jdubqca

poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “death”

where trumpets blare and angels sing


illusory winds swept me northwesterly
carrying me from one destination to the next
as if I had no idea where I would land
or how I could have possibly arrived there

gravity eluded me and I wondered
whether I was dead or alive
had I mysteriously grown my own wings
soaring on my own accord
or was I hitched to the back of some
wild and magical invisible creature

approaching the magnetic pole
flight patterns give way to controlled chaos
disappearing into mystical aurora
casting me back to where I once started




july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the night is endless


the day grows weary
unrelenting heat
southern winds
falling sun illuminating
quarter-size moon
rising from the east

fearful to fall asleep
morning sun comes too soon
or maybe not all
incomplete images
shuttering and fluttering
like black and white
moving pictures

I keep the shades drawn
nearly all the way
save an inch or two
just enough room
to let the rooster look in

the night is endless
this much we know
instinctively we cling
to the morning light
and celebrate
for all it’s worth




july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

crossing the river


though I feel sick I am not ill
this ever changing weather
playing games with my frame of mind
keeps me tossing and turning when wide awake
making me move onward
and upward
as I delve deep into
my most precious dream state

I often wonder who’s going to protect me
from thy enemy

how many times do I have to remind myself
to step away from the window

we’ve crossed this river many times
and will cross again if we must
enjoining many hands
together stepping like a human net
resurrecting life by conquering death




march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

it’s all right if I don’t answer this one


someone’s rapping on the door
and all I can think of is why oh why
aren’t they ringing the bell

I run out back and around
the side of the garage
peering toward the front door

lo and behold it’s big bird
holding thirteen helium filled balloons
red and black and white and of course yellow
blue furred cookie monster by his side
somewhat annoyed yet content
munching on a box of thin mints

I must be out of my mind I say
shaking my head
retreating back to where I once was
repeating to myself how death
never arrives as imagined





november two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

looking in through revolving door


back of my hands are cold
I shiver at the thought of death
creeping on me invisibly
he dares not show his face
knowing I won’t go easily

temptation placed on hold
insulated from princely wrath
replaced by deceit and trickery
dancing in sweet embrace
revolving throughout eternity



october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

digging up dirt on a sunday afternoon


I wasn’t looking for anything
which was the whole point

out of the blue I discovered the knowledge
I thought I had acquired over the years
has been with me all along

year by year and one by one
I give up that which was given to me
whether I had wanted it or not
whether I had loved it
or hated it
or felt entirely indifferent toward it

there is truth and there is trust
neither quite like the other
but both touchable and tastable
as fleeting as death itself

and so when I am busily digging
not looking for anything in particular
I find myself uncovering
that which is worth dying for





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

on call on a friday night


how do I replace all the friends
I’ve lost along the way
at what point will it be the end
of the road for me

it’s silly to dwell on such thoughts
but sometimes ego
unexpectedly takes over
suggesting I fall to my knees

road signs keep cropping up
further and further from the city
expanding the time it takes
to find inner peace

meanwhile I sit idly by
counting virtual dollars in the
palm of my hand
waiting somewhat impatiently





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

and hoping not to die


at first there were a dozen of us
(actually a baker’s dozen)
and we knew everything
there was to know
about each and every one of us

one by one each of us fell
but most of us got back up

but that was seemingly
centuries ago when we didn’t
realize not all stars shine
and the moon can be visible
on the brightest of days

(not having all the facts)
nonetheless we made a pact
heart to heart
    and eye to eye
promising nothing
      except for inevitably
going our separate ways



december two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

places buried in the past


I did not know her
but I was compelled
to find her final resting place

it was a bright but cold december day
but I kept warm in the car
driving mindlessly past corn fields
mile after mile after mile
stripped clean yet ruggedly barren

the interstate traffic was heavy
and I wondered how many seekers
if any
had set off on a journey
to find her final resting place

google maps told me how to get there
but I only had to read the directions once

and when I got there
it was as if I had been there all along



december two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

counting down the days


oh glorious night settle into darkness
and let me tell thee whom I give my life

I belong neither to sky above nor sea below
and from all accounts was burst forth from
scorpius some thirty-three light years ago

though my days on earth have been counted
on one thousand and one hands
it is a far cry to say this was ever my home
for the glory of goodness lives not here
but rather in a place and time that knows no end



november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

hiding behind marshmallow clouds


descending into madness at midnight
I pull pieces of bread from my pockets
feeding them to my soul

in the morning I take tylenol
and pour raw milk onto a
bowl of rice krispies
listening to vague childhood memories

in the middle of the afternoon the full
moon hides behind marshmallow clouds
my conscience reminding me
(as I fall into a self-induced slumber)
how everything becomes edible in the end



november two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

as if I had been there


a thin vapor trail
slipped in through the front door
but nobody was home

if I had been there
I would have noticed something
was quite different
but I was gone on a
journey of a lifetime

the place had not changed
all these years
everything perfectly in place
as if nobody had really
lived there

while my mind wandered
away from worldly ideals
seeking out transcendental gurus
residing on new moons
my spirit remained behind
waiting patiently
to be seen


april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: