room by room he drifted
attending to the windows
first shutting the storm
then locking the
lower sash with the upper
he moved mechanically
like an old timepiece
powered by the sun
the swift hand moving
hesitatingly from lack of light
his thoughts fleeting
like the gray winds outside
leaning on the last window
he felt oddly safe
but desperately alone
the sound of winter
forever secured inside
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this is my poetry the way I like it
and sometimes it’s just not good
or not nearly good enough
but it’s mine and I’ll stand beside it
the good along with the bad
the funny and serious and corny
left for dead in the city
or alive out in the country
jamming to the blues or rock and roll
those poetry gods gave me the freedom
to do whatever I like
including those floating butterfly verses
only I can call my own
nobody
can make me change anything
not one letter from a lower to upper case
or vice versa
because the way I wrote it
the first time
that’s how it was meant to be
and it makes no difference whether or not
it was the way it ought to be
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I gave birth to peace and named her chance
raised her sheltered from the realities
of a desperate world
coming of age she traveled abroad
fell in love with mercenary work
promising to end man’s repeated mistakes
and reverse the cycle of madness
she circled the globe to feed the hungry
and comfort the orphaned
mending open wounds from strangers
protecting their own unresolved pasts
on rare occasions she fell to her knees
and cursed me for her failures
the pain in her prayers piercing my arm
reminding me
just how much I miss her
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the seasons turned but I wasn’t ready for it
I was too busy looking back on the
opportunities I had squandered
brushed aside like slight inequities
rotting into things undone
I knew the snowblower in the garage
wouldn’t start so I put a blanket over it
I brought in the shovels from the shed
the snow may be the death of me I told myself
but I’ll be damned if I can’t still dig
I wasn’t ready to go back into the house
so I pulled out a beer from the fridge
and sat on the workbench
vague images of things undone coming
to mind and mixing with telephones
ringing through these walls
november two thousand
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
birds of all nations storm
war-torn suburbia
switchblades and derringers
concealed under wing
blanketing rooftops and lining live wires
waiting patiently for night to fall
predawn fog smothers the moon
and silences the stars
cloaking angels of mercy
and their effortless wings
zeroing in on and sweeping away
newly orphaned refugees
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
who are we but pretend gods
unable to tame the time of day
huddled en masse on street
corners and freeways
and white-hot beaches
putting out fires and chasing
ambulances
running away from tsunamis and
disease and ghostly dreams
practicing ego and yoga and war
and the finest of arts
orchestrating chaos by day and
reciting poetry at night
calling for real gods in a pretend
world to somehow set us free
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the torch may fade from time to time
may flicker like a pilot’s light
disappearing over the sea
below the surface the torch
resumes its glow
likely to be found by henchmen
digging foxholes
beware the silence
they warned
lifting their torches
and charging a newfound
enemy with fiery explosions
in the aftermath smoldering fires
resurrect memories of old promises
feeding those who hunger
rebuilding what was destroyed
as new histories emerge new
generations evolve
securing the torches in submerged silos
believing that without peace
all the yesterdays of the world
added up to nothing
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
late afternoons
sitting at the desk
facing the side window in the sweaty efficiency
drinking mickey’s malt liquor
and banging on the smith corona
I hardly notice the oscillating fan impersonating
a little robot stuck on a floor board
can barely hear the radio putting out music
or airing another baseball game
outside
the neighbor’s black lab patrols the fence line
barking indiscriminately
blank pages
enter the rollers and withstand
a barrage of pelted bars
launched by levers by way of fast fingers
fanciful ribbons turning pure white sheets into
paperless dreams creasing and
folding and pretending to be airplanes
so many summers ago
I launched countless letters into the jetstream
some struggled to make it out alive
others fading with the setting sun
a few lucky ones breaking the outer atmosphere
only to crash and burn inside wire baskets
november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sweetly your song presents
promises
and stays forever in tune
like a prayer
in my mind I hear nothing
but a repeated melody
that is never tiring and
always alive in my dreams
there is an inescapable part of
young love
never lost between inception and death
somehow living on above reality
alone thirty stories high
I endure my lowest hour
mindful all is equal between young lovers
oh cruel world
thank you for delivering unto me
your irony
for without it
I would have given up long ago
I would not give up the world
for anything except you
would not allow myself
to be alienated from your
yesterday or today
would always be near you
wherever you may be
first kiss so true
oh so vivid in our minds
first love at first sight
beauty appears out of nowhere
shuts off the lights and
turns on our lives
anywhere but here
thirty stories tall
how I’d fall off the edge
to be with you right now
originally written circa nineteen eighty-five
rewrite published on ArtiPeeps earlier this year
recital recorded october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I borrowed someone else’s thoughts
and pinned them against a blank
sheet of paper
nothing sticks quite right the first
time so I gathered them together
and sealed them in a chrysalis
where they slowly evolved into
my own creation
(I tried returning the borrowed
thoughts to their original owners
but they all refused delivery)
new words gradually emerge
out of an abbreviated hibernation
and from there I cut and copy
and delete and tweet
and paste paste paste
all the way down easy street
but of course if it was easy
everyone would be doing it
running across backyards
and open fields
swinging butterfly nets
at their ever elusive thoughts
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I pretend I don’t see you
and then look away
my eyes focused on my
forward movement
lest I slip off the shoulder
and crash into the water
pedals on concrete race
against sails on water
each attacking the wind
in our own special way
one eye in the rearview
and one at a finish line
that may
or may not be there
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s no going back they said
speaking omnisciently from
their holier than thou prophecies
their interstellar ambitions
went far beyond
conceptual matter
went far beyond anything
this side of the sun
space travel is like a slingshot
they explained in ancient
texts blown to pieces and
heat-seeking exoplanets
like some uncensored comet
like aliens trapped in human bodies
they continually pray for change
on so many different levels
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
morning light casts long shadows
where trees amass and grow wild
harboring mere mortals
savoring newfound secrets
at work in the dimly lit night
werewolves trail the slender moon
digging out curses buried
deep along the way
on the outskirts of the city
early morning trains whistle and
howl and slowly garner steam
hauling away memories that
never truly existed
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we climbed the hill in laughter
losing our lunch boxes along the way
certain we’d be able to
find them on the way down
once on top we jumped at
pretend stars shining so bright
shouting into funneled hands
for the gods to strike us down
imagining owning all the hills
as far as the eye could see
the bad guys appeared out of thin air
and sent us tumbling
all the way back down
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Lost inside Saint Petersburg
I travel by foot toward the river
church bells ringing silently
deadened by the dank air
creeping down my neck
I swear I see your pretty face
among the many gathered
‘round Palace Square
faces reddened by the wind
or wrapped in woolen scarves
Just as metallic music erupts
below the darkening clouds
young souls scream to life
and storm center stage
like a swarm of angry wasps
Lost inside Saint Petersburg
I blow on my hands and
stuff them inside my jacket
my feet taking me closer
to the river and back to the
University where I belong
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
from the book of revelation
hurtling through space indefinitely
it was only a matter of time
before wormwood
reached the outer edges
exploding into a colorfully
destructive rainshower
up above trumpets sounded
and incense burned
angels huddled together
compacting balls of fire
and hurling them onto earth
though many on the surface
perished from such punishment
it was wormwood
that single-handedly wiped out
a third of all living things
both on land
and on sea
and below the sea
and though dust consumed
a third of the sun’s light
supersonic blasts
broke through the haze
telegraphing without question
the worst was yet to come
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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