inside your watercolor eyes
people temporarily forget
their once weighty
earthly worries
behind your blue eyes
a calmness exists
lighting the way in this
never-ending journey
past your failing eyes
time never dies
reinventing itself
into a stand alone tree
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I fail to understand how I sleep at night
Where have you been dear sanity
and why do you evade my
quietest moments
This talking to someone
I fear whom may or may not exist
has been weighing
Heavily on the wrong side
of conscious thought
insistent on killing the enemy
Likely existing from within
a simple & delicate psyche
(in)capable of triggering
This insistence of wielding
instruments of creation
over the inevitable
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Look what you’ve left behind
my friend
your stuff scattered
in places you’ve never been
having gotten there either by accident
or intentionally delivered
by loved ones still standing
Last night in my dream
you were alive
and never better
rounding up the troops
and shouting out marching orders
your famous last words
it’s now or never my friends
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve become blind
or have I become
invisible
drifting [not walking]
from room to room
searching for the fly
buzzing in my ear
surely it must have
survived
another night
the light reflects
in my eyes
though they are closed
a cold wind
transforming into drafts
[throughout this place]
abetting the fly
that sleeps at night
escapes my hand
by day
could it be
I’ve turned into the fly
[and the fly into me]
this inexplicable
desire to launch myself
and ricochet
from wall to ceiling
and back to floor
a compelling notion
—an inherent motion
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve taken an interest in illustrating
her pretty white lies
turning them into pretentious trees
inside my newly acquired
little black book
music on the radio I pause & choose
who should I believe
strong winds shaking loose the leaves
I pick them up two at a time
saying she loves me not
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
putting things into perspective
has become a troubling annoyance
therefore no such efforts
shall be allowed inside this
house of solitary discourse
where a steady stream
of conscious thought
comes in through the outdoor
circulating amongst the drafts that be
until they either expire into
an imaginary pool of desire
or casually live on
in another occupant’s dream
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
birds & song & moving picture
congealing into a triangle
far away but coming into focus
slowly nearing the breakline
brought closer by the moon
& an inland breeze
children of the sand
pointing & jumping & shouting
we are saved
we are saved
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
careless discipline
is there such a thing
a lack of interest
in most things
up & down the line
a stark contrast
from possessing
a simple determination
to move forward selfishly
totally unaware
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I retreat & rethink & move on
for how many years now
delving or diving or drilling
whether on foot
or at sea
creating vehicles of the future
in the palm of my hand
design flaws cannot stop me
as I shrink myself
into the tiniest of places
unearthing wormholes
right here at home
turning into a time traveler
as the world goes dark
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
nobody knew what it meant
but they went with it
thinking [amongst themselves]
they’d figure it out as they went along
it was a strand
not like a piece of cloth
not like tungsten inside
an incandescent vessel
but like the tiniest clue
a piece of a key
an eighth of the characters
from an ancient code
its length is immeasurable
stretching beyond the milky way
likely visible than not
capable of shaping itself
into a chameleon
or a firefly
a child’s teardrop
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
nobody knew there would
be a test today
not even the teacher
a bomb threat forced them
to vacate the premises
and they set off on foot
to the amphitheater
on the west side of the
tree-lined river
it was there they exposed
their souls
one by one for some
others two by two
and even three by three
queried intensely
of life & death
in the end left to choose
either truth or dare
creativity had no limits
in what became
a sacred undertaking
where birds of different colors
sought the safety of the trees
experiencing the discomfort
of the tragedy
and the relief of the comedy
of the spoken word
filling the open air
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
When I found myself in the U.S., and the war was at full swing in Bosnia,
I read for survival – it was a means of thought resuscitation.
— Aleksandar Hemon
A road less traveled
a place outside of the self
if only you could see me there
maybe you’d begin
to understand what it means
to be suspended in time
Not far you should find Lazarus
astir on the peninsula
fishing no doubt
waiting on the next wave
It’s nothing but a distraction
as are all the ghosts of the past
my own image
becoming ashen
Somehow you find me
and pull
me
back
in
back onto the shoulder
of a road
less traveled
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
in real time
I recovered from what once
ailed me
paroled with written conditions
I was forced to sign
and off I went on my own
unconcerned about the brace
on my ankle
or the chip embedded
inside my shoulder
as the weather changed
the signals went haywire
and I found myself freer than I’d ever been
leading me to believe
how my newly found
lightning rod imagination
would forever set me free
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I wear an alarm clock
on my wrist
it tells me many things
such as where I’ve been
when I’m wide awake
or where I’m going
when fast asleep
it speaks to me in foreign sounds
a kind of language
I’ve come to understand over time
as if sequestered
inside a white room without
an escape route
I’ve nothing else to do
but to breathe & learn
sometimes the sound is muffled
by way of a pillow
and I become
the loneliest man in the world
until I toss & turn & awaken
all on my own
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I was pretending
to live in the hundred acre wood
where I met many a friend
from my childhood
it was sunny and it was nice
even in the middle of winter
and not one of us complained
except for you know who
there were oh so many stories
to tell and retell
and pots & pots of honey
we shared everything
photographs & memories
new ideas & fantasies
an occasional deep seated fear
the best part though
had something to do
with these neverendings
where the stories go on
and on and on
just like the stalk
we never stop climbing
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
when you tear
at the flesh
do both ears ring
in a canine kind of
frequency
after the feast
your heart rate slows
breathing shallowly
giving way to other senses
this earth talks
probably way too much
probably because
so few listen
the river did not always
meet the road
—natural bridges
evolving over time
december two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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