lost inside your own skin
you decide it’s best
not to go out tonight
opting to keep company
with recluse spiders
and a bottle of red
everything is muted
including a full moon
wrapped inside a fog
calling all arachnids
to come out of the closet
and feast until content
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the night is young
ageless like a new moon
at the break of dawn
a trio of violinists
tuning their instruments
in a field of wheat
seven angels harmonizing
holding golden tapers
shimmering like the stars
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
little mouse in little house
feeling quite at home
finding its way
through thick & thin
mainly by way of nose
blind woman living alone
senses little ghost
creeping from room to room
her sense of security
never in doubt
her sense of smell
stronger than ever
come morning
in the kitchen
as she sharpens all her knives
the little ghost mouse
comes to its senses
& lives to haunt another house
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we had a wild & wonderful drive
crisscrossing west virginia
but in the end
it must have been just a dream
having found ourselves
back in boring kansas
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I lie in bed with eyelids closed
my mind racing
refusing to dream
—and I tell myself
I need rest
and a clear mind
come six hours from now
the time of day
seems to have escaped me
but I’m sure at least
an hour has passed
my mind still racing
—and I tell myself
if I fall asleep & dream
I may never awaken
abandoning the morning
like a mother dove
abandons her young
though wings I have not
soon I’ll find myself
a passenger
with someone
or something
that does
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they swept the homeless
off the streets
a project city officials called
operation relocation
days later
a dozen bulldozers
rolled into the landfill
& within hours
questions started flying
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
with stained glass wings
the damselfly dances in a realm
of emerald green
where sunlight reflects
low-lying rainbows
the delicate body shimmers
a kaleidoscope of colors
performing dazzling twirls
and pirouettes
like a natural ballerina
feeding along the stream
effortlessly at ease & in balance
it skims the water’s surface
barely whispering into
the fading twilight
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
lies & deceit
were coded into our DNA
regardless of race or religion
or location on this planet
armies are built
in such ways
the manipulation of ordinary men
for the good of the order
for the safety of a people
repetition is but an iteration
of the entire repertoire
a treasure chest of ammunition
a bag full of tricks
a secret weapon behind the curtain
the last mile
is the bloodiest
a necessary evil if you will
the final confrontation ushering in
an empire of the third kind
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in my twenties at university
my habits were more pronounced
than today—quite like my memory
but nonetheless
I was instantly
taken back there
involuntarily
I guess I got to thinking about
the title of this poem while listening
to the lyrics of an alt-rock song
streaming from my car speakers
—afterwards becoming stuck in my
head like a heartache
from there I found myself
back in iowa city
seated at a second floor bar
[maybe] directly above the airliner
the premises about the size
of four boxing rings
—the staircase in the center
vertically challenging
the details are sketchy at best
but there were nunchucks
& a blade involved
one combatant a karate extraordinaire
the other a cross between
batman & edward scissorhands
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reservedeyes and rise above
to understand the language
is to know how the stream
becomes a river
to be a flower you must first
become a pod and a seed
learn to feed off the earth
without sunlight
the rain is stored inside stone
buried & dug up & buried again
alive like human remains
to fly is to study the wings
of bird & insect & angel
listen to their mechanisms
—close your eyes and rise above
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there were six of us
maybe seven
seated in the dining room
my grandmother (born in belgium
& someone I’ve never met)
occupying the head
it was a hearty meal
a meat & potatoes kind of deal
homemade bread
fresh fruit & veggies
a little dog
sitting on someone’s lap
not sure my exact age
but I was sporting a red cap
w/a minimal bill
and I remember her telling me
(in her broken english)
it has no place at her table
november two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
rhyme & meter fail me
as I reach for words [like a
kite] caught up in a tree
there is no pattern to follow
no cut & paste
or rinse & repeat
only a faint premonition
stirring within the leaves
and there at the base
sits a collection basket
haphazardly catching
that which may fall from above
[and to be recycled later]
—the rest around the perimeter
raked into a pile of ideas
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was counting sheep last night
—they were hairless
One by one the infamous shearer
stripped them all bare
the pile of dirty-white wool
growing wider & taller
by the minute
It was exhausting
watching her handiwork
sitting on a stool in the corner
removing each coat in one full swoop
releasing the hyped-up animals
parading across my bed
Come midnight
there was no more room left in the inn
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
and she said
we’d never drift apart
not in a million years
and she said
love never leaves the heart
even after death
but if the flowers should fade & wilt
and the angels should fly away
just know I won’t be afraid
as long as you’re near
and she said
there is a place beyond the sun
that never grows old
and she said
it never grows old
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we share an appetite for more
whatever it is give us more
more death & destruction
more peace & prosperity
whatever it is give us more
more legal marijuana
more automatic rifles
more hatred & violence
up & down the boulevard
gives us more hide & go seek
more capture the flag
more taking of hostages
brokering them to the highest bidder
whatever it is we want more of it
more unconditional love
more full moons colored orangish-red
more stars falling from the sky
so that our wishes may never die
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
one of hundreds of thousands
dangling precipitously
I am momentarily
a participant of a
greater collective
awe-inspiring to those
who love all the colors
of the third season
destined to be released
as a single solitary flier
slowly drifting downward
governed by the wind & gravity
my eventual resting place
a shallow muddy puddle
on the side of the road
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 