jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

The Spill


There’s something in the water
but that doesn’t stop the Joneses
from brewing their own beer

Meanwhile Missus Thompson
is unloading a couple of cases of bottled
water into her garage

You shouldn’t buy all that plastic
I yell from across the street

Why not she yells back

I say it’s not good for the oceans
and she says there ain’t no
oceans around here

I hope you’re not drinking the water
she goes on to say
closing the trunk of her Caddy

No worries I’m off water I calmly reply
I’m only drinking beer


september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

without time on his side


life is short but music lasts forever
this much he knew

he wanted to be taller
but accepted his shortness
decided it would be best
to focus on music

finding ways to make it beautiful
varying in duration
adding meaningful lyrics
seemingly conjured out of thin air

fully believing
he was paving the way for the future
the music in his ear
suddenly vanished
leaving behind a number of works
he had created
in a very short period of time


september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

time to go home


they found him in the kitchen
doing parlor tricks for the little ones
like separating his thumb from his hand
or making quarters disappear only to
reappear in unusual places

c’mon pops it’s time to go
—time to go where
time to go home
—but I thought this was my home

when they led him out of the kitchen
all the little ones begged
for him to stay


september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the boy prince & the wizard’s wife


chances are you would find
her in the cookery
usually a big black pot
on the largest stovetop burner
control knob set to simmer

on this day she would turn
me into a frog or toad
or maybe it was a salamander
my self-imposed mission
to set out alone in the cold cold world
to see if was possible
for anyone to love me


september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

fading into the light


from the balcony
on a cool evening
controlled fires
can be seen if not heard
in the distance

the smoke is palpable
mixing with birdsong & dewey grasses
the fading light mimicking
a quickly falling sun

night falls suddenly
the deadness of the air
like a cold chill out of nowhere
somewhat smothering
like lingering smoke
a stark contrast to the lights waltzing
far beyond the sky


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the rhythm of the day


when you have no idea
what your next move might be
or if tomorrow is even
a possibility
that’s just the right time
to breathe in
whatever air you can find
exhaling with a smile
and a rhyme


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Four Versions of Autumn


I

Like a black cat in the night
Vocal but unseen
Chasing the moon past the horizon
Pretending to be a bear
Finding a place to hibernate
Before the first snowfall

II

A child rushes in
Only to be thrown back out
Ricocheting like a toon
Totally in control
Screaming at the highs
And crying with the lows
LIttle chance of ever
Not being noticed

III

Taking from the past
Offering colorful warmth
With open arms
The next day projecting glimpses
Of the days to come
Short & cold & unforgiving

IV

Autumn’s diversity
Changing like a chameleon
Depending on the color of the moon
Morning
Noon
And night


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

making progress


heaven is a place
where you can finally
be yourself
instead of someone
you yourself barely knew

it could be anywhere
you’d like it to be
and quite honesty
dying first
is not a prerequisite


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the lucky ones


the tragedy of the day
didn’t go as planned
and in the end
everything worked out
for the living

as far as the dead
everything seemed
to work out
just fine for them
in the end


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

slow dancing


lost in contemplation
pull me back
bring me back
to my senses
where I am the earth
and you the moon

drifting on a cumulus
soft and warm
your hand reaches out
like a shooting star
coaxing me
back to my senses

transitioning into
another body
beyond another plane
you come to your senses
and I follow suit
lost in the cosmic sway


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

unnoticed


she looked out of place
sitting near the exit door of the bus

some believed she was from
another world
sent to sit in one spot & observe

some say she was a sorcerer
or an oracle
or simply an hologram
—that her position on the bus
had something to do
with coordinates of certain stars

days turned into weeks
weeks into months
months into years
yet she continued to occupy
the same seat on the bus

for whatever reason
nobody had the courage
to directly ask her
why on earth she sat there
in silence & expressionless

in the meantime people came
and people went
a cycle of certainty in an uncertain world
—of course in the end
she may have never existed at all


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

forever and a day


how long must I mourn the death
of a child

how long will it take before the very idea
of loss
vanishes from my dreams
my waking thoughts

how long before the spans of the bridge
draw to a close
the river receding from its banks
and the sun returning again
in all its glory
finally bringing back normalcy
to the desert
and the oasis
the belly of a hungry child


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Volitional


What is thrown my way
but dart after dart
their steel tips poisonous
but never deadly

Over the years I count
those making contact
wonder what has become
of those that had missed

Off in the distance
I reflect & replay
the haves & have nots
all shades of consequence

Chasing the setting sun
another chapter closes
finding myself cured
of all self-inflicted wounds





august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

waiting on sundown


sometimes when I’m stuck
I ask myself
what would bukowski do

and it is in that moment
I realize
I’ll remain stuck
at least until
the sun goes down


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Jack & Jill


The hill was usually off-white
& much steeper in the winter
a time when they would pull
their flexible flyer along centuries-old stone steps
a slow climb as others raced by
in the opposite direction
their prostrate bodies
a colorful low lying blur
—familiar voices screaming
in uncontrolled exhilaration


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

fantastic but fleeting


it was a gem of a thought
something I had been waiting for
these past few days
but when it hit me
I was far removed from my comfort zone
and by the time I was able
to resurface into my space
the thought was dead & gone
as if it had never existed
in the first place


august two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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