those voices inside his head
at times went missing for days
sometimes for weeks or longer
each time promising to never return
but the voices never really went far
and he would run into them
at the supermarket
or movies
at the bowling alley and speedway
fast food restaurants
and convenience stores
weeks went by and then years
the songs of his pluperfect past
fading in the background
like little birds left behind
whispering apologetically
pleading to be taken back in
safely inside his warm bed
he pulls a blanket up to his chin
and waits in silence for the
voices to return
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I don’t remember autumn being this wet
she said
I blinked my eyes and looked outside
thinking to myself what an
absurd thing to say
it’s not that wet I said it’s just an illusion
it’s wet enough they canceled tonight’s
baseball game she said
real men play in the rain I said
you’re an idiot she said and walked away
I raised my glass and made a silent toast
to rid the world of absurdity
and rainy october nights
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
taking trails less traveled
led me to where the
trees had fallen
where horses long ago
abandoned the woods
falling to my knees I
listened ‘neath the silence
felt inner earth’s heartbeat
inside my very bones
faintly alive and hurting
lost generations remain
charred in this place
recycled into ghostly ashes
reshaped into
ever-changing apparitions
silence ensued and robbed
me of all my thoughts
leading me to believe
the only way out was
through my imagination
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
friday night limousine riders
speeding some seventy
miles per hour
cut up lemons and dispense
margaritas without rocks
outside airport secret police
intercept intelligence and
issue search warrants
briskly escorting illicit riders
to a flight of their life
dropped behind enemy lines
grown boys sober up quickly
burning camouflaged parachutes
and skirting the edges
hoping to find their way home </span>
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’m afraid of losing it all
one day waking up discovering
I don’t have what it takes
to reach the next destination
Sometimes wish I could just
curl into a ball and
forget about paying attention
Sometimes wish I could just
venture out alone and
walk away into the winter sunset
I’ve been down this road before
but always found the
long way out
my misguided angels
eventually finding me
a new shiny amulet
Walking closer to the sun
I lighten my load and
tighten the grasp
discarding all regrets
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is a storm brewing
simmering in a big black pot
stirred by faceless warlords
pretending life
doesn’t matter much
high winds blow madness
into the next town
precisely honed strikes
wiping out historic deception
as new chief lays down
new laws
war drums beat relentlessly
inside children’s dreams
bringing showers
to the desert and
drought to the streams
turning camels into arks and
temples into zoos
from the beginning we are told
there is no time to write home
there is only more life
and more land
to claim for our own
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
from the book of revelation
the world paused in shock and awe
before assessing the worldwide
infrastructural and
virtual damages from the initial
mind-blowing strikes
communication channels changed
word of mouth traveled at slower speeds
while new intermediaries
were reintroduced into the mad scene
one hundred forty-four thousand in total
the twelve tribes reconvened
ventured out twelve thousand strong each
sent to evangelize the
four corners of the world
using every language in every nation
while the living continued making reparations
the millions of non-believers
(those who had turned into believers but did
not survive the rapture)
stood before the throne
dressed in white and waving palms branches
worshipping and singing praises
ever thankful never to hunger or thirst again
back on earth millions upon millions
were welcomed into the fold
their totals exceeding the sum of
all previous human history
hopeful but uncertain and
unknowing the middle ground
would completely disappear
ushering in the next era
the most perilous times ever
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
by Daniella Sciuto & J Matthew Waters
a mess of discarded words
surround the waste paper bin
a screwed up frustrating mishmash
of misbehaving poetry
sent to Coventry
the current state of affairs
keeps missing the mark
ideas bouncing off rims in silence
not even a dead klunk
to rattle my soul
to let me know
if I more accurately honed my aim
matched that rhythm zigzagging
in and out of my own personal alphabet
if I took an occasional Z
rhymed it with W instead
attached it to an A, B or C
would poetry suddenly
work for me
exhausted I pause
stare deep into the double-hung window
a handful of flies
trapped between the panes
gasping for fresh air
crawling and buzzing
schizophrenically searching
for the only way out
watching me in a frenzy
weighing up the worth
over-thinking the import
of a few lonely words
which my pen decides
to frantically override
in indigo ink
the day turns to dust
water turns to wine
turns to blood in a trice
I raise my ancient chalice
toasting and praying
to the poetry gods on high
for an ounce of inspiration
as I drift into stars
the night showers reams
of words falling free
my pen and my paper
and my mind all three
collaborate with the gods
to write dream poetry
