
conflict in faraway places
maintaining instability that has lasted
thousands of years
where lives are continually torn down and
wearily rebuilt over and over again
where faces of children
don’t understand the meaning of happiness
because they are forced to live in a world
continually spinning in a direction that is
contradictory to everything decent and just



december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

angels of mercy


birds of all nations storm
war-torn suburbia
switchblades and derringers
concealed under wing
blanketing rooftops and lining live wires
waiting patiently for night to fall

predawn fog smothers the moon
and silences the stars
cloaking angels of mercy
and their effortless wings
zeroing in on and sweeping away
newly orphaned refugees


november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

recounting history


the torch may fade from time to time
may flicker like a pilot’s light
disappearing over the sea

below the surface the torch
resumes its glow
likely to be found by henchmen
digging foxholes

beware the silence
they warned
lifting their torches
and charging a newfound
enemy with fiery explosions

in the aftermath smoldering fires
resurrect memories of old promises
feeding those who hunger
rebuilding what was destroyed

as new histories emerge new
generations evolve
securing the torches in submerged silos
believing that without peace
all the yesterdays of the world
added up to nothing



november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

finding your way back home


friday night limousine riders
speeding some seventy
miles per hour
cut up lemons and dispense
margaritas without rocks

outside airport secret police
intercept intelligence and
issue search warrants
briskly escorting illicit riders
to a flight of their life

dropped behind enemy lines
grown boys sober up quickly
burning camouflaged parachutes
and skirting the edges
hoping to find their way home
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october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

who’ll stop the charade


there is a storm brewing
simmering in a big black pot
stirred by faceless warlords
pretending life
doesn’t matter much

high winds blow madness
into the next town
precisely honed strikes
wiping out historic deception
as new chief lays down
new laws

war drums beat relentlessly
inside children’s dreams
bringing showers
to the desert and
drought to the streams
turning camels into arks and
temples into zoos

from the beginning we are told
there is no time to write home
there is only more life
and more land
to claim for our own




october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

perpetual suffering


we didn’t sign up for this
but there we were
pistols raised above our heads
faces covered with red
paisley bandanas
ending fairy tale lives
and abetting a revolution
handed down for centuries

everyone knew the wild west
would eventually cycle back
to the eastern front
where women lay low and
protect and feed their children
until old enough
to perpetuate the suffering


september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

broken


world is broken in so many ways
though weapons are working
perfectly fine
precisely hitting
ordinary targets deemed
to be harboring
neither aspiration nor dream

we’ve heard this story retold
ad nauseam
seen it played out in theater
(time and again)
two-bit actors slaughtering
their lines as directed by
apocalyptic producers
feeding on senselessness





july two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

imagine


these neighborhoods
reside in underworld riddles
subjected to laws
systematically enforced
by remote controls

stepping on stones
children experience daring truths
along boundary lines
carving their world from another
looking from afar

latest weapons
brutally scratch hard surfaces
buckling the pavement
like tectonic plates exploding
and consuming homes

lord have mercy
mothers lament repeatedly
sprawled on city streets
grown children riddled with bullets
limp in barren arms

lifeless bodies
encircle living among dead
pleading up on high
beating breasts and shouting for world
to imagine peace



july two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

too many trains


I do not like the trains
daddy
I do not like how they take
my friends away

those trains are not for people
daddy
they are for cows and pigs
destined for the slaughterhouse

I’ve seen the train stations
daddy
I watched through the fence
have witnessed the police tell my friends
they are going to a better place

they line them up like animals
daddy
day after day all summer long
stuffing them into windowless cars

I know the police are lying
daddy
please please please do not let them
put me on a train



june two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

true interpretations


it rained all night
and while I slept sharks
swam in circles around my body
either protecting me from myself
or saving me for later

awakened by wind sweeping in
morning sunshine
I took to the kitchen
coffee maker abuzz
birds of the air outside my window
like chatty statuettes
swapping old stories

settling back into real-time solitude
I revisit casualties
both foreign and domestic
making headlines on print and
television and internet
their bodies dead or dying
my prayers hoping they find
doves soaring on the other side

unable to shake the current
course of events
I stare into my oversized cup
of morning petroleum
dorsal fins circling above the surface
daring me to find out the true
interpretation to my dream


june two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

hurry sundown


hurry sundown
so we may pretend
flashes in the sky are lightning bolts
and sirens sounding in the night
mere weather warnings

hurry sundown
so we may pretend
that the faraway drums are rolling thunder
and the stomping of boots on concrete
just a relentless downpour

hurry sundown
so we may pretend
to sneak away like children of the night
uncaging the white doves held captive
by enemies with false memories




may two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

we regret to inform you


let it ring
don’t answer that

nobody’s home right now
especially now

outside it’s raining and sometimes
it seems the doorbell is ringing
but it’s just the rain
ringing in my ear

and that pounding
the pounding on the door
that’s just my head
repeatedly shouting
no no no don’t answer that
don’t you dare let anyone in





april two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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