at work at the desk in the studio
open books
& scattered papers
given life by the light & the breeze
sweeping in from the lone
south-facing window
the artist’s movements ever so slight
advancing steadfastly
from creation to eternity
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
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what should we build today
said the artist to the carpenter
the latter sitting silently in the rocker
sipping his tea
the morning sun seemed to move
slowly up the ladder
and the artist paced back & forth
while the carpenter continued to rock
and sip on his tea
what about a pig said the artist
we could build a pig
and paint it pink & white
put it out on display in the front lawn
I could see someone taking it
said the carpenter
stolen from the front lawn
right there in broad daylight
but we haven’t build it yet said the artist
no we have not said the carpenter
what else do you have
june two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she didn’t like to be photographed
though being drawn
was another matter altogether
she didn’t like pickles or salmon
or dinner parties greater than six
always preferring to sit (or lounge)
in the living room or parlor
taking in conversations
and open to most questions
during dinner she liked to keep quiet
communicating by way of
visual contact instead
excusing herself before dessert
retiring to the parlor
with anyone who would join her
october two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I often retell the same stories
or so I’m told
but I keep thinking I stopped doing that
once moving out of the basement
how many years has it been now
I ask mostly myself
but I remember a complete stranger
once say it’s been nine years
that was at least six seasons ago
but as far as I’m concerned
the war is never over
even though ambassadors assure me
quite confidently
otherwise
I’ve not held a job since moving
out of the basement
even though I’m told I’m as hireable
as the next one
but who wants to be the next one
not me I tell the pretty lady with a
pencil and bic pen stuck in her hair
tri-folding papers and reciting old lines
I go on to tell her
all I really need these days
are some cans of spray paint
and the next good idea
usually conjured in my head
during the overnight hours
planted there by an apologetic god
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you’ve a fearless imagination she tells him
as he positions himself at the easel
placing certain charcoals on the tray
you’re beautifully sublime this morning he replies
I love what you’ve done to your eyes
but please stay relaxed and keep talking to me
and hold that cigarette up just a little higher
I’ve been so bored lately she exhales
cloud of smoke drifting toward the back light
her neck craning backwards
her head dropping back on the futon
jet black hair sinking into white pillow
I know dear I know he says
sketching feverishly
stopping ever so briefly for a mouthful
of homemade farm fresh ale
I’ve missed you she says
but you’re always coming and going
you never have time for me anymore
yes yes yes he says
please pull your slip up just a little higher
I need to feel more of your inner mystique
august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we will cross the river
the artist and I
and we will find a new outlet
to call our home
and we will sleep as one
falling in and out of
romantic daydreams
evening sun hiding her
eyes behind decorative fan
rising moon reaching out
to gently awaken us
so that we may create again
july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
we are everyday people
well known on the streets
beloved but misunderstood
working for the greater good
and transitioning day by day
authorities keep us running
from one place to the next
from city to state to country
carving calligraphy inside caves
pasting portraits of unsung
heroes on border walls
we are everyday people
telling your untold stories
stories of scarcity and neglect
praying the world one day
wakes up and takes notice
june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
downtown railroad cars
sit still in line like cows
waiting to get branded
cigarettes cost too much
but not a quart of malt liquor
or can of yellow spray paint
getting good day’s sleep
is critical for optimal performance
when working graveyard shifts
nomad apostles carry flashlights
and lighters and waxing moons
calling out on occasion to look out
not opposed to taking new requests
or collaborating on a tanker
there’s a preference for going solo
especially on kansas city southern
september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it takes much longer than seven days
to create something as beautiful as you
but here I sit on the veranda
trying to figure it all out
there is no rushing perfection
there is only absorbing
taking in what light there is
and channeling into something else
mixing yellows and greens
and all sorts of shades of blue
the white of the moon
the white of a rabbit’s foot
of an eggshell
or a lost soul
certain brushes make better oceans
certain vessels travel magically through time
transmitting snapshots of sunrises
never before seen
and here on the veranda
light slowly crawls to the surface
waves softly slapping my face
july two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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
an empty canvas in an otherwise
empty world
suspended above sands
washed clean by the hands of the moon
time after countless time
the artist is nowhere to be found
perhaps adrift at sea
in search of something unforeseen
paint brushes and palette
at rest on three-legged easel
what is lost will one day be found
the artist and canvas
reunited when least expected
bringing back color
to an otherwise empty world
april two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I love the way she speaks to me
when the light is just right
the color of her eyes
transitioning from blue to bright
she wraps her arms around mine
like a skintight sleeve
vibrant and indelible
sinfully striking yet naive
no pain is greater than her mark
engraved upon my hide
forever reminding me
artistry shan’t ever be denied
may two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you hide your beauty behind
your deepest thoughts
deceived into believing
there is nothing left to share
generations of ingenuity
push your instincts
and test your resolve
to fashion the unthinkable
end result is earth shattering
and unbreakable
as you reveal one final time
your undying creativity
april two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Dedicated to Gary W. Keena
March 1, 1952 – February 1, 2013
What have you to live for
before you leave this world? before you’re on your own?
What cause will you die for
in your final hour? at your greatest need?
Tell me before you leave, what have you to say?
Tell me of the lonely riddle and the unknown way.
Old man, sit up straight,
don’t cough away your life…don’t hide your eyes.
Listen to my words of wonder;
do they matter? who really cares?
Answer me one question
before you leave this world…to satisfy my fear.
Tell me if you know
where you’re going next…tell me of paradise.
Today, today, it yearns for yesterday;
take me back one day so I might know the secret of creation.
Tell me before you leave, what have you to say?
Tell me of the lonely riddle and the unknown way.
About Gary
Poetry Video
recorded and posted february second two thousand thirteen
originally written circa nineteen eighty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 