seventy-seven bush elephants
masquerading as one cumulus cloud
slowly trek across the desert sky
bulging like a waxing gibbous
hired archer standing atop zeppelin
back bending backwards
held in place by ropes & pulleys
aiming to deflate the entire herd
may two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I’ve got these ideas emerging out of
clear blue skies
only to submerge into a sea of self-doubt
never to resurface again
I miss those cumulus clouds feeding
my imagination with
elephants and dragons and banana splits
earthworms and day lilies and rainbow trout
little miss muffet seated at mushroom table
sharing crumpets and tea with
black widow spider
somehow I’ve learned to live
underwater with these man-made lungs
working on new ways to rewrite the past
and making myself new again
july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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
i left the house unlocked
with all the lights on
and ventured down the hill
in the dark and in the cold
within minutes a warmth
surprised my cool thoughts
as the faraway wall of clouds
evolved into pink and red
and purple and blue
as my meandering mind
marched further away
a bright red fire truck
appeared out of nowhere
blasting its dominant horn
and racing to save the day
a trio of three dogs named
java and cocoa and sally
halted in their tracks
as if envious of the dalmatian
sitting at attention and
riding shotgun
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
peering out my window
clouds gather around
and darken
a once promising
bright day
blackbirds circle above
slowly descending
and squawking
instinctively finding
shelter
thunder murmurs and moans
and i close my eyes
suppressing
a distant memory
knocking
once the showers arrive
i gaze past the pane
your image
refreshing like the rain
falling
december two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Plumes of smoke
escape the stacks,
entering the atmosphere
as chemical clouds:
a byproduct from the distillation
of corn and wheat
grown on American farms
and hauled to the factory,
producing foodstuffs
to feed millions wordwide.
Protesters outside
carry messages on sticks,
crying for change
and attention from a media
hungry for something new.
Meanwhile, the factory
continues to cook,
spending millions
on special interests
and scrubbing their clouds.
december, two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
iphoneography by Arthur Weaver
