poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “angel”

god willing there will be work

she may have been an angel
but often let the weather
affect her daily mood

lightning could easily set her off
or calm her nerves
depending on time of day
and task at hand

the homeless knew her best
had no idea she was not human
but loved her stories
especially how she romanticized
being born under scorpio’s sign

she’d often go missing for days
sometimes weeks
stray cats patrolling at night
commissioned as her private eyes

my work is never done here
she often complained or cajoled
depending upon who would listen

december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

angel in my oldsmobile

sometimes my inner workings hesitate
like a sixty-nine cutlass

in the back seat my hopeful angel
looks out half-opened window
elbows on arm rest
chin supported by hands

eyes cast upwards she interprets
unspoken words
as they race past silently
like high-flying clouds

the night sky indicates
low temperatures are inevitable

but who’s to say when autumn
shall begin and end

there comes a point where nobody
really cares when the dead of winter
has finally set in

and as long as I have my angel
inside my winterized oldsmobile
I’m bound to witness
the ides of march again

september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

into thin air

she sat reading a book
never looking up as the train
raced and abruptly stopped time and again
as if it had some place it needed to be

she reminded me of a morning star
transiting along smog filled clouds
maybe noticeable but memorable
slowly becoming consumed by a rising sun

I raced and stopped like the train
attempting to get closer
drawn to discover the title of the book
or why she always disappears

september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

figure painting

i could see you
out of the corner of my eye
my angel
wrapped in her own
feathery blanket

uninspired for over an hour
i picked up my brush
and hurriedly
lashed out at the paper tacked
to the easel
scratching our plumes
creating locks like thin-haired pasta
eyes ocean blue
half-open and watery
lips closed and
relaxed like a worn-out child

she did not move
and did not make a sound
while everyone else
looked the other way

i picked up my things
and waved goodbye
told everyone i’d see them
again next week
my tired little friend

february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

ghost of my former self

I always enjoy my time
walking amongst the living
dressed in off-white and
uninterested in success
briefcase in one hand
wall street journal in the other
umbrella purposefully left behind
in a vacated train seat

I once met an angel
while witnessing a stabbing
on sunset boulevard
quickly turned my back
because her light was too bright
her tucked wings a reminder
I can’t possibly find my way
without first learning to fly

october two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

separated from birth

nothing like in my dream
you introduce yourself
as a friend of a friend
changing your appearance
to make me feel comfortable
describing future events
as a constant happening

I wanted to ask how you
could fly without wings
instead closed my eyes
and held on loosely
thrilled to be seeing all things
previously invisible

with assurances of more light
beyond the light
you brought me back to life
challenging me to make sense
in whatever nearly killed me
promising me next time
there would be no separation

april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

to the queen’s rescue

court jester hoists me up
far enough
my hands grasping the bow
feet skimming along the bark
stepping vertically until
finding myself in seated position
like a fisherman

from there I cast my line
past the edge
hook motioning like a pendulum
butterfly bait caught in
capillary branches
fluttering and struggling
to belabor a million breaths

crawling out on bloodline branch
the fate of coin weighs
heavily upon a commoner’s quest
either flipping and falling
straight to the ground
or forever hailed as the
queen’s guardian angel

march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the healer

put a band-aid on it
she said

and walk it off
it’ll be all right

those words stayed
with me
for countless years

whenever I happen upon
someone injured
whether they be a child
or a woman
or an old man
I see her transitioning
from a healer who couldn’t save herself
to a guardian angel on steroids

april two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the guardian

you entered the ward
with a smile in your eye
quietly knelt beside me
and whispered of a world
where the dazzling white light
promises to free me
from the pain inside

october two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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