in the cemetery
a murder of crows
perched high above
the oak trees
watching the gathering
in silence
nobody realized
they were in attendance
probably curious
about the thermos
a foldable yardstick
and a small wooden box
after the visitors
one by one drove away
so too did the crows
take flight
quietly consumed
by ominous clouds
may two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s not the first time
death came knocking
and this time
we were more than happy
to open the next door
perhaps this time
something a little less dark
and a touch more creative
—something along the lines of
not trying to do too much
reawakened on city streets
wiped clean by recent rains
children on the sidelines
sport buckets of neon chalk
free for anyone to use
december two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there isn’t a test at the end
just a quickie sayonara
maybe a sign of the cross
by lady madonna herself
the clouds over the cemetery
dissipate in an instant
and for a very brief moment
we thought we all died
a few short blocks away
someone’s digging a hole
planting a forever tree
in somebody else’s honor
september two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s not hard to fathom
how I’ll be buzzing amongst the stars
after the brutal reality
of destroying the body
whether gradually whittling away
or in a sudden burst
my estate quickly trading
at a deep discount
the church again under water
illegals replacing the stakeholders
accepting the goods
over a simple bribe
june two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
hours before the dawn
I lay awake on my deathbed
breathing shallowly
the nasty weather outside
superseding any other sound
that may be coming out of my mouth
my only fear is that if I fall asleep
all hell will break loose
my mind stuck in heavy mode
processing reality into dreams
projected from my narrowly open eyes
onto the ceiling above me
june two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
a philosopher friend
once told me
try to look at this way
when the dream becomes reality
death is no longer an option
he was pretty stoned
at the time
so i didn’t want to ruin his buzz
yet the more I thought about it
the less I was concerned
about dying
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
you can only guess
speculate what comes next
oh yes it’s a guessing game
but there are technical & scientific
components as well
not to mention
common
sense
the past is not any indication
of what comes next
because what comes next
is hideous & beautiful
it’s the worst thing imaginable
it’s the most fantastic invention
it’s like a miracle or a gift
or the unspeakable form of death
yes it’s true the trees are burning
the cattle have no water
and on a daily basis
masses turn into ashes
turn to dust
joining the chorus of the unknown
suddenly privy
to what comes next
march two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
death is in the next room
waiting to be called
deleting apps rarely used
on the smartphone
meanwhile in the family room
everyone is alive & well
including the eldest
recently revived
by an emergency room doctor
back in the next room
death stands at the bay window
counting crows gathering atop rooftops
watching the waning crescent
descending past the white pines
january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it was yesterday
all over again
living & dying
like never before
as if anything else
ever mattered
should tomorrow
present itself
as a gift-wrapped box
[complete with a
ribbon & bow]
please do not open
december two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
dead bird at the front doorstep
—a juvenile house wren
the cat’s at the back door
clawing at the weather stripping
as if it’s a sheet of rock
there’s a mess to be cleaned
[well below my feet]
either in the laundry room
or the opium den
door shuts
& I tell myself
the bird is probably just stunned
in the living room
my dead mother is reading a thriller
the rocking chair slightly
rocking
to give her more light
I throw open the curtains
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
dying naturally or by suicide
two birds squabble in the bush
their eyes like emeralds
—the first light
exposing them
for what they will later be
continuation is my punishment
a deal made behind my back
before the birds
were ever born
—before becoming fully aware
death is never permanent
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I want to do something more
but can’t quite put my finger
on it
the lost key
buried in the ground
found by a stroke of luck
the one opening a door that
suddenly appears in the garden
it welcomes a long lost world
expanding like a newborn galaxy
it’s impossible not to cross
the threshold
impossible not to leave
that which had become
comfortably numb
a sort of dalliance if you will
involving the former self
and the endless stars
september two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the winds swept in
brought with it fire & rain
burning all the evidence
and washing it all away
nobody was left
to pick up the pieces
and over time it became
a place that may have existed
it is said a certain energy
resides inside such uncertainty
transiting in & out of memory
like souls lost in the woods
september two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
how long have you suffered
how long have you lived the dream
the two going hand in hand
how can they ever be separated
you walk a mile in your own shoes
you walk a mile in someone else’s
distinguishing between the two
an impossible proposition
when the heart becomes swollen
when the heart becomes weak
what do you do with your love
before it all goes away
august two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
to not think of death
would be a lie
the way in which
turning on my imagination
—the top ten ways
repeating in a dream
each one worse than the next
in the middle of the night
I awake in a panic
the knife at my neck
the blade facing the other way
turn it turn it I say
please end it now
the villain dressed in black
wearing a half mask
eyes colorless
presence odorless
the voice as familiar as my own
emotionlessly saying
no this is far too easy
I believe I’ll let you live
to tell the tale
yet another day
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
motivation in hiding like a child
waiting to be found
clues like breadcrumbs
swept to the wayside
they’ve traveled this far
unlikely to succumb to any element
thrown their way
most times life goes on
but when a breath is suspended
there is good reason to pause
june two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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