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poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “dreams”

from the book of Jonah


what’s that inside your belly
swimming around
in a world all unto itself

how do you sleep at night
eyes wide open
welcoming anything
wanting to explore deep inside
like time travelers hell bent on
finding the next milky way

sometimes you imagine
morning will never come
cat scratching at the screen
more or less a metaphor
seeking shelter
or simply acceptance




september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

final curtain call


morning rains have yet to fall
but already I hear it pounding
repeatedly on the concrete
interrupting third act
of my long-standing dream

it’s impossible to control crowds
once making mad dashes
leaving lone gunman isolated
taking potshots at moon phases
painted on domed ceilings

smoke billowing out windows
deputies arrive from all over
precisely securing the perimeter
omniscient orders echoing
come out with your hands up




august two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

bringing clarity to your desires


despite desiring discipline in your world
you subconsciously remain unfocused
