she arrived unannounced
redirected from an unknown god
breaching the exosphere without a sound
though coming to life by starlight
she disguised herself as human
finding solace within her own garden
as time passed the ground flourished
showcasing colors never before seen
reshaping the landscape of a parallel world
april two thousand seventeen
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
don’t be afraid
there is nothing wrong
now that the light is gone
now that the pain
once permanent like the
morning sun
has transitioned into
a vague sensation
I didn’t mean to scare you
but you had fallen
into an endless dream
inching in the void
searching for candles
whispering to yourself
what wickedness
takes away such power
alas it was not meant to be
the irises in your eyes
plucked away
by the angels of the sky
taking you further
and further away
promising their beauty
will last forever
may two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sometimes it seems everybody
wants to be somebody
they are not
continuously searching for something
that may or may not
turn them into someone more beautiful
than they already are
may two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
show me something pretty
she said
something that will make me smile
and say oh my
the world is so wonderful
I drew a daffodil
emerging from an inch of snow
her golden inflorescence in
stark contrast to the dilapidated
barn in the background
she’s perfect she said
but I’m saddened
nobody in the world
except herself
will behold her beauty
march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I keep those long-lived regrets
wrapped tight and away from the light
placed in the deep freeze
the furthermost corner of my mind
those days sitting on the cold tiled floor
gluing back together eggshells are no more
replaced by looking around and
seeking light emanating from
every single living thing
relaxed by warm shadows lengthening
from the fading summer’s sun
I imagine things have a way of working out
if we only allow impending events
to unfold as nature intended
from the seed to the stem to the beauty
blossoming from the light of day
we capture alive the fleeting moments
forever freezing them time and time again
march two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
your desire for beauty
is lost
in your bouts of hatred for anything
you can’t comprehend
or attempt to understand
forcing yourself
to react uncontrollably instead of
pausing for reflective thought
I wished I had never taken you
that day they forced you
out of the museum
your legs kicking
and arms flailing
repeatedly shouting that picasso
was nothing but a chauvinistic pig
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is this beauty
inside you
existing secretly
behind the artificiality
of your everyday routine
this beauty inside you
speaks to me
in my living dreams
allows me to understand
it’s smothered beneath
your colorful skin
the beauty that is yours
dies to be noticed
and so you continue
to scratch the surface
hoping to find her
october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I wonder what lie inside
my lazy susan all these years
what one staple could it be
stashed away yet unafraid
Does she know I know she’s there
unseen and protected
by jars of peanut butter and
bags of tiny chocolate chips
Was it neglect or selfishness
that kept you in the dark
or was it simply my stupidity
not noticing how beautiful you are
october two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Thousands of miles from home, viewing gardens
I’ve been meaning to plant, I sit and sketch
with charcoal on textured paper a perfect,
utopian presence like that place in Genesis.
The hotel makes me honestly welcomed
from the “Sirs” to the stars to the telephone
in the commode. In the drawing I see myself
never leaving, ever. I am drawn to be within
The shades of grass and green, contemplating
the reasons I should ever leave the stone
and glass and fabric and hospitality
that has enveloped me in this lofty balcony.
Below the waters are warm. The bodies
are near and brown, living out temporary
yet simple days, their imperfections hidden
beneath the moonlight, their conversations distant,
Calming and inviting. It takes almost nothing
to remove myself from a world a million miles
away; takes a conscious effort to check out
and return with nothing but a vestigial drawing.
original version penned nineteen ninety-eight
rewritten and recorded july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
your garden is all grown up
said the daughter
to the old man as they
sat in front of the fire pit
listening to the wood talk
she remembered way back when
there were stepping stones
throughout the garden
and she would jump from one stone
to the next like you would
playing hopscotch
the stones were still there
camouflaged beneath the jungle
barely noticeable amongst the greenery
blossoming a spectrum of colors
rainbows inspired to imitate
do you remember
when we put in the stepping stones
asked the old man
yes I do
answered the daughter
I was just thinking about that
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
this old blue jewel continuously
reinvents herself
through orderly chaos
using beautifully destructive forces
to tear herself down and rise again
in unimaginable creativity
she is her own god forever conjoined
with the serene sky
the strands of creation
emitting sparks from her fingertips
fashioning transcendental elements
into a supernatural world
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
