I am a stranger in my own land
cast aside like stale eye candy
wrapped in my own shame
I sit half-naked on the curb
a stick in my hand
drawing circles in the dirt
and wondering
who will save me this time
if only I had taken the ho chi minh trail
with those crazy americans
back in sixty-seven
my misery would have exploded into
millions of pieces
and I would now be looking down
on the wonders of the world
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
let go of the anger
leave it at the doorstep
ring the bell and run away
there is no room for it
anywhere or anymore
all it does is drag you down
leaving you
and everyone around you
exhausted
let go of the anger
and reach out to someone
in need
someone you’d never thought
would need help
or someone on the other side
let go of the anger
and instead practice humility
and patience
and gratitude
start proving to yourself
you can live without it
and be someone better
than you were the day before
think of the restraints anger
puts on your life
how it prolongs your depression
and reinforces your addictions
preventing you from ever truly
enjoying the benefits of positivity
hospitality and endless creativity
think about it
think about how losing your anger
would be the best thing the world
would ever know
food will taste better
the air will smell sweeter
and those streaks of light
racing through the sky
will be nothing but beautifully peaceful
january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
nobody cares about nineteen
eighty-four anymore
nobody seems to remember
how lovely the wine tasted
nor how the hash under glass
made the world such a
beautiful place
there is no rewinding
there is only nineteen eighty-four
when the world mushroomed
and there were no more
children to be born
some say the final war
brought lasting peace
to this world
but nobody can be sure
november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
row after row of desktop
computers play leapfrog in a
pentagon controlled pole barn
outside angry peasants wave
baseball bats and throw
expletives at robotic guards
as night collapsed into chaos
revolutionaries trade flashlights
for burning man torches
lights darting above oversee
armed forces hellbent on
accelerating the tipping point
morning fog surrenders to man
and his drum machines
moving on to the next outpost
october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the sun went down
time after time
viewed by synthetic eyes
painted green
computed by plasma minds
learning to change the mood
from elation to blue
the streets disappeared
beneath the earth
giving rise to urban wasteland
man-made armies
evolving into superior thinkers
soon to problem solve
the world’s surrender
october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
planes overhead
fly day and night
going on forever
kneeling with daughter
elbows on bed
one candle casts a light
equipped to the hilt
martyrs and saints
march into the desert
daughter falls asleep
dreams of war drums
advancing up the street
escape routes collapse
from the dead air
I take her hand and run
september two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
call off your eagles
nesting in my trees
they belong back home
protecting your streets
those sharks in the sea
circling near the coast
free them from their wrath
far away from my church
the seven nation army
breathing down my neck
marches on with dignity
only few understand
august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
He was born with a suicide pack
strapped around his waist
not too far from where Jesus the prophet died
nor too far from where the once trendiest cafe in town
is now a basketball court
Through the age of seven he pleased Allah
by wearing the gift with pride
fully understanding his duty
was more powerful
than his circumcised phallus
As the eventual light self-destructed
into angelic chaos of heavenly proportions
he leapt into the next dimension
and into the arms
of seventy-two virgins
august two thousand thirteen
original version october two thousand seven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
born into a disconnected world
thousands of years back or forwards
angry young men
count using hands and feet
and algorithms buried
beneath the rubble
without warning there is no danger
there are only unexplained explosions
breathing new life
into a universe dying to attract
everything that is beautiful
inside a perfect circle
august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the bichon is on to something
he knows better
about going outside
where the dangers have crept
from the country to the city
over a period of
less than a dog’s life
chester didn’t used to be this way
but the latest barrage
of borrowed artillery
has taken its toll on his fragility
has left him second guessing
every single move he’s made
since he was a baby
july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I sometimes imagine
what the fall of america
will be like and wonder
what similarities its cities will share
with the likes of sparta and pompeii
delphi and olympia
tikal and memphis
I imagine the people will flee
from the cities and find
a much simpler life
free from the burden
of a bigoted government
learning to live a new way
peacefully within its own means
may two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I hunker down in a hawkish grotto
where nobody can find my prize
where the light of day
seems a light year away
and hound dogs
are just a figment of my imagination
there is plenty of food for thought
and sweet nectar can be tapped
from these ancient walls
measuring ten stories tall
adorned with objects
painted on throughout the centuries
exiled into this self-imposed solitude
I am at peace with my new mission
guarding the evils
locked inside this silo
hoping and praying
the world lives beyond its darkest days
april two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they shot the protester
because he did protest
yet at his publicized memorial
they celebrated his life
as a court jester
the queen became enraged
at the death of the jester
and she dispatched the royal
police to hunt down
the transparent killers
the transparent killers dissolved
into the adjoining kingdom
blending with the locals
by begging for change
on street corners
recharged with fresh dollars
more protesters perish
by organized zealots
rudimentarily disguised
as the new court jester
april two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s a revolution brewing
and it’s going to be loud
and dangerous and downright
unintellectual for so many
old women stand in long lines
buying magazines for their men
while inside dogs stay huddled
behind yet intact furniture
unrecruited men and boys
hide behind alleyways
reading the latest reports
from handheld devices
a voice from the loudspeaker
claiming to be the answer
promises free tickets to paradise
and chocolate for everyone
april two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in the middle of the afternoon
the lights went out in the city
and all the people
filed out into the street from the skyscrapers
and candy stores
and barber shops
and taverns
quiet as kindergarteners on a fire drill
it was like the calm before the storm
as the full moon
performed its magic
only this time
as it slowly penetrated into the light
it was shot down
by a thousand arrows
launched from within the earth
march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
She hated the food, the guards,
the very place where her family
and servants were certain to die;
where somehow, miraculously,
the daughters of the Monarchy
would forever shroud any evidence of
advancing the Romanov bloodline.
Soldiers patrolled the mansion turned
prison, walking the halls as muffled conversations
seeped through the walls and floors,
the Czarina’s voice carrying through
the airspaces and into the room
where her daughters sewed hurriedly.
Anastasia found such affairs interesting,
her mother’s motives incredulous;
moved her emotions to extremes, especially
with thoughts of surviving the execution,
saddened at the thought of losing everything else.
Just before the Czarina and the girls
were blindfolded and taken away,
they had feverishly finished tatting
the final, precious stones
into their executional clothing.
As the boots kicked in the doors
and pointed their rifles at the family fortune,
the girls fastened their bullet-proof vests,
marched down to the cellar as commanded.
Nicholas II and Alexandra fell,
as well as their weakened son, Alexei,
his doctor, and three servants.
Just after the bullets ended their consciousness,
the eleven marksmen lowered their rifles,
gunpowder overtaking the dankness in the air.
As the shots rang out all eleven
fell; Anastasia and her sisters
lost all life in their limbs,
their minds make-believing death,
their faces touching the blood
that was not to live on.
Over and over and over again
the Czarina implanted what actions
were necessary for survival.
And as her daughters fell
they never made a sound,
and prayed to Jesus
they would live another day.
rewrite from november two thousand six
audio recorded march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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