jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “children”

the inevitable flow of life


they enter this world as children
of the same spirit
learning the laws of the land
and the laws of nature
exploring causality and karma
testing the limits of physicality
touching that which cannot be felt

they’ve been known to walk on water
and fly like the birds of the sky
but in reality they are simply children
born of the same spirit
free to define themselves here on earth
living to learn and learning to die
just like you and me




january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

hundreds of missing children


narrow slashes of daylight
creep along wood floor
filtering in through tall and narrow
opaque windows on either
side of closed front door

outside it’s 99 degrees fahrenheit
all the shades are drawn
gray tiger sprawled out
on same wood floor
conflicted by uncontrollable
desires to chasing butterflies

fan blades rotate circularly
redistributing manufactured air
breathed in by robo-occupants
out of touch with outside world
where hundreds of children go missing




may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

children breaking new ground


perpetual revolution
a lifelong struggle defined by tiny stories
woven in and out of blankets
crafted in afghanistan

messages fly halfway across the
planet in a matter of mere seconds
complicating efforts of diplomats
struggling to keep up with the flow

you and I can meet on any street
corner on any given day
reaching for something undefinable
something certainly not touchable

one day children will be forced
to teach children the basics
digging and uncovering
discovering and enlightening

true possibilities do exist
and this concept of history
repeating itself for centuries on end
gradually gives way to hope



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

children playing in the park


I see her running down the same dream
dressed in white to match her riding horses
locks untamed and slightly afire
tricked into going this way (then that)
ultimately cornered by the eye of the sun

there was nothing left to be done except
bury the dream someone tried to say

that’s laughable they cried in return
for shame
for shame



september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

counting bodies like sheep


do not be nervous little ones
the world is not falling apart at the seams

I do not mean to lie but things are not
what they seem (to be)
in fact these happenings may just
be a figment of some lesser god’s
imagination

and those drums coming nearer
gaining ground even while you’re sleeping
what are they even doing here
and how did they earn privilege
to beat upon the children



september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved


footote:
loosely based on song of similar
title by A Perfect Circle
A Perfect Circle youtube video

children without smartphones


homeless little ones
fill the city square
walking aimlessly and unsupervised
staring into the palms of their hands
slaying pokémon dragons with
whatever imagination
they can get their hands on


august two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

disappearing act


they sat in a circle
boy girl
boy girl
boy girl
making up a story
one sentence at a time
a story about a stickman
made out of salty pretzels
wearing a white paper hat
and strutting around
outside the ring
twirling a magician’s cane
and making each one disappear
with a simple tap of their crowns


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Lemonade Stand


Outside Damascus on a Sunday
morning small hands press
ripened lemons recently
arrived from Istanbul

Years earlier there would be
no need for imports
and those lemonade stands
operated by the most beautiful
children of the world
exist only in memory



august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

promising young stars


he was seriously injured on the playing field
aired on prime-time television last night
the announcer commenting how
the promising young man may
never suit up again

if only those innocent children worldwide
could be so lucky
those massacred by rockets or knives
or handguns or anything else heartless
cowards can get their bloody hands on



august two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

as seen through innocent eyes


there were dancers in the skies
and songsters in the trees
gentle breezes crossed their minds
casting shadows creeping deep

swollen clouds darkened the pond
scattering notes upon the sheet
flying fish breached the surface
grasping for truths unseen

wildflowers earnestly gathered
produces lively waxing smiles
a child’s hand but a crystal vase
clenching secrets worth their while



july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

children of the stars


children played in the sand
building empires bound to fail
if not by the morning rain
then by a bloated gibbous
sinking into the sea

they boarded a starship
and set sail into the unknown
praying to their gods
for divine guidance
during years of hardship

starting anew in an alien world
they gravitate back
where sand meets the sea
where sweet memories linger
in unfamiliar air
their curious children learning
to build their own castles



june two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

men dressed in red


left in the shadows of her siblings
she fell fast asleep in the back seat of daddy’s suv
out of sight and out of mind

the very idea of tomorrow never
entered her most wildest of dreams as she breathed
the shallowest baby breaths

locked inside this man-made trap
a busy world revolves around her curiosities
her arms reaching for the sky

focused on a happy ending
she wills the glass to break into million of pieces
men dressed in red rehearsing
to set her free



may two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

angels of mercy


birds of all nations storm
war-torn suburbia
switchblades and derringers
concealed under wing
blanketing rooftops and lining live wires
waiting patiently for night to fall

predawn fog smothers the moon
and silences the stars
cloaking angels of mercy
and their effortless wings
zeroing in on and sweeping away
newly orphaned refugees


november two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

none of this land is ours


we climbed the hill in laughter
losing our lunch boxes along the way
certain we’d be able to
find them on the way down

once on top we jumped at
pretend stars shining so bright
shouting into funneled hands
for the gods to strike us down

imagining owning all the hills
as far as the eye could see
the bad guys appeared out of thin air
and sent us tumbling
all the way back down


october two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

games children play


I listened for the past
but found only this noisy place
littered with half-drunken moments
and thunderstorms
so boisterous
we were forced to hide
under the bed with earbuds
and electronic coloring books

I listened for the past
turned knobs on an etch-a-sketch
producing a frequency
revisiting
black light images
dissolving into channels
of jagged lines weaving baskets
and a cat’s cradle

