suppressing your expressions
exactly beginning when
I can only fathom
most likely building walls
long before anyone’s best guess
perhaps the only way to get inside
is from above
where there is no roof
and where there is no ceiling
somewhere a flickering light
in need of a little kindling
january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
as if a little color could lift me up
off of this velcro-lined davenport
strategically placed in the southern-facing
windows of the dining room
nobody dares enter this the shrine
I’ve built over nearly a fortnight
especially the rays of the sun
hidden there behind naked trees
and the suffocating sky
january two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s no wonder people are suffering
from a great depression
it has little to do with the state of the economy
and more with the states of minds
instant gratification has gone by the wayside
replaced by a reality that it takes
a certain mental fortitude
to remain on top of your game
you don’t need a newspaper
to read the headlines
broadcasted daily loud & clear
by way of clouds high up in the sky
with school out for summer
kids duck & run & roll the dice
some winning & others losing
from neglect & abuse & forty-fives
and those incapable of fending
for themselves
fall behind in so many ways
far too many contributing
disturbing stories
overtaking the nightly news
june two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
anyone can write the monday blues
how the fog maybe lifts by noon
smartphones unable to upgrade
all on their own
the list grows longer whether it’s
monday or not
liberty or death is
(a matter of) life and breath
invisible wounds like words
perhaps self-inflicted or
suspiciously accidental
there is an artist who really
knows for sure
but they aren’t playing in any
kind of rhythm and blues band
oh no they ain’t singing
like a canary in a cage
dreaming of the sky
december two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
alone I sit in the sunroom
wondering when in the world
I’ll see the light of day
or mow the yard
or ride my bike
or snap photograph
after photograph
in the once colorful garden
in the meantime
ruby-throated hummingbirds
feast on homemade nectar
the feeder hanging beneath the eave
the rain not stopping them
from coming and going
as they damn well please
august two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
though he was broken
he was not defeated
refused to contemplate ending it
especially when knowing
one day things will be different
that very day when the sky will open
like never before
and the brightest of ideas
will explode like fireworks
from smokey clouds
that only milliseconds beforehand
were the darkest
he will have ever seen
june two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I had all this money stashed away
and I didn’t want anyone to know about it
It kept me up at night thinking about how
many different ways it could make me happy
but I really didn’t want to disturb it
so all it did was grow and grow and grow
I once thought it would solve any problem
thrown its way
but after withstanding
inflation and corrections and acute depression
all it ever really gave me was artificial respiration
january two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
sadness used to show up
unannounced and we’d sit up
until sunrise drinking
whatever was left in the house
I kept telling myself the next time
he appeared out of nowhere
I wouldn’t let him in
but of course that didn’t happen
and he continued to pretend
to be my friend
I told him I was thinking about buying
a brand new puppy
a black one I said
so I could learn how to keep him at bay
and teach him to protect me from
monsters like him
july two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
he shuffled the deck as quickly
as he talked
telling stories about kings and queens
and barbers in the castle
something about the three jacks
hanging out at the fire station
playing checkers with their pals
pick a card he said
proceeding to ramble on about the
price of milk and gasoline and
disposable razors
did you look at your card he asked
yeah I looked at my card I said
keeping the card face down I
slid it back into the deck
certain he didn’t see it
he shuffled the cards and shuffled
them again and continued to
shuffle the shit out of them
as he went on and on
babbling about how man never
really landed on the moon
how fairy tales used to scare him straight
and how the pope was really lucifer
having the time of his life
he splayed the deck across the table
and I could see my card but it was mostly
covered by the king of hearts
when I looked up he had stopped talking
and was just staring at me
expressionless
what’s wrong I asked him
nothing’s wrong with me he said
but I’d like to know how long
you’re planning on hiding your
misfortune behind the suicide king
july two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is no going back
I think to myself
sitting alone and staring out the bay window
as if I was under house arrest
outside it is very white
and very cold
and I would do anything to see
someone walk by with their dog
but it is too cold for that
it is too cold for even the mailman
to swing by I suppose
I meander to the back window and look
outside for signs of life
I squint at all the undressed trees
sticking out of the blinding white ground
show me a juvenile cardinal I say to myself
but there are no juvenile cardinals
to be found
I go into the kitchen and sit at the counter
open a can of nuts I had stashed
away months ago
muttering to myself
there is no going back
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
out of the blue melancholy
wrapped her arms around me
and held me close
whispering sad songs
and wiping away the tears
that formed from the
corners of my mind
she slowly swayed me
encouraging me to hush
painted pictures of the
moon and stars with her
deceiving voice
expressing how precious
and lonesome is the night
december two thousand thirteen
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 felt like stepping out
but didn’t want to drink alone
so I texted Tommy to give me a call
but my phone lay silent
goddamn son-of-a-bitch
I powered up my new HDTV
but nothing was on
so I turned it off
and checked my phone again
nada – nothing – zip
I paged through my contacts
and speed dialed Randy
then Billy and then Reggie G
but nobody picked up
I walked into the kitchen
and opened the refrigerator
but I had forgotten to replace
the lamp and couldn’t see shit
but I reached in anyway
june two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I lost my way along the way
and wound up in a tavern
I never knew existed
I ordered a dark beer
and sat alone
wondering how it was
I had found this place
there were so many things
I meant to get done that day
but nothing seemed to be working
so I wandered out of the city
looking at nothing in particular
and daydreaming
about all the things I had done
once finishing off the pint of beer
the bartender
poured me another without
either of us saying one word
may two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
everything around me was ugly
including the paintings on the walls
the very walls that keep moving in
one ugly inch every hour
the newspaper scrawled out on the table
reeked of ugliness
delivered by the acne-plagued paperboy
on a dreary saturday morning
i looked outside and noticed the sun
hid behind hideous clouds
and i remember asking myself
why is everything so ugly
i decided to stay inside
and selected a rock glass off the shelf
setting it next to a bottle of jack
who was the ugliest son-of-a-bitch
i ever did meet
march two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there’s nothing wrong with me
as i hit the snooze button
for the third time
stare at the cobweb on the ceiling fan
wondering where the spider is.
outside i hear mickey’s silverado
start up and head down the street.
it must be seven-thirty-five.
a few hours later i get out of bed
walk over to the window
and draw the shade
another half inch.
i spend the next ten minutes
sitting on the shitter.
i check my email on my android
and play a few pinball games.
“hey boss this is johnson,” i say,
talking into my boss’s android.
“listen, something’s come up,
i won’t be in today…or tomorrow….
actually i won’t be back until thursday.
“there’s nothing wrong with me
so don’t call back
and i’ll see you on thursday.”
i finish my business in the bathroom
and make my way back to bed,
excited about the idea
of doing nothing
for three more days.
author’s note:
this poem is in response to charles bukowski’s oral dissertation on depression
august two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 