bored by an ancient past
afraid of what lies ahead
I sit in front of metal easel
white canvas but a mirror
sable paint brush in hand
painting myself in and out
of an imperfect circle
how many times must I try
turning apple into orange
or barren earth into sky
I keep telling myself
a masterpiece is awaiting
one without a beginning or end
brimming with suspension
like a virtuoso escape artist
december two thousand eighteen
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
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.
for centuries the sloping hill
produced a bouquet of artistry
sewn into the grass
and handpicked by flower children
an annual blizzard blanketed
the hill and invited participants
to hasten up and down
using any means possible
as the city slowly crawled outward
leaving concrete in its wake
the sloping hill cried
shaking and moaning and hurting
the forward motion gradually
violated the internal integrity
of her existence
until one day without warning
she simply sailed away
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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