thousands of flights
and millions of passengers
crisscrossing through the skies
I’m at rest atop a tropical tree
encased in low lying clouds
counting blue planes passing by
july two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I don’t know how old I am
but my newest bicycle turned seven
last week
the other day it did a number on my lower back
—come next morning I was hunchbacked
& girl scouts had to help me
with my socks & shoes
in the freezer in the basement
is where I keep a few boxes of thin mints
there’s a lock on the door
the key misplaced for weeks or months
this house is much too big for me anymore
one doorbell and too many key holes
sometimes I think it’s the dead of winter
but the air conditioner runs nonstop
forcing me to wear long johns & sweaters
in the garage is where I work on my bicycle
until I am unable to stand up straight
it is summer again & I am tired
like an overstuffed bear
july two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
independence day
guns ablaze in the streets
alternative forces
busily at work
like wasps in a bonnet
devising a plan
to take over the hive
a coup d’etat
in fort worth’s backyard
and philly & chitown
houston & phoenix & memphis
chattanooga tennessee
plans coexisting
throughout all of the fifty
taking out any soul
regardless of their background
their individual
identities
allegedly not focused on reality
but their own immortality
right here on earth
or wherever they’re destined next
july two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the intention was clear
but the action nonextant
motivated by fear
& perpetuated by greed
their forward movement
was steadily determinable
the opposition [however]
resolves to be unbeatable
their forward movement
equally purposeful
more than likely fateful
what results is unmistakable
force upon force
those inevitable forward movements
much like cosmic explosions
their lasting effects
felt right here at home
july two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The Energy of the pyramids
beckons the next pilgrimage
whether a week from tomorrow
or four thousand years ago
Some say the Architects
were otherworldly over-achievers
trading road maps for free rides
and fishing the River Nile
july two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
pardon me
but I cannot see you
not even a faint light
in my mind’s eye
I know you’re out there
if you would only
tell me your name
perhaps we can get
somewhere
from what I can tell
we must be on
different planes
vibrations
and/or frequencies
your name escapes me
to a much higher level
july two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
lost in the chase
that damn rat race
or whatever it is you want
to call it
going about things
wearing a dumb smirk
or a wry smile
not giving a damn about
how big is the ocean
you always believed
it’s best to live & die
near water
a little smarter
millimeters along the way
separating the noise
from the substance
often disguised as killer waves
or slow-motion currents
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s something rotten
in far too many places
including right here in this house
—apples & tomatoes & eggs
going bad on the kitchen counter
nobody lives here anymore
& it’s going to be a few more days
before the neighbors start putting
two & two together
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we left nearly everything
there was no other way
to capture the flag
the only thing that seemed to matter
in the summer of sixty-nine
I remember I had
only wanted to play ball
but that was never in the cards
instead left strategizing
in someone’s low-lit basement
we could only assume
our house had been bombarded
likely laid to waste
while surviving relatives
roamed about like zombies
we had received word
of the headless horse
galloping into the orangish moon
a clear signal it was time to fly
the archers unloading their arsenal
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I am restless
inside my makeshift cage
sticking my head out
between the barbed wires
maybe nicking my neck
a time or two
but always smiling
I don’t bleed like I used to
the clotting
taking its sweet-ass time
a reminder I should lighten up
on the baby aspirin
it’s hard to be seen
when there’s a sheet
hanging over my head
—no I am not a ghost
at least not that I know of
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
let’s break it up boys
and so the huddle at the mound
gives way to an impending fastball
the home plate umpire calls it a strike
—he’s a regular douchebag
the stadium is jam-packed
copping a buzz on bud light & goose island
the chisox are back on top
taking on the loveable losers in comiskey
there’s a good chance of rain
but there’s nary an umbrella in sight
this place doesn’t have a retractable roof
—that’s just plain wrong
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in the harbor
angels with gold-tipped wings
hang out waiting for a call
in the meantime
I work on my own little story
deciding what it means
when she sent me a photo
of chicory by the side of the road
the flowers were blue
but then again they weren’t
and for the longest time
I tried to describe
the color of her eyes
the sea was calm that day
but my heart was racing
a reminder that the ending
is always by my side
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s evening
and everything is still
as if the earth has stopped spinning
the clouds in the sky don’t move
the water falling
down the rocks
makes not a sound
or if it does
is drowned out
by noisy high flyers
some of them are drones
others real wildlife
the former surveilling and well-
equipped
with all kinds of weaponry
the latter
doing their part
by participating in the
natural selection of order
in the suburbs
ordinary people are cleaning their guns
while in the inner city
a not-so-silent war [of sorts]
rages on
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
here we go again
testing the outer limits
as if body & mind
has no bearing
on the aging process
what concoctions
can we improve upon
trading mint leaf for bat wing
rearranging words
to an oft-repeated incantation
swearing to discovering
something new
we were told not to look
into the eyes of the sun
but when your own vision fails you
that is exactly
what you should be doing
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
When I awoke
I was back in Dublin
for the second time in nine days
The first time I never got much of a look
other than the canal
and the suspension bridge
resembling a harp
I had planned on meeting Joyce
at the Gravity Bar
instead was swept away by all the tourists
and before I knew it
found myself blocks away
from The Liberties
Having bounced from here to there
I somehow landed in a pub
slash eatery
down the street
from the Google building
where an up & coming young gent
(with a Mediterranean accent & penchant
for rhyme & meter)
bought me a cool chocolately stout from Galway
In turn I handed him one of my chapbooks
which he quickly flipped
from one page to the next
before stopping cold on his own volition
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve lost a step
but not a beat
the morning sun
reminds me so
where I’ve been
means less & less
than where I’ll be
when the new moon
rises in the east
believe you me
I believe in you
& when there’s
no more trace
it simply means
I’ve set out for sea
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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