jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “afterlife”

say you’ll haunt me


inside this cage I hear you sing
your personal psalms
songs of woe and joy
and everything in between

during your darkest moments
supernovas shine high above

though not in your line of sight
they keep you off guard and hopeful

your face is patterned
vertical lines channeling emotions
streaming from your eyes

out in the yard shadows cast
familiar symmetrical smiles

some nights you are unprepared
to fall asleep in my arms

one day a miracle will open the door
leaving you with new ideas
either spiraling yourself far away
or forever haunting my days


september two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

may day in the night sky


high speeds through clouds made of ice
wings molting then unraveling
hands grasping for someplace to land
as bodies busily spin in darkness
like lost souls in space mountains

with no time for substantive thoughts to evolve
time stands still for a matter of forever

twisted turning steel opens triangular windows
disappears into a brand new universe
while every living thing in its path
expands and contracts like a comet’s tail
breaking apart only to reconnect


february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

beyond the light


pretending this life-giving light
never once existed is like
accepting neither did I

wandering in the darkness
catlike eyes search for nothing
in particular but hopeful
to find something new

tall trees open up like umbrellas
protecting the ground
from metallic dust showers
turning into cosmic twisters
chased by space cowboys
riding sun-powered horses

life beyond the light is like a twin
searching for her lost soul
relentlessly persevering


january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

made in the shade


these fears inside I lay to rest
as setting sun bows and
curtsies one final time

I’m off to chase grander stars
hosting brighter moons
orbiting other oceans
sent on my merry way
accidentally
a victim so it seems
partially of my own accord

there are no sad marches
no guns to be fired
no motorcycle escorts
no victory day parades

there are no flowers or polaroids
or guestbooks or folded flags
no children sniffling
or women weeping

from now on the future
is my present
and whatever good I left behind
would one day become
a necessary ingredient
to grow the shadiest of trees


january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

make-believe worlds


who are we but pretend gods
unable to tame the time of day
huddled en masse on street
corners and freeways
and white-hot beaches
putting out fires and chasing
ambulances
running away from tsunamis and
disease and ghostly dreams
practicing ego and yoga and war
and the finest of arts
orchestrating chaos by day and
reciting poetry at night
calling for real gods in a pretend
world to somehow set us free



november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

where oh where can she be


she’s in a better place now
he mumbled to himself
retying his wingtips on the bathroom stool
dabbing his finger with his tongue
and erasing old smudge marks

she never felt comfortable
walking in her own shoes
choosing instead to be someone else
like a promising young star
searching for that perfect role

he walked back into the parlor
and mingled among the living
wondering where in the macrocosm
her consciousness had landed
now that her body lay in state


june two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

behind the alibi


alone I wander the sea
of dreams
just me and my alibi
and yellow submarine

beneath the depths of
deserted space
shooting stars sail on
outside the alibi

old borders collapse
new realities emerge
compressed and
submerged
and living a new lie


april two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

behind closed doors


golden skeleton key
wrapped around your neck
designed to unleash spontaneity
while keeping the monsters at bay
magically vanishes in the feckless wind

inside the madhouse demons slash
and poke with razors and needles
fingerpainting false memories on
invisible doors and lasering
new keyholes with a blazing white light


march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

The Soul Bar


We go there after life and live it up
for as long as we can stand
on our own two feet
or get thrown out for playing
karaoke with the house band

We go there after life and swap
stories about the strange times
on the old blue jewel
when it was easier to feel
the pain of man’s music
than wake up sober
and pretend everything is just fine

We go there after life and find
new pals who nobody ever
heard of before
the kind of fellows who died
young and never got a chance
to spread their wings
until they stumbled upon this place
hidden beneath the rubble



february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

her next creation


she spoke with forked tongue
but I understood
every word she said

she said I had been dead
for three days
before resurrecting
my consciousness

back wandering the earth
I was sent searching
for a flower yet to be born

strolling beside a copse
instinctively I stopped
and squatted and became
mesmerizingly lost
as the glass petals
slowly unfolded into
another world



october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

highway survivor


there are no lawyers here
so there is no one
to call or point fingers at

I’m just sitting here on the
highway’s shoulder
figuring out my next move

I see everything at once
and without even trying
I’m getting quite used to it

the wreck across the way
is mine but it’s been
five or ten or fifty years ago

sure seems like yesterday

I keep thinking maybe one day
I might branch out
and try my hand at haunting



august two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

fishing with jesus


sometimes I just cry myself to sleep
when I think about all the things
I’m gonna miss about this place
I told jesus
as we sat on the rocks
casting our lines out into the sea
neither of us worrying
whether or not there was fish to catch



june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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