the smell of ash
& burnt wood
a slight breeze from
the south
nearly midnight
something is wrong
with the world
the terror within
takes a back seat
to someone
else’s reality
where most struggles
go unnoticed
burning a slow burn
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the walls are paper thin here
I swear you can hear anything
the walls are paper thin indeed
I can hear anything spoken
and better yet what’s not said
when the house is empty baby
and I’m the only who’s here
when the house is empty my love
I can hear you loud & clear
even those thoughts deep within
they come to me loud & clear
the past remains present
inside the walls of eternity
the past but a symbol of youth
inside these walls of eternity
the doorbell ringing yesterday
pretending to be a presence
followed by a knocking on the door
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
where to start when there is
no end in sight
—the beginning much too obvious
but nearly impossible
due to lack of recollection
maybe starting from the middle
is the way to go
—from there you can go in any direction
recalling punches & sweat & adrenaline
the first kiss
and the first rejection slip
and those sweet sweet morsels of pain
—whether physical or mental
in the end they all meld together
because once you go there
so many memories open up
flooding the landscape
as if a dam had been compromised
—but from there the sky’s the limit
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is much to fear
the master said to the student
sitting cross legged on the mat
arms at his side
palms opened over his lap
the student sat facing the master
his eyes blinking once
as if to say he understood
but the fact remained
his greatest fear was to be loved
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
miracles are happening
right before our very eyes
yet somehow they go unnoticed
by the masses
while inconsequential people like me
sit as solitary bystanders
maybe on a park bench
or on the back deck in the shade
wondering how it could possibly be
everyone else is missing it
instead focused on things
that are unimportant
like hate or regret or past mistakes
seemingly festering
like a stomach ache or migraine
without an instant remedy
making me wonder if forgiveness
is something that only exists in fairy tales
like the ones I used to read out loud
when the children were little
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it seems the story
repeats itself
of love & hate & death
one chapter (on the surface)
unrelated to the next
yet somehow over time
coalesce into nothingness
I sat down & wrote a story
of loss & repentance
how the son didn’t belong
to the father
and the mother
in reality
became childless over time
as if her birthing events
hadn’t truly happened
—thereby invalidating
the ending to my story
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the cats and the dogs
were actively taking over
town after town
just like conspiracy theorists
had predicted
it was too incredulous
for even the
fake news
to cover
but boots on the ground
quickly found
no law or no order
in the towns that had fallen
meanwhile back on the trail
politicians took aim
at the issue
some saying there’s nary a problem
others adding fuel to the fire
with their fiery rhetoric
truth is only one person
can stop the madness
that being the one
who stirred the pets into action
in the first place
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
if she wants to cry
you should let her cry
and if she wants to be angry
let her be angry
to the point she breaks down
in tears
in other words
let her be herself
and don’t tell her
how she should act
how she should look
how she should carry herself
in the aisles of grocery stores
or churches or hospitals
if she wants to cry let her cry
and when she’s done
maybe she’ll feel better
and all will be right with the world
at least for a little while
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was seven years old
when man first walked on the moon
for some reason
I recall I really wasn’t amazed
after all I had learned years earlier
and saw for myself
there was already a man on the moon
—and from what I understood
a reality since the dawn of civilization
and now in the news today
amateur astronauts are walking in space
something totally imaginable
except for the fact
there isn’t anything out there
to set your foot upon
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this is where I belong
inside an empty room
inventing a song on the fly
for nobody to hear
after the invention
after all the rewinding
& fast-forwarding
after all the edits have been made
there is still no closure
the end product
nothing like the original
which somehow remains intact
to this day
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this house is scarred
from a past that cannot be buried
counting the number of wounds
is an impossible endeavor
at any given moment one of them
will interrupt
your train of thought
perhaps even put you in a trance
trying to downplay their existence
is fruitless
like the chokeberry bush
planted so many years ago
—as if cursed from the beginning
in this place
the clock always stops at midnight
maybe for a minute
but at times tenfold longer
suspending
any & all breath within
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
political violence seeps into
our children’s dreams
concealed as spiders
& snakes
—when they awaken
talk of wounding & maiming
enter their mainstream conscious
even killing
if that’s what it has to
come down to
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I find myself out of touch
with the god within
an entity I thought
I knew so well
maybe he’s evolved
into someone else
or reverted back
to a former self
I’ve long forgotten
whatever the case
I feel compelled
to remove him
from my head
before he decides
to take over my body
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how does the spider string its way
all the way to the moon
an instinctive labor of love
taking advantage of low lying clouds
and atmospheric winds
propelling itself
past the ever elusive exosphere
otherwise known as
the little miss muffet barrier
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we went from one place to the next
as if in a scavenger hunt
without a list in hand to check off
and wherever we went
strangers seemed to give us things
as if we were trick or treaters
our faces on the outside
apparently looking trustworthy
before hauling ass out of town
we switched out the license plates
on the sixty-nine camaro
put the top down
and took an alternative route
back to mississippi
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
yesterday went by
like the wink of an eye
a microcosm of life itself
the nine o’clock church bell
a distant echo without an end
a black cat in the alleyway
nothing but a shadow
masking an undefinable pain
that will never die
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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