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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “angel”

04 Jun 2022
2 Comments

panhandler at the gas pump


I don’t know where he came from
but suddenly he was there
presenting himself by asking
for one dollar
& one dollar only

having driven 600 plus miles
I was back home after
a twenty year hiatus
summoned by attorneys
to settle my mother’s estate

it was almost as if
I had met this man before
blue eyed & dark complected
maybe from high school
maybe somebody’s angel

to get to this point
I was ahead of schedule
a few blocks away from my meeting
having decided to stop
& top off the tank
at a cost far exceeding
one hundred dollars





june two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
16 Nov 2020

on becoming a child


from snake to mouse
to predator bird
your understanding
naturally progresses
in complete alignment
with the slightest of stars

soon you’ll be able
to build a birdhouse
a boathouse
a townhouse
soon you’ll be able
to hold a heart in your hand

at some point
you’ll be showing others
how to interpret their own dreams
humming by the fireside
thread & needle in hand
mending leathery wings




november two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , , , | Leave a comment
26 Jul 2020
3 Comments

angel in the choir


my inner voice has taken
an unexpected leave of absence
forcing me to think for myself
for an indeterminable amount of time

perhaps she has taken wing
joining the fight to end inequality
whether right here at home
or half a world away

desperately alone without her
I pray without asking a single thing
cunningly convincing myself
she is finally being heard




july two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
28 Mar 2020
2 Comments

I thought you were an angel


there is madness in the silence
or so they say
left to your own devices
it’s impossible to imagine
what may have transpired

the sign on the door reads
no vacancy
but inside the house sits empty
and stocked with supplies

and so you will never know
just how many you could have saved

without any media it’s hard to say
how many survivors
might be out there
maybe in groups of two or three
going door to door




march two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , ,
17 Oct 2019

you can run you can run


you find yourself asking
is this all there is
surrounded by strangers
feverishly attempting
to pump life
back inside you

there’s a resident priest
hanging outside the doorway
adjusting his off white collar
you’ve enough strength to yell
he’s on the wrong floor

they push against your shoulders
until your head sinks
back into the pillow
promising not to
suffocate you with it
as long as you stop all this fighting

reluctantly you agree
under a number of conditions
including to kindly ask the angel
sitting silently in the far corner
to get the hell out of dodge




october two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
16 Aug 2019
2 Comments

minding my own business


one of so many I easily blend
in among the populace
taking to the streets on a friday night
feathers tucked behind my back

I hadn’t noticed anyone spotting me
so I kept on keeping on
turning my eyes from green to blue

it’s hard to say how or when
times actually change
but there’s no question today’s people
are in need of so much more
something indefinable
but if you ask me it may be less
like believing in something
beyond their comprehension
for example someone like me

I usually tell myself what happens
here doesn’t really matter much
but lately I’m not so sure
which may be the reason
I keep on keeping on
determined to be close when called




august two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , ,
20 Apr 2018
9 Comments

missing in action


looking down from the ninth floor
there was nowhere to go but up

michael may have been missing
but I knew he was within earshot

though I was tiring of the routine
I had no intention of checking out
instead reestablished my footing
attempting to regain communication
with anyone who may or
may not have wings




april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Micropoetry, Poetry and tagged , ,
07 Jan 2018
16 Comments

melting icicles mesmerizing like prisms


winter is a temporary affair
beautiful and inviting from the inside
fires burning in twilight
bodies warm and comfortable
dreams hot and cold and as real as life itself

she looked like an angel from afar
and especially up close
a winged creature who whispered
to me in my dreams
how winter is a temporary affair
and soon I will come back to life
and she will show me how to live again

how I wanted to believe her
but in the morning all was lost
those dreams I could easily touch
once again become out of reach
and as I go about my day
I repeat to myself
winter is a temporary affair





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dreams, Poetry and tagged , , ,
27 Dec 2017
2 Comments

like a resurrected angel


you’ve seen these people
talking with their hands
I want to know what they know
somehow tap into their insights

they are not like those politicians
or preachers or snake oil solicitors
using sleight of hand maneuvers
like a charlatan or imposter or pretender
like an everyday carnival barker
like a false prophet delivery incoherent babble
promising some sort of tipping point

ever since yesterday’s crash
time has blossomed
supposedly ushering worldwide prosperity
the disadvantaged growing in numbers
thriving in ways inexplicable
like a resurrected angel





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , ,
04 Dec 2017

god willing there will be work


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

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

Posted in Dogma, In the City, Poetry and tagged , , | Leave a comment
27 Sep 2016
4 Comments

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

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , , ,
25 Sep 2016
9 Comments

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

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , ,
19 Feb 2016
5 Comments

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

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


february two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Posted in Dogma, Poetry and tagged , , ,
05 Oct 2015
2 Comments

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

Posted in In the City, Poetry and tagged , , , ,
29 Apr 2015
4 Comments

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

Posted in Poetry and tagged , , ,
14 Mar 2014

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

Posted in Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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