friday night in east village
streetlamps aglow
passersby breathing visibly
hands either gloved
or formed as fists
stuffed inside coat pockets
meteorological winter
yet weeks away
but for tonight
is clear and present
the cloudless sky
boasting all its shiny lanterns
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
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sheep at large in city center
unshorn and hungry
packing knives and forks
counting down the days
until january thaw
beat cops in woolen coats
keep them on their toes
tapping night sticks on
frozen sidewalk
nudging them along
nearby sanctuary house
opens its arms
practicing what it preaches
the good shepherd himself
promising warmer days ahead
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
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I’ve been receiving these calls
from faraway places
thanking me for my stay here
and wishing me sweet success
I’d not noticed those eyes before
rising from the east
but now I fear it may be too late
experimenting with their recreation
using charcoal or oil or water
after traveling so many miles
to get one more glimpse
of a past fraught with flaws
I foolishly think how I could
make amends with one last goodbye
now that time is no longer
of the essence
I draw the blinds to a room
forever etched in my waking dreams
reminding myself how I never
truly belonged here
december two thousand eighteen
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flashing back to sixty-nine
miracle mets ruining my summer
and the ensuing autumn
forever stamped as an asterisk
in my playbook
in november I received
a green single-speed schwinn
for my birthday
but was forced to postpone
its maiden voyage
until the late february thaw
it was a long and lonely winter
(that much I remember)
and I was afraid
even then
that I was going to run out of time
how little did I know
december two thousand eighteen
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all rights reserve
wherein your frustrations lay
a memory resides worth unearthing
buried beneath fortunes good and bad
a reminder of better times ahead
emotions tied to the ebb and flow
whether near the sea or far from shore
and strung along by hypersensitive moon
swim in your tumultuous waters
waves of intensity arise unannounced
testing your capacity for compassion
a merry reminder there’s nowhere to hide
when violet-backed starlings come around
december two thousand eighteen
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all rights reserve
for thirty years he found his way
from one place to the next
accepted by contemporaries
and admired for his insistence
on making the world a better place
orphaned at the age of three
he left his birthplace Latrobe
with a motherless family of five
his adoptive father
a tanner turned farmer
staking a claim in eastern Iowa
though a member of no church
his views on nature reflected
the good there is in man
all the while exercising charity
and condemning none
wherever he worked
innovation soon followed
his adventurous spirit a godsend
to each community he served
though illness plagued him
wherever he traveled
he never murmured nor complained
boldly facing the inevitable
crossing the dark waters
with a firm reliance
on mercy and love and destiny
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
in the kitchen uncaged canaries
chat amongst themselves
swapping oft-told tales and
keeping secrets from
black & white cat crouched
against shadowy wall
outside red-breasted nuthatches
mimic dog barking at jet airliner
piercing cumulus clouds
waiting for aforementioned feline
to give them another chance
at target practice
december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
I’ve not been down this road
in decades
pushing foot on clutch
and shifting gears
reliving a life that has no end
trees weeping around the bend
eyes crystal clear and protected
by bill of cap
sun baking asphalt
and tires gripping
speeding forward toward the light
resting stop nowhere in sight
soul-searching takes a back seat
on saturdays
traversing new paths
and fantasizing
top down and silk scarf ablaze
sunglasses concealing your gaze
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
we live in interesting times
or so the saying goes
rich either sincere or corrupt
benevolent or bankrupt
meanwhile price of oil reaches
all-time highs
dominoes falling where they may
leaving common man (if you will)
lying splat on city sidewalks
we’ve been down this road before
whether one hundred
or two hundred
or three hundred years ago
life expectancies
fluctuating with sign of the times
be it from absurd exuberance
or quiet desolation
crashes come and crashes go
rebuildings always incomplete
no thanks to ill-gotten gains
and empty promises
eventually price of oil falls
back in line with expectations
and once again past sins are forgiven
summer holidays restored
november two thousand eighteen
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all rights reserve
it seems we’ve had this conversation before
but it bears repeating
in case you missed it the first time
I can’t seem to remember
if the narrative was fact or fiction
but either way remains relevant this day and age
“you see there are hearts that are hurting
in such a way even open surgery
cannot remedy
in such a way that words or deeds or promises
are rendered useless”
if memory serves me right
the storyteller has eyes like infinite magnets
sparkling in night sky
playing both hero and villain
she laughs at the inevitable
whilst crying for one more breath of life
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
there is greed at the top
and fear at bottom
but where I stand today
at the precipice of this world
and the next
neither comes close to mind
instead
I find myself questioning
the validity
of rational thought
or reason for second guessing
each and every wager placed
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
we fished off the docks
overcast sunday morning
praying for a break
weatherman says
tomorrow should be better
once churchgoers
and earthworms are all
back at work
most of us don’t
give a damn
about day jobs or night life
let alone the cost of
living or dying
river keeps calling
finding ourselves responding
come rain or come shine
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
north by northwest winds do blow
giving rise to wooden and metallic chimes
previously content and on the down-low
I thought I had put them away for the winter
but alas they are alive again
imitating hummingbirds feeding voraciously
somewhere below the tropic of cancer
although the fire may be burning bright
do not shutter your windows my dear
for tomorrow a shining light may arrive
bringing forth the freshest of air
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is emotion in your thoughts
and in your dreams
but once awake you are drained
finding yourself wondering
how to start all over again
and so you put on blue jeans
make your way into the kitchen
crack open egg atop butter
melting on hot pan
white and yolk taking over flat surface
like a still life painting
or watercolor
hanging on studio wall
soon thereafter emotions
creep back into your thoughts
rejuvenated by a paltry life
that simply wasn’t meant to be
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
my friend walks on thin air
carrying a box
wrapped like a present
kelly green with white sparkles
laced with red ribbon
it doesn’t matter what’s inside
be it witchcraft
or magic beans
perhaps a talisman
or winter snowstorm
my friend opens her heart
the rest of us
gazing at night sky
and blinking repeatedly
counting each and every star
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
I buried something
near the tulips
and if I give myself enough time
I’m bound to remember
what it was
you were my shovel
my pick axe
stick matches in my back pocket
weathered pine burning
in the pit
on a late autumn afternoon
outside everything is white
including waxing gibbous moon
slowly burning through fog
eventually I can see you
wiping clear the window pane
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserve
jdubqca 