one of hundreds of thousands
dangling precipitously
I am momentarily
a participant of a
greater collective
awe-inspiring to those
who love all the colors
of the third season
destined to be released
as a single solitary flier
slowly drifting downward
governed by the wind & gravity
my eventual resting place
a shallow muddy puddle
on the side of the road
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
at some point I will return
& nothing will be as it seemed
highway 52 has since turned green
all the way from cinnamon roll hill
past the flourishing hamlet of saint donut
the river still runs through everything
creating new veins along the way
mainly thanks to the passage of time
existing in the imagination
the rust on the rocks
have long dusted themselves off
& artificial creations
once made to be transparent
have returned to their original
peacock-like colors
september two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s a storm in the offing
eying to replace the warm november sun
stone cold vengeance slowly moving in
spring long gone & summer faded
what wickedness comes this way
unstoppable death fast approaching
hunker down but remain vigilant
fear not the influence of faraway stars
steering you artfully well into february
october two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the autumn equinox falls flat on my face
deep in dream state I am suddenly
wide awake
I sit up and attempt to determine
exactly what it is that woke me
and exactly where I might be
am I dead or am I alive
I wonder with uncertainty
bold numbers glowing in my peripheral
I turn and squint and see
it’s nearly three in the morning
I was dreaming of colors I say aloud
of the sunset and the moon’s shine
of the oak tree shedding its coat
atop the green green grass
yes I was dreaming beautifully
and you rudely awoke me
[mother nature or god or my own intuition]
less than sublimely reminding me
one day I will be the one who is falling
september two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my iphone photo from 2011
there is this word on my mind
hanging like a colorful leaf on a branch
a few inches out of reach
by the time morning arrives
it is no longer dangling
rather part of a collective whole
mixed with all the others
strewn across the lawn
for a moment I ponder the importance
of getting down on hands and knees
uncovering the very word
etched on my mind
holding it up to my eyes
like the holiest of grails
and memorizing its every detail
november two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
summer dies and autumn awakens
another beginning to the fatal end
inevitable like simple thoughts
segueing into fantastical dreams
night skies are clear and stars abound
shooting and falling abysmally
luckiest person alive looking upward
casting doubts on winning streak
open windows suddenly become shut
weakening sun filtering through
giving hope to those with tired eyes
blinking and dying to see tomorrow
september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
my feet are hurting but my heart
is beating just fine
it may have skipped
once or twice or trice
simply by finding you here
we always look forward to october
though hate to see september
slowly burning in rearview
like those hybrid pumpkins
glowing in the twilight
there are no perfect days
but the harvest moon
is as cool as cool can be
and you kiss me unexpectedly
september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
september’s death
rests inside a fielder’s glove
her final breaths elongated
lilting and fading
elegantly purposeful
she would not be happy
knowing what follows next
her boys of summer in full costume
exhaling the uncertain air and
parading out past twilight
clumsily swatting bats
september two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I stood looking out the window
at a small pile of leaves
I had raked and forgotten about
Damn I thought
I can’t believe I left behind this pile of leaves
It was then as I had these thoughts the wind
came out of nowhere
hitting the pile of burnt colors
and sending them high into the air
Hey honey I yelled
you’ve got to come see this
the leaves are dancing
Crosswinds continued lifting the
leaves higher than eye level
twisting them into a stream of
irregular circular motion
fully fluid yet shapely
as if produced by a child
playing spirograph on a table
Hey honey I yelled
you’ve got to come see this
This time she leaned her head back
and turned her neck my way
What is it she asked – I’m reading
The leaves are dancing I said
you’ve got to come see this
First there was a pause as the
leaves continued to dance
and then there was closure
october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
It doesn’t matter what day it is
and no one seems to care
which way the wind blows.
The only thing that seems to matter
is November will arrive without fanfare,
and now everything can get on with dying.
The day might be bright but it will be short;
city parks will be littered with leaves
that never completely dry.
Street walkers and their dogs
will be hard to recognize
once November has taken hold.
Towering trees become dancing skeletons
reaching out for a partner in the sky.
Peering through their branches
at just the right time,
Venus or the Moon or the Sun
can be spotted, pretending
to be ornaments dangling.
october two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
The shadow of Billy Capp
drifted along Little Mill
encouraging anyone
to venture further inside
the once private property.
It was a hundred years
to the day Billy Capp
was shot in a poker game
the ace of spades found
buried beneath his sleeve.
Legend has it he was chained
and dragged to Little Mill
where he was anchored
into a seven foot pool
that moonless autumn night.
Come springtime the body of
Billy Capp had diminished
into a spectral mist
forever daring any brave soul
to test the sterile water.
october two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
autumn arrives right on time
a reminder that none of us
can forever enjoy
the endless days of light
early in the morning
when the sky is untouched
by a belated sun
you are awakened by little leaves
knocked around by tortuous winds
forming strength as a collective
and striking window panes
as if they were sheets of rain
nothing can escape the transition
into this slow death
where you are bound
to experience the creepiness
entering your soul
leaving you hungry and cold
and wishing for all things new again
click here for youtube video
september two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Whispers could be heard
Beneath the leaves
The ones fallen seasons ago
When there was no reason
To believe time would ever end
Softly worded thoughts
Seemed to travel close to home
Yet when trying to pinpoint
The source it became clear
It was something universal
Out of disharmony beautiful
Music seemingly appeared
Played by angels pretending
To be popular nestled
Comfortably in the backyard
On a cool autumn evening
march, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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