he took the microphone
and introduced himself
men without souls below him
fists raising and voices cheering
redefining their short-lived lives
chanting ingrained mantras
he convinced them they are
more than mere machines
destined to find praise and glory
long after the killing is done
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
pretending this life-giving light
never once existed is like
accepting neither did I
wandering in the darkness
catlike eyes search for nothing
in particular but hopeful
to find something new
tall trees open up like umbrellas
protecting the ground
from metallic dust showers
turning into cosmic twisters
chased by space cowboys
riding sun-powered horses
life beyond the light is like a twin
searching for her lost soul
relentlessly persevering
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
these fears inside I lay to rest
as setting sun bows and
curtsies one final time
I’m off to chase grander stars
hosting brighter moons
orbiting other oceans
sent on my merry way
accidentally
a victim so it seems
partially of my own accord
there are no sad marches
no guns to be fired
no motorcycle escorts
no victory day parades
there are no flowers or polaroids
or guestbooks or folded flags
no children sniffling
or women weeping
from now on the future
is my present
and whatever good I left behind
would one day become
a necessary ingredient
to grow the shadiest of trees
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it just sucks
all this is going on and one day
nothing matters
none of it matters
and you’re gone
and there’s nothing more
who’s to say there’s nothing more
she says
sitting back in her director’s chair
legs crossed and freshly shaved
don’t go there he says
don’t you dare go there
maybe death is a good thing she says
maybe it’s the start of something new
and hopelessly beautiful
just like this glass of champagne
maybe we shouldn’t be buying champagne
he says
maybe we should be buying real estate
yes she says
a change of scenery would do you wonders
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
your empire means nothing to me
but your queen is my everything
kidnapped and held for ransom
you scrambled to amass
your very best men
sent them on a quest to save her
I directed them down multiple ways
each avenue looping into other
promising outlets where horses
drink from rivers flowing underground
and so you regrouped yet again
the man we call king
hiring more men to satisfy
your obsession with recapture
an obsession
certain to awaken royal madness
stirring within a mighty empire
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I got out of the house using a bonafide
lie about meeting my buddy at the
pinball arcade
hopped on my tenspeed and
pedaled the shortest route to prospect park
lying on our backs at the top of the hill
it felt as if we were vertical
suspended if you will
the river far below our feet
the clouds above
shaped like sails and almost touchable
all afternoon we held hands and
talked about how old we felt
trapped inside young bodies
unnerved by the fact this place in time
would always be the same
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
for ten seconds I sat there
dumbfounded
the image so clear in my mind
what I was going to do
who I was going to be
but then out of nowhere
all clarity left my memory
and for ten seconds I sat there
perplexed how I lost the vision
or the means to flip back on the light
for a moment I nearly cried
and another ten seconds later
I became myself again
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve secluded myself or
shall I say excluded myself (from others)
confined to a modest space
somewhere in Phoenicia
surrounded by stained glass distractions
which keep out the harsh daylight
only to reappear much later as
illuminated decorations of the night
There is no time for sleep and
cloudless nights make for lighter work
problem solving triangles
and troubleshooting new moons
piecing back together romances
from far away places where future
discoveries withstand the test of time
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
he was tired of being nice
so he moved on to better things
hooked up with some of the boys on
thursday night south of eighteenth street
his woman wasn’t happy with some
of the choices he was making
proceeded to tell him so friday morning
he bought a handgun and spent
his saturday at the pistol range
clearing his mind by repeatedly
reciting bang bang bang
on sunday she sat polishing her rosary
wearing dirty white gloves
church bells ringing in the distance
when monday night mob turns raw
he slips into a brand new world
picking up instincts and aiming
to get a clear shot at something
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
things build up inside
so when you can’t breathe right
you reach for something
that really isn’t there
like that new stuff you heard
just arrived to town
clean for weeks
you walk the streets
hitting bistros and internet cafés
but you steer clear of the bars
where former junkies
prey on innocence
chasing down demons
is not your specialty
but for the moment the madness
inside remains at bay
moving away from the lights
your inside limits have no bounds
(as if you have no bones)
and for the moment
you are afraid but convinced
your breathing will not stop
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I had all this money stashed away
and I didn’t want anyone to know about it
It kept me up at night thinking about how
many different ways it could make me happy
but I really didn’t want to disturb it
so all it did was grow and grow and grow
I once thought it would solve any problem
thrown its way
but after withstanding
inflation and corrections and acute depression
all it ever really gave me was artificial respiration
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I walked the back streets into the
heart of the city
pulling on cigarillos and
spitting on beetles
it was noon and I should have
been in school
but the gray sky somehow
took hold of my mind
led me away
to where I was needed most
weeks earlier I had been hoping
to hook up with the outlaw josey wales
but that opportunity had
come and gone
and I was left holding my
head in my hands
(I reminded myself that back home
there is only so much dirt to sweep)
god’s plan is not mine to question
but I’m grateful for the few
hundred dollars in my front pocket
not to mention a one-way ticket
and my mother’s rabbit’s foot
december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
poetry is a story
a picture
a locomotive out of control
a spaceship exiting inner space
connecting with anything
that may or may not rhyme
december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ll be damned if I had good
reason chasing any fool thing
for a pat on the back
or some sort of medal that later
winds up in the river
I’ll be damned if I knew
what I’d do next
if I didn’t have money
to pay the rent
At least I got enough scratch
to frequent the Irish district
twice or thrice a week
swapping sailor stories
with make-believe monsters
who never remember your name
Chasing any fool thing at least
gives a man a little hope
like a little piece of sunshine
stuffed inside his pocket
never understanding its power
until it’s almost too late
december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
twenty-five lifetimes ago
there I was
witnessing the truth with my
very own eyes
chronicling
the birth
the childhood lessons
the ministry of the baptist
(and his beheading)
the sermon on the mount
the riding into town on a donkey
since then throughout
all these centuries
I’ve watched this beautifully
tolerant notion of community
torn down and
snatched by ordinary thugs
manipulated and maligned
encompassing the earth
like thin strands of truth
woven from east to west
and if you pluck one here
or strum a few over there
you just might create
a little harmony
or a whole lot of war
december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
on this night of nights a lost
starling sings his lonely song
as a pale moon chases
venus high above the tallest trees
and faint stars transit the unknown
on this night of nights a natural
flame flickers and streams
chain reacting and traveling swiftly
to the four corners of the world
sparked by the cry of the lonely starling
ushering in a brand new light
december two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 