I listened for the past
by focusing on a spirit
reassuredly haunting and
beautifully
invisible
hiding behind the maple
waiting for the oxen to be called
to free her people



july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

don’t let the clowns scare you


in the clouds the clowns
perform with their balloons
and wacky flowers
and superlative feet
making the children laugh and cry
leaving them wondering
why this world
is such a mysterious place

in the cloud memories
are stored so the children
can recall those days
of carelessness and glee
before forced into figuring out
how the clowns managed to
make this world
seemingly unforgettable



july two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the second flight of the samaras


the industrious child spent
his morning picking up the fallen fruit
of the maple tree
placing them one or two or three at a time
into a plastic orange pail
as his mother sat on the glider
on the front porch
rocking the little one to sleep
comfortably in her arms
both bundled within a shawl

a cool breeze made the boy’s cheeks
as pink as the tulips that bloomed
nearly a month ago
and when the pail became filled
to his satisfaction he disappeared
into the house
only to reappear in a second story window
where he proceeded to pretend
a fleet of military choppers
converged behind enemy lines



june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

stepping stones


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

for all the children starving


on the first day of may
all the lonely children
gathered to play a game
each venturing to hide
within the seven wonders

on the first day of may
the sun refused to shine
and the children hidden
behind the shadows
pretended not to cry

on the first day of may
the glorious bell did ring
and all the children
starving for affection
raced to meet their king



may first two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

eight hundred flowers


on the most sorrowful day floral arrangements
accompany the winding road

as the birds of the field sing their joyful songs
nearby wildflowers weep and sway

newly clipped roses wrapped in paper produce
smiles once believed long gone

wherever a child is knee-deep in raw color
never let time pass away



april two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

lessons to be learned


enormous yellow bus
makes historic stop
at the corner of oak
and every avenue

daddy holds his little girl’s
hand as the two of them
stand speechless staring
at the flashing stop sign

the door swings open
and curious feet disappear
into a swarming world
of pushing and pulling


march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the prince and the peacemaker


the children are being watched
by men with weapons
acting as protectors
from foreign forces

they volunteer as escorts
for the elders
protecting them from snipers
and negotiators with knives

it’s easy getting educated
at such a young age
quickly picking up maps
and languages
of many legions

as long as they refrain
from strapping on suicide packs
their prophesy of negotiating
lasting peace
will one day ring true



march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

pilgrimage


for centuries the survivors
of the forgotten world
journeyed to the ancient city
to marvel at the concrete
and glass that once gave rise
to an infallible dream

unable to imagine
such destructive forces
the children picked wildflowers
growing from the ash
waving them in the air
pretending to surrender



january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

fertility


after the lights went out
and the snow plows were grounded
the people took their arms
and left for the country
to find fuel for the fire

a decade later and a
generation forsaken
all the little girls turned into mothers
sooner than anyone
could ever have imagined



december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

standing watch


the children stitched me together
with love and enthusiasm
dreamed up of ways
of making me beautiful
despite my mean intentions

with imagination my rigid body
became larger than life
filled with natural fibers
grown from the ground
surrounding their home

though i was unable to stroll
along fields of grain
that seemed to never end
I alone stood watch
and marveled at the way
they forever loved me




november two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

unloved


the orphan child grew
into a selfless man
always helping others
despite the failure
to ever comprehend
his own abandonment


october two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the flood


and the water fell
pounded upon the earth
relentlessly cleansing
the planet for centuries
forcing god’s children
to reinvent themselves
yet another time



october two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

children of the light


we danced in the rain
beneath the streetlamp
our minds drifting
past the invisible moon
into carelessness

we lived in a place
without birth or death
a visual paradise
where angels in the sky
longed to touch down

at night we chanted
for the moon and rain
to call the children
hiding beyond the light
to dance
and dance again



august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Cries in the Dark


Now that the house is empty
I easily awaken from cries
in the dark, sneaking in
through the bedroom window
on a cool, autumn morning.

I roll out of bed at four a.m.
and rush to the window
like a child on Christmas Eve;
eyes focused on the house
across the street, a lone light
leaking through the drawn shade.

Once the child has grown quiet
from his mother’s magical touch,
I crawl back to bed, wondering
where my own children might be
and if they ever think of me
when hearing cries in the dark.



july two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Season After Season


The garden beds never existed
twenty years ago where a sloping
hill begged to be cut into by an old man
in a bobcat, while younger men

With shovels and levels laid stone blocks
across the yard with precision
and speed, like a kid building
a lego wall for the umpteenth time.

As youngsters we ran carefully through
the new garden, leaping on one stone
circle after another placed in no
particular pattern by my father,

While in between young flowering plants
and herbs and shrubs learned
to adapt and prosper in the rich soil.
Season after season my father

Experimented in the garden,
purchasing deer resistant perennials
from the nursery, using his spade
to plant the new and rearrange

The old, pruning in the Spring
and deadheading in the fall,
raising them as if they were
his second set of children.

In midsummer we visit with our own
little ones who love to hop through
the fully mature garden, abloom
in shades of red and green,

Yellow and purple, blue and orange,
with barely enough room
for anything new, still babied
by the man who raised them so strong.



june two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: