Feet of snow grows colder by the day
Rays of the sun reflecting brightly but
Powerless — like a King
Locked inside the winter palace
Impenetrable until the February thaw
Summer drought spoiled the harvest
A taste of regret left on the tongue
The King calling upon his God
To protect and provide
—What fortunes await come Spring
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
watching the evening news
is an old habit I’ve yet to break
I get what’s going on
no thanks to the world wide web
a constant feed linking me
to all corners of the world
as if I actually live & breathe
the air I’ve come to witness
I understand the moon
is not the same
above war-torn populations
shedding pieces of itself
like fireflies from heaven
hoping to be captured
by boys & girls
with & without homes
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve been stacking bricks
in my sleep
a sort of chimney without a roof
reminding me of things
left undone
in the middle of the night
I sleepwalk to the bathroom & back
having pissed
and flossed my teeth
the funeral for the dead
will resume at eleven o’clock
but I’ve already decided
not to go this time
instead I make eggs benedict
in the galley kitchen
a favorite of a certain someone
I used to know
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’m sorry if I freaked you out
I really didn’t want to go there
and how I got there in the first place
is beyond anyone’s imagination
I mean really
driving while sleeping
—who the hell does that
by the time the cock crowed
I was fast asleep in my bed
beside me an acting award
that belonged to you
and you
just like my car
were nowhere to be found
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
pressure on the outside
attempting to penetrate the interior
attracted by taper candles
attended to by dreamers
on the inside these adolescents
play with newly found magic
handed down through generations
—unwritten instructions
calling upon the dead
hoping to satisfy their curiosities
ouija board & incantations
are only the beginning
sulfur & ash permeating the air
the responsive spirits
dressed as inmates
& carnival freaks
slipping through the cracks
fully capable of scaring them
right out of their skin
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I had them all to myself
but then I lost them
a half-dozen helium-filled balloons
each a different color
I had plucked one by one
from the giving tree
in the city square
and I as I stood there
looking upward
counting them
with my index finger
a tear lost for each one
drifting higher & higher
until I became alone again
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was driving home crossing the tracks
followed by a moderate left bend
a car parked on the river side of the road
to my left a dark figure walking along the railbed
hands in jacket pockets & eyes cast downward
it was early december & the sun had all but set
creating bright streaks of color along the horizon
sparkling across the quiet wakes
the lone figure becoming darker by the second
what could he be looking for this time of day
a scarf or pair of gloves or glasses
maybe some sort of precious keepsake
suddenly I smell rock & wood & steel
as if I was right there with him
but of course by this time
it was too late for me to turn around
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there on the beach
all the colors of the world
can be found
—all you have to do
is close your eyes
and listen
it matters not
the time of day or year
sounds echoing
colors coming & going
forever staying
in the present
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I am not native
to the land I occupy
it was never my inheritance
yet here I am in the very flesh
a man living outside
his own home
having learned less from teachers
& more from those
who had less
My spirit (on the other hand)
resides in the land I occupy
embedded into the fabric of a present
that doesn’t exist in the physical world
Evolving into death
should be a lengthy process
yet far too many have freedoms
that become death traps
resulting in body after body
recycling in the incinerator
soul after soul dying for a new life
in a land far far away
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it was yesterday
all over again
living & dying
like never before
as if anything else
ever mattered
should tomorrow
present itself
as a gift-wrapped box
[complete with a
ribbon & bow]
please do not open
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
living in a world of signs
how many of their one-word sentences
can you roll off your tongue in 10 seconds
slow stop do not enter dead end no outlet
etcetera etcetera etcetera
forget the metal street signs
what about those found in the sky
or in a book or in a bus
what of those made from cardboard
or fabric or common sense
the ones found at gatherings
whether protesting or cheering or mourning
colored chalk on concrete
spray paint on chest
magic markers in magic hands
downtown motel flashes no vacancy
corner church digitally welcoming strangers
bearded man parading
his own most obvious message
—the world will end tomorrow
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they started stocking the fishery
with rainbow trout a couple of years ago
in the dead of winter the surface is rock solid
inviting ice skaters & parasailers
and of course ice fishermen & women
all of the fish below the ice in near freezing waters
are native except for the rainbow trout
I suppose they survive by not getting caught
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she stood tall like a tree
and come spring
she was beginning to bud
pick a fruit any fruit
what would you like to be
when you grow up
apples or peaches or pears
or maybe something
entirely different
like chokeberries
or hazelnuts
something much bigger
like coconuts
she stood tall like a tree
and come spring
she climbed even higher
having come to know exactly
where she wanted to be
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there I was born again
a total wreck
drenched
having just squeezed
out of the fish bowl
in the bedroom
in the lockbox
—in the second drawer
of the secretary desk
[among other things]
a sealed envelope
labeled in case of death
the things people don’t know about
existing in the dark
the things some people inherit
but the way things seem to go around here
it won’t take long
before the seal is broken
once again
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
as far as I knew
everyone was asleep
except for me
and I can tell you
I was as quiet as a mouse
full moon shining through
casement window
I worked with pencil
on charcoal paper
sketching in
a perfect escape route
as the magical hour
drew nearer & nearer
my eyelids fluttered
[as if in REM mode]
a series of tunnels & ladders
leading me all the way back
to the beginning
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you just sit there
trying to put your finger on it
the impossible
suddenly a possibility
—and you sit there
willing this something into existence
something you can’t quite
put your finger on
small spaces
become gaping holes
[you’ve visited time & again]
just like in the movies
or a thriller novella
and so you just sit there
acting out your parts in real time
as if nothing
had ever changed
every solitary detail fully intact
right down to the dog tags
on the siamese cats
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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