jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

01 Oct 2016
8 Comments

breathing back to life


it was a shapely leaf
seemingly frozen on the asphalt
burnt orange and brown
with spots of faded yellow
and streaks of barn red

I happened upon it strictly
by accident as I crawled
on my hands and knees
searching for a place to sleep
through the dead of winter

picking it up carefully
I cupped it gently in my hands
cold to the touch like the
thinnest of glass
fragile like fairy wings

as it warmed in my palms
I blew on its outer edges
its unforgiving blades shuddering
like a little baby bird
or a big colorful butterfly



october two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , , , ,
29 Sep 2016
4 Comments

white flags and civil wars


it’s only a matter of time
before the next city gets sacked

it could be yours whether or not
you like being alive or dead

you could be sitting in a mosque
or a church or a temple
or in a gazebo in a meadow
or on a deck overlooking a lake
or out on the river fishing for trout
or out on the sea fishing for men
or inside a corner tavern
open for business on any given sunday

everywhere there are people
inhabiting this place
putting two and two together
questioning the laws of nature
ninety-nine plus percent certain
killing has nothing to do with survival



september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Fishing, Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , , , ,
27 Sep 2016
4 Comments

angel in my oldsmobile


sometimes my inner workings hesitate
like a sixty-nine cutlass

in the back seat my hopeful angel
looks out half-opened window
elbows on arm rest
chin supported by hands

eyes cast upwards she interprets
unspoken words
as they race past silently
like high-flying clouds

the night sky indicates
low temperatures are inevitable

but who’s to say when autumn
shall begin and end

there comes a point where nobody
really cares when the dead of winter
has finally set in

and as long as I have my angel
inside my winterized oldsmobile
I’m bound to witness
the ides of march again



september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , , ,
25 Sep 2016
9 Comments

into thin air


she sat reading a book
never looking up as the train
raced and abruptly stopped time and again
as if it had some place it needed to be

she reminded me of a morning star
transiting along smog filled clouds
maybe noticeable but memorable
slowly becoming consumed by a rising sun

I raced and stopped like the train
attempting to get closer
drawn to discover the title of the book
or why she always disappears



september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , ,
24 Sep 2016
3 Comments

a private conversation


where do you go in that mind of yours
when you are nowhere to be found

what triggers do you keep in your pocket
that nobody knows about

those poems you used to write inside
virtual greasy spoons
they’re plastered now
nearly everywhere
giving inspiration to all things living

I swear I found you more than twice
walking the streets at midnight
blinders on either side

I begged you to take my hand
I swear I believed I could have saved you
but you heard nary a syllable
and reluctantly I turned away
listening to your very last words
resonating



september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
20 Sep 2016
8 Comments

will you die for him


children playing out back
unrestricted by all the fences
digging foxholes and
sowing the lord’s seeds

dinnertime bells only delay
the inevitable
and just as their bellies
will never be full
most will find it nearly impossible
to ever grow old



september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in History, Poetry, War Poems and tagged , , ,
19 Sep 2016
4 Comments

six thousand years and counting


as it turned out he was alive and well
resurfacing somewhere in carolina
taking up sun and counting the years

he made sure the money didn’t follow
redeployed somewhere offshore
far away from oil rigs and earthquakes

after wearing the crown all these years
incognito pro tem seemed fitting

walking the dog and swiping debit card
who the hell would have guessed

all the while cities continued to grow
melting pots boiling impatiently
fueled by remotely controlled triggers



september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in History, In the City, Poetry and tagged , , , , ,
18 Sep 2016
12 Comments

the dragonfly’s calling


stitch and sew
your restless eyes
dragonfly hovers
keeping its cool

no bark no bite
mandibles chew air
swallowing suggestions
blown by the wind

water nymph no more
final metamorphosis
captures soul mate
perpetuating the cycle



september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Micropoetry, Nature, Poetry and tagged , , ,
15 Sep 2016
9 Comments

in search of stars and mermaids


I stepped onto a rocket ship
hoping it would take me away
from all earthly woes

a couple hundred bucks seemed
like a fair trade toward becoming
more or less ungrounded

