jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “aging”

beer cans and forget-me-nots


the beer cans used to be blue or
purplish-blue
but now they’re gold with a splash
of lavender…it’s all very confusing

I went to the grocery store to purchase
some stamps and a lottery ticket
and pick up a twelve pack of that
beer in gold cans and
lavender lettering

when I got home and walked into the house
(by way of the garage)
the dog stared at me from my favorite chair
his ears lit up like some stupid jack rabbit

oh son-of-a-bitch I say to the jack rabbit
I forget to pick me up
some of that damn beer


august two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

those good old days


they sit in the great room
watching golf with the sound
turned up rather loudly
commenting how none of the
golfers have visible tattoos
like so many other athletes

what’s this cloud they talk about
she queries
pointing at the microsoft commercial
airing on the television

what’s that he shouts back

the cloud she repeats
what is this cloud all about

beats the hell out of me he says

but I thought you knew everything
she says

for the last time he says
I once knew everything
now all I know is jack squat

picking up the remote
he turns the volume up even louder


march two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

let the weekend begin


everyone I know is getting older
and some are even dying without
a moment’s notice
never getting a chance to say
good-bye
good-bye
good-bye sweet world

in the grocery store I ran into Joe
and asked him how his wife was doing

she’s gone man where have you been

I’m sorry I say and walk away

out in the parking lot everyone is
a ghost of their former selves
systematically going about their lives
running out of bright ideas
to reverse the inevitable

but not me I am perfectly fine
no wrinkles on my face
a rosy glow still on my cheeks

I tell myself this is the last time
I’m going shopping here
and I rev up the engine and
drive my case of american pale ale
back home where we belong



august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

yet another trip to the landfill


there is an empty dumpster sitting in a
driveway down the street

it was delivered there yesterday I said

what the hell are you talking about she said
that dumpster got dropped off last friday

I exhale some sort of harumph
and step into the next room
quickly standing squarely in front
of the bay window
dumbfounded and staring at that thing

tomorrow will make it a week
I say to myself
almost certain tomorrow is friday again

I wonder if I they need any help over there
I yelled back toward the kitchen

silence
not even a “what-did-you-say”

I wonder if I should go fishing
I tell myself
and try to figure out exactly why
a perfectly quiet neighbor
is throwing away his life



may two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

a perfect promise


I didn’t expect this empty space
to be this warm
the quiet space where heartbeats
keep time with thoughts
that never rhyme

I remember you telling me
to keep the door shut
but I never did figure out why
or exactly what was out there
you didn’t want to be seen

I can’t see much light
passing through your ageless eyes
once dashing but now
hopeless like a waning moon
casting half-lies

while forgetfulness lurks
truth stalks along the outer edges
promising a perfect distraction
while washing youthfulness away


march two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the start of a brand new day


there’s something missing he said
opening the refrigerator
pulling out a mcintosh and
gutting it with the round steel slicer

deliberately he ate slice after slice in
complete silence
focusing on the uneasy feeling
deep inside his core

outside on the front patio he heard
the daily paper kicking the door

out back a stray cat cried in the cold
garnering the attention of camouflaged chickadees
sitting quietly from within the pines

a gust of wind brought forth new life
from the many wind chimes

beneath his feet he feels the morning train
beginning to roll from a few miles away
a good forty minutes late he tells himself

as the first whistle blows
the sun breaks free from the clouds


january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the sound of winter


room by room he drifted
attending to the windows
first shutting the storm
then locking the
lower sash with the upper

he moved mechanically
like an old timepiece
powered by the sun
the swift hand moving
hesitatingly from lack of light
his thoughts fleeting
like the gray winds outside

leaning on the last window
he felt oddly safe
but desperately alone
the sound of winter
forever secured inside



november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

porcelain doll


born into a colorful world
you look to the sky for answers
blinking your wanton eyes and
hiding your smile below
wide brimmed hat

anxious to live for tomorrow
you rarely sleep at night
dreaming of the day your
prince charming finally
finds you outside the box

winter arrives on cue
changing you into that girl
nobody really knew
your radiant summer skin
fading in the evening light

years turn into forever
your lost thoughts seeking
a new kind of loneliness
your mind aging
gracefully like porcelain



july two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

waiting in the wings


there is nothing sad in my song
it’s just that the purposefulness of it
is long gone

(I have since retired to another room)

alone I sit and bang on keys
meant to be played by a
musician high on weed
and improvising

we first discovered how the
establishment came to be
and then we destroyed them
brought them back to life with poetry
only the wretched understood

the professor did not show
up for work today so we taught
ourselves by sipping on danish wine
and reenacting a little hamlet

when the day is done don’t worry
about turning out the light
there’ll be another wave
of stark raving mad lunatics
to entertain your dying days



october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

heart and soul – a poem for the weary


he walks alone
because he has no place
to go
yet he knows
as long as he keeps moving
the world will never slow down

he smiles because
he was told it would keep warm his soul
and he figured
that would be a good thing
in case his heart went cold

remembering is what
he does best
not the yesterday kind of remembering
but the kind
where you go way back when
the kind
that makes you smile
and makes your heart reminisce



july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

don’t let the clowns scare you


in the clouds the clowns
perform with their balloons
and wacky flowers
and superlative feet
making the children laugh and cry
leaving them wondering
why this world
is such a mysterious place

in the cloud memories
are stored so the children
can recall those days
of carelessness and glee
before forced into figuring out
how the clowns managed to
make this world
seemingly unforgettable



july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

to catch a soul


I am trapped inside this virtual
world where judgments
are issued without warrant
and disenchanted encoders
sip on encrypted whiskey
while laughing silently

without notice shots of pain
stream down the sciatica river
where boys sit on rocks
and pretend to fish
with artificial bait
waiting to steal my soul


june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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