you make me feel this big she said
eyes squinting
thumb and forefinger
an inch away from her nose
walking taller than usual
she exited the stage like someone
who knew exactly
where she was heading
as open minds followed
her every footstep
my mind traveled far inside
that imaginary space
she had just recited
march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
wandering through the orchard
I picked a fresh rhyme
held her loosely in my hand
arriving back to the house
I opened my palm
found the rhyme cold and lifeless
rocking her inside my arms
I quietly breathed
healing words into her core
slowly her color returned
her skin unwrinkling
newfound rhythm filled the air
quickly I composed a poem
with water and vase
the rhyme inside blossoming
march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I keep those long-lived regrets
wrapped tight and away from the light
placed in the deep freeze
the furthermost corner of my mind
those days sitting on the cold tiled floor
gluing back together eggshells are no more
replaced by looking around and
seeking light emanating from
every single living thing
relaxed by warm shadows lengthening
from the fading summer’s sun
I imagine things have a way of working out
if we only allow impending events
to unfold as nature intended
from the seed to the stem to the beauty
blossoming from the light of day
we capture alive the fleeting moments
forever freezing them time and time again
march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I stand perfectly still
at dawn
my hands by my side
eyes frozen in time
staring fifteen paces ahead
focused on the pistol that once
taught me all I knew
If I should not live past this
moonless night
collect all the weapons
from inside my mind
and bury them deep by my side
as immeasurable treasure
in an unmarked grave
march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they say march can be a lion
some say she’s gentle like a lamb
I say she’s no different
than I’ve ever known her
all my years living in this land
march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you store it in virtual bottles
stashed away in far away places
sealed tight and out of sight
you inspire to relive the bottling
hidden from everyday reality
filled with genuine creativity
and dying to be retold
reopening yesterday’s sunshine
is as dangerous as blackbirds
sulking in the shadows
calling forth the ghost of cruelty
to usher in new beauty
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Princess of the skies
disobeys her father’s wishes
dancing in her emerald dress
past dawn and into dusk
perplexing an uneasy moon
with her reckless abandon
and attracting the brightest stars
who worship her every move
An impatient King issues
ultimatum to carefree daughter
who quickly rejects the rainbow prince
in favor of the northern lights
cast away on earth’s outer edges
she forever dances the night away
entrancing trillions of stars with her
grace and psychedelic beauty
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
This poem is based on “Fable of the North Pole”
and was written for dVerse~ Poets Pub
“Let’s be fabulists” Posted by Björn Rudberg in Poetics
The moral of the fable is every choice has its tradeoff,
but it’s easy to choose if your priorities in life are clear.
Click here for more on this beautiful story
there is no going back
I think to myself
sitting alone and staring out the bay window
as if I was under house arrest
outside it is very white
and very cold
and I would do anything to see
someone walk by with their dog
but it is too cold for that
it is too cold for even the mailman
to swing by I suppose
I meander to the back window and look
outside for signs of life
I squint at all the undressed trees
sticking out of the blinding white ground
show me a juvenile cardinal I say to myself
but there are no juvenile cardinals
to be found
I go into the kitchen and sit at the counter
open a can of nuts I had stashed
away months ago
muttering to myself
there is no going back
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
We go there after life and live it up
for as long as we can stand
on our own two feet
or get thrown out for playing
karaoke with the house band
We go there after life and swap
stories about the strange times
on the old blue jewel
when it was easier to feel
the pain of man’s music
than wake up sober
and pretend everything is just fine
We go there after life and find
new pals who nobody ever
heard of before
the kind of fellows who died
young and never got a chance
to spread their wings
until they stumbled upon this place
hidden beneath the rubble
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
your desire for beauty
is lost
in your bouts of hatred for anything
you can’t comprehend
or attempt to understand
forcing yourself
to react uncontrollably instead of
pausing for reflective thought
I wished I had never taken you
that day they forced you
out of the museum
your legs kicking
and arms flailing
repeatedly shouting that picasso
was nothing but a chauvinistic pig
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I am a stranger in my own land
cast aside like stale eye candy
wrapped in my own shame
I sit half-naked on the curb
a stick in my hand
drawing circles in the dirt
and wondering
who will save me this time
if only I had taken the ho chi minh trail
with those crazy americans
back in sixty-seven
my misery would have exploded into
millions of pieces
and I would now be looking down
on the wonders of the world
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I had no idea I crossed over to life
that day you set me free from
centuries of rest
you said I was a sleeping giant
but I only saw myself
as uncharged atoms
floating randomly through darkness
standing at the center of attention
you raised your hands
and opened them upward
towards the sun
delivering unto the gods
the light that was once my life
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
love is like an open prairie
self-sufficient and showcasing
every true color this world has to offer
weaving blankets of warmth on
cool autumn evenings
and providing shade to weary souls
love is like the birds of the prairie
welcoming each day with
songs of praise
awakening the flowers whose petals
unfold and open their hearts
without a single solitary condition
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
click click bang
reload your clip and
take aim of my heart
I don’t give a damn and
I don’t want to know
how you found the courage
to become someone you’re not
click click bang
bring me to my knees
and make me close my eyes
but just promise me one thing
promise me the world
won’t end tonight
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
an old top hat tumbles
down an urban alleyway
one gray wintry night
a single boot and smile
stopping it in its tracks
held beneath a streetlamp
scratches appear in the
faded charcoal felt
each crooked line a story
in and of itself
silvery lining holds imaginary
tales of happenstance
and midnight waltzes
murmuring like a seashell
untouched for centuries
gloveless fingers slide across
bent brim collecting
snowflakes and glances from
all the homeless eyes
seeking cover for the night
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the bad man could care less
about fingers pointed
in his general direction
could care less
when blamed for the sun
not shining
or the dark clouds
not forming
when all anyone really wanted
was a little rain falling down
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 