in the morning I awake
feel the words as they bleed
dead flies on the sill
empty paper
empty pen
an empty state of mind
humble currents bring bountiful
trace elements and
serenity to the shoreline
introducing essential nutrients capable of
feeding the masses through next winter
alas the abundance is but an illusion
and once impenetrable clans
(feeding freely upon the land)
find themselves fighting behind the lines
find themselves questioning
their time and place in history
october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
september’s death
rests inside a fielder’s glove
her final breaths elongated
lilting and fading
elegantly purposeful
she would not be happy
knowing what follows next
her boys of summer in full costume
exhaling the uncertain air and
parading out past twilight
clumsily swatting bats
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she survived the dark forest
with unimaginable courage
her recovery spectacular
though the past is incomplete
its mysteries will slowly dissolve
replaced by translucency
according to testimony of others
she is here for good reasons and
destined to do something special
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
by john of patmos from the book of revelation
visions of judgments enter my waking
dreams as seven cryptic messages
appear before my eyes
one by one they reveal abstract images
representing future events
first seal reveals an imposter
unjustly crowned
his hand sweeping change upon the land
his false hopes hidden behind a
white horse winning hearts and minds via
strategically placed holograms
second and third seals let loose
the red horse
aka the war-horse turning
farmlands into graveyards and
nations into ashes
at his heels
lo the black horse
perpetrating wickedness upon the poor
fourth seal unleashes escalating death
paraded methodically by the pale horse
wielding hammer and sickle and
raping the land
systematically burying
one-quarter of every living thing
entering the point of no return
the fifth seal tallies the
price paid by murderous men
killing blindly at any cost
their victims transformed into martyrs
and worshipped by the chosen
few who are reeling and
determined to regroup
bewildered and lamenting
all dressed in white robes
by the time the sixth seal breaks opens
the entire earth shakes
and once dormant volcanos
blacken the sun and redden the moon
and all the leaders of the world
and all the wealthy
and all the faithless
and all those with any means necessary
fearfully evacuate themselves into
deep underground sanctuaries
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I swear I was wide awake
and drinking heavily
toasting george thorogood
and his glorious destroyers
we polished off the pony keg
a few hours before
moved on to bourbon and scotch
knowing there was more
rhythm and blues to be heard
later into the night we
found ourselves securely insane
in the backseat of an orange
nineteen sixty-seven mustang
we pretended to be carrying contraband
deep inside enemy lines
halfway across the centennial bridge
we empowered the traffic
to stop (with our minds)
and I jumped and shouted obscenities
and escorted my party to the other side
scaling the eight foot tall fence
I swore I was on top of the world
(reaching back I surrendered my weapon)
free of such burden I would soon realize
I always dreamed alone
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they say there is no setting
or rising of the sun
they say it is always there
and it’s just your imagination
that sometimes it is not
with that in mind I stood at the
doorstep and handed a child
paper and markers and
asked her to interpret the
world as she knew it
from inside her mind she drew
countless circles orbiting
infinite stars
and every now and then
she placed a new moon
where you’d least expect it
I wondered how many of her
suns supported life as we know it
and as I was about to ask her
she told me she needed
more space and time
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we didn’t sign up for this
but there we were
pistols raised above our heads
faces covered with red
paisley bandanas
ending fairy tale lives
and abetting a revolution
handed down for centuries
everyone knew the wild west
would eventually cycle back
to the eastern front
where women lay low and
protect and feed their children
until old enough
to perpetuate the suffering
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
by Daniella Sciuto & J Matthew Waters
I drew these lines ages ago without
understanding the consequences
and my desire to protect them
weakened as time wore on
I sketched these images
fast frenetic murals on the wall
portraying all my doubts
concerning this world
and myself
and then I lived on
each day passing by
these lines remained unchanged
concealed by a thin layer of imagination
I crossed the line into a new
form of reality
regaining my strength by
becoming one with creation
drawn across the land
yet the pull of these lines
that basis of all
beyond the veil of life
influenced everything
no matter how much I whitewashed
my tabula rasa was not pure
and I found myself
redrawing the lines
found myself starting all over again
this is how it both
ends and begins
with poetry written
rewritten and rewritten again
layers upon meanings
upon words
with us forever
redrawing the lines
starting all over again
whilst the ghosts of poems past
influence everything
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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