jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “angels”

an unlikely analog


I am not what I seem
a broken clock on a shelf
stuck at 11:19 and 19 seconds

it matters not if it’s morning
or night
the broken do not know
the difference
and if they tell you that they do
they are liars

when time abruptly stood still
I learned to walk about
without having to use my legs
spending hours inside the cathedral
deciding which station
I loved the best
and hated the most

[impossible
I would tell myself
for without time
there can be no hours]

I once believed they were
angels
communicating with me
in a language of vibrations
one I learned to comprehend
all on my own

but now
I am not so sure





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

intermediary


I was reading poetry featuring angels
in one form or another

for some reason
they don’t appear to be
as relevant as they used to
whether embedded in the spoken word
or manifested in the latest
and greatest artistry on canvas

spotting one on the street
can be tricky
their divine light & birdlike wings
most likely kept under wraps
whether trailing someone
at the grocery store
or sitting patiently at the local tavern
monitoring a lost soul crying in their beer





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

angel as a songbird


I’m not going to rhyme
I swear I won’t
even though this poem
is about a songbird

there are seven of them
[actually]
inside the bush
swapping silly stories
thriving on higher vibes

a single gust of wind
sets them aflutter
alighting where required
to give aid & comfort





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

alone behind the sun


where do you start the story
a constant change
the river rises
& she falls
there is no beginning
but the ending is all but certain
a colossal possibility
like wings crafted by dædalus

you sit alone bewildered
wondering what’s
behind the eyes
of the sun
a story rich in ancestry
reworked & rewritten
ever unfolding & far reaching
like a flashmob of angels





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

waiting on an omen


someone tried telling me
there are no good or bad omens
that there are only omens

in retrospect people
are inclined to say
they should have seen it coming
as if they’re a modern day prophet
or simply clairvoyant

on the patio at the corner bistro
three angels vape & discuss
the complexities of current times

most pedestrians walk by
not noticing
or disregarding their wings
            but I don’t
I stop & take a seat at the bar
waiting to be waited on





october two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

pretty angels all in a row


the grass is greener today
an exception to the rule

maybe it’s due to the sun
momentarily appearing
a reminder that finer days
used to be the norm

out east old world shadows
are hard to come by
while the wild wild west is just that
calling upon accidental heroes
to rewrite recent histories

all the while refugees arrive
by way of land & sea
universally speaking of peace
& waving in an army of angels





october two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

angels in my peripheral


I kept believing in my peripheral
but there was nothing there
rural mailbox not a hitchhiker
yellow utility pole not a giraffe

three angels work in the east room
validating dice & drawing straws

you said it was a good place
to unlock & unload
& so away I went to converse
with the sounds inside the woods

once inside I doubted my return
two or three angels in my peripheral





september two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

early in the morning


hand me your dream
let me take it from there
let’s see how far
we can stretch the sky

it’s been ages
since I’ve heard voices
finally returning
to calm me down

I used to think angels
disguised themselves
as red wing blackbirds
restless by the roadside




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

an angel in critical need of repair


I dreamt I had wings
its feathers in various
shades of grey
stretching them to the limit
as I stood tall atop
the empire state building

in the dream I sprung
from the ledge in a swan dive
crashing back to earth
in slow motion
the eyes behind my head
madly moving rapidly




may two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Jacob’s Ladder


The sky was deep purple
making it very easy
to see the white kite with
its white tail
darting like a sailboat
on the high seas

Purple turned to violet
turned to lavender
quelling the violence
having bubbled
on the surface
easing toward the firmament

A million angels
parachuted from the sky
a rescue mission
for all the ages
notably all the children
grasping the taut string




may two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

mass murder by the boathouse


angels behind the boathouse
trade dark secrets in the
middle of the day

they’ve dark hair & skin
auburn wings tucked in
called to this particular place
for reasons yet to be known

they wonder who is
calling the shots anymore
softly debating
how bad things need to get
before the apocalypse

waiting behind the boathouse
one question leads
to another
until there is nothing left
no lies or deceit or promises
just the beautiful truth
that they are here for a reason




april two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

bullets ripping through space


I’ve been called to see
in six dimensions
by who exactly
remains a mystery
for all I know could be jesus
or satan or mister john lennon

as bukowski would say
I was born into this
sorting out observations
percolating in the background
where so few of us
can or cannot see

dead or alive beware
the mockingbird
elvis or caesar once said
and steer clear of
heavily armed angels
guarding the perimeters




february two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

where angels still sing


there is magic in the air
electrical and elusive
like a razor thin damsel’s wing

all is quiet in the inner mind
perfect conditions
to welcome and learn the
universal language of appreciation

what can’t be found here
that doesn’t exist above or beyond
whether beneath the frost
or high above the treetops
where angels still sing




december two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

two young girls at a window


one standing and one sitting what do they see
looking out through the parlor windows
the mostly empty room flooded with natural light
outside the sun reflects off the freshly fallen snow

what do they see and what do they say
or are they simply reading each other’s minds
[like they’ve done since the beginning of time]
or are they marveling at something we cannot see
something beyond our limited comprehension

one standing and one sitting what do they see
these divine spirits disguised as two young girls
looking out through the parlor windows
entranced by the sun reflecting off all eternity




november two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lesser gods and weaker minds


looking for something new
I gaze out the 10th floor window
catching a glimpse of October
waiting in the wings
closely held by unsuspecting vultures
cleverly disguised as angels
coaxing me to open my heart and soul
[and inch closer to the edge]
in exchange promising riper fruit
and even brighter sunrises




september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

assuming a lesser role


I’m in your movie
perfectly still by a window
shadow like a black bird’s

you feed me my lines
spoonfuls of revolutions
followed by pregnant pause

everywhere people are hungry
overdosing on knowledge
breathing shallowly

and here I remain on the edge
plucking old traditions
and creating new rituals

I usher in the next morning
stretching my wings
and singing higher than an angel
just as you had written




september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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