the view from the top supersedes
all things seen and unseen
no matter how fleeting
like a beauty queen

unstrapped and plummeting
supersonically
gravity fought the law and
contained me
inside an asylum disguised
as a yellow submarine
far below the oily surface



september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , , , , ,
13 Sep 2016
6 Comments

starving graffiti artist


downtown railroad cars
sit still in line like cows
waiting to get branded

cigarettes cost too much
but not a quart of malt liquor
or can of yellow spray paint

getting good day’s sleep
is critical for optimal performance
when working graveyard shifts

nomad apostles carry flashlights
and lighters and waxing moons
calling out on occasion to look out

not opposed to taking new requests
or collaborating on a tanker
there’s a preference for going solo
especially on kansas city southern




september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , , , ,
12 Sep 2016
10 Comments

counting bodies like sheep


do not be nervous little ones
the world is not falling apart at the seams

I do not mean to lie but things are not
what they seem (to be)
in fact these happenings may just
be a figment of some lesser god’s
imagination

and those drums coming nearer
gaining ground even while you’re sleeping
what are they even doing here
and how did they earn privilege
to beat upon the children



september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved


footote:
loosely based on song of similar
title by A Perfect Circle
A Perfect Circle youtube video

Posted in Poetry, War Poems and tagged , , ,
11 Sep 2016
4 Comments

hell freezes over


we can’t seem to get past
talking about the weather
how it lifts us up only
to tear us down
one day sipping apple-spiced tea
at café eden
the next trapped inside a
bomb shelter in aleppo

I say the weather is earth’s
spirit restless in its own creativity
slowly evolving and forever changing

you nod and look skyward
pointing at the clouds
roiling and attracting countless starlings

seeds affected by cosmic precipitation
you never know what may come next
perhaps a prophet or a prince
or a torrid dictator

ruthless storms continuously stir
inside boiling pots
reappearing as easy as they please
perpetuating change by destroying
everything in its path


september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Nature, Poetry, War Poems and tagged , , ,
10 Sep 2016
10 Comments

She loves me she loves me not


I keep telling myself I don’t know you
practicing in the mirror
seeing myself bowing down
lowering myself to my knees
reaching out and pulling your
wrists toward my lips

You didn’t mean to leave your mascara
bleeding like black ink
on my hands and
down your rose-colored cheeks
my skin like a paper towel
absorbing it all in

Somehow I missed a perfect chance
to find a perfect paradise
located beyond the border
somewhere past the looking-glass
now scattered on the floor
broken into tiny little pieces


september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
07 Sep 2016
2 Comments

when nothing seems to stick


tossed into the air
it suddenly vanished
like a flying saucer

you yell “pull”
and watch the next one sail
your hands at your side

you have no pistol to draw
no scope on a rifle to peer through
there is nothing to pick up
nothing to hold on to
inconstant thoughts dart
and ricochet and deceive
while old ideas tug and
momentarily tarry before
disappearing again

you yell “pull” even louder
and there it goes
your last concrete object
heading toward the lone tree
lime-shaped and standing in the
glass-littered field
its kelly green leaves
covering every single branch
collectively heaving in relief


september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
06 Sep 2016
6 Comments

the violin and the piano


their sound supersedes the
clamor and the simmering pot
not quite boiling
not quite understood

the floors mean nothing
since they’ve been replaced
replaced but not restored
never to be the same

appearing out of nowhere
like a silver moon in disguise
the music filters through
making my world come to life

the violin and the piano
still echo in these walls
comforting my sorrow
and giving me repose


september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , ,
04 Sep 2016
8 Comments

down but not out


sirens atop wooden poles
wail high and low throughout the city
slight breezes unable to move
tattered flags and worn out windsocks

beneath the dome dark and bloated
clouds float slowly and unnoticed
moving plainly like zeppelins hunting for
landmines on easter sunday

below ground microcosms evolve
instinctively and haphazardly
struggling to survive differently
afraid to breach the surface
lest there be light

like an unattended candle
nothing is capable of turning off
the sirens
and eventually
they will burn out all on their own


september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,

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