to improve upon the living world
I must first find something
meaningful to give to others
who may have nothing for themselves
to improve upon myself
I must find a way to lose myself
within this living world
transferring what little power I may possess
to those who may have none
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I am like a boy
without a family
a young man
without a soul
a wanderer w/o direction
god does not talk to me
like once upon a time
when guiding me out of my shell
and into a brand new light
I was told
things would take care
of themselves
that I was simply the vehicle
to someone else’s
grander design
how I am to know
what is true & what is make-believe
how I am to know
whether or not I have reached
my final destination
I am like an army of one
advancing toward a front line
continually redrawing itself
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Cutting the whitethorn
inside a fairy fort
was much like committing suicide
and over time it became
common knowledge
much like finding a pot of gold
at the end of a rainbow
Magic of the druids
resided inside the ringforts
and anyone attempting
to penetrate the perimeter
between the morning hours
of one to five
were unlikely to leave
The Lios alive
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve made my way here
on account of my mother
a woman well aware of her family
but unwilling to look
neither forward nor past
She’s deserved much more
than what’s been handed to her
and I’m afraid I may be
her last chance to understand
what she may have missed
There is no self-loathing
as far as she is concerned
but where I come from
[based on my own experiences]
is precisely the opposite
Making my way back from a
pub on Ennis Friary
I conduct traffic near midnight
believing the Irish in me
is exactly what she had expected
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Not far from Dublin
will I always be
where the bustling streets
welcome strangers
from all walks of life
giving refuge to anyone
without a home
But for now I’ll stray
far away from the city lights
where the green hedges
grow unattended
& the wild winds beckon me
to the southern sea
softly whispering my name
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
boarded up castle windows
three stories tall
wider & taller than the original
castle windows
landing areas for black birds
ravens or grackles or cowbirds
circling the perimeter as if on patrol
playing a game without a name
occupying the ledges
for moments at a time
unable to penetrate the fortress
one alighting on a ledge
only to have another depart
sometimes two or three at a time
orbiting the castle as much as
attempting to occupy the ledge
picking a different window each time
but always coming & going
circling & swooping & climbing higher
spreading their wings like black angels
though never once not spiraling
down to the ground
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s like stepping back in time
long before plymouth rock
or the white man’s first encounter
w/native americans
this 12th century castle
was the first of its kind
modeled after nothing but an idea
what it would take to stay alive
you see back then there was
plenty of human ingenuity
artistic accomplishments
& historic achievements
of course what remained
was the insatiable desire to kill
and that spread like wildfire
by way of land & sea & sky
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the furthest thing from my mind
is falling to the ground
& now having reached
my desired elevation
nothing else seems to matter
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
to not think of death
would be a lie
the way in which
turning on my imagination
—the top ten ways
repeating in a dream
each one worse than the next
in the middle of the night
I awake in a panic
the knife at my neck
the blade facing the other way
turn it turn it I say
please end it now
the villain dressed in black
wearing a half mask
eyes colorless
presence odorless
the voice as familiar as my own
emotionlessly saying
no this is far too easy
I believe I’ll let you live
to tell the tale
yet another day
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
motivation in hiding like a child
waiting to be found
clues like breadcrumbs
swept to the wayside
they’ve traveled this far
unlikely to succumb to any element
thrown their way
most times life goes on
but when a breath is suspended
there is good reason to pause
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
something has me under a spell
so much so it’s unnoticeable
there is fish to be caught
dirt to be kicked
there are mountains to be climbed
rocks to be skipped
they say something skips a generation
but it’s not the insanity card
I’ve gone looking for the what
since learning
it’s entirely attainable
I’m not where I used to be
though my orbit is small
second guessing what I know to be true
I find myself back
where I used to be
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
flower within flower
reaching skyward
filament supporting stamen
supporting nourishment
the whole world invited to partake
enjoying their fair share
void of intimidation
a kind of harmony that shouldn’t ever
be taken for granted
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The closest I could describe it
[which I’ve never seen or felt]
would be that of a magic carpet ride
—an invisible one at that
navigating far from the ground
out of the city & over the fields
veering & twisting & accelerating
passing through unbelievable clouds
commandeered by the all-powerful
and me the copilot
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the fog machine broke down
& there wasn’t an able body
around to fix it
—they had all gone off to war
without the fog machine
[the elders lamented]
everyone left behind was certain
to die a quick or slow death
day by day the drums drew nearer
the children gave rise to thought
abandoning the fog machine
& focusing on unleashing
the flood of the century
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
they moved the farmhouse
into town some sixty years ago
three stories of memories
packed neatly in tight corners
— a number of dead bodies
once discovered throughout
the new owners hadn’t been told
what they got themselves into
but it’s just a matter of time
before finding out
the rest of the story remains to be told
calendar days by association
— february thirteen
october thirty
december twenty-four
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
what does it mean
when the moon is dressed in red
is she in pain or sorrow
or a reason for celebration
do you remember
when she once ran away
a boy & his dog giving chase
— how she disguised her visage
void of any color
as if hiding from herself
stars like wallflowers
wander without much thought
the lady in the mirror
appearing now & then
revealing just enough skin
enticing curiosity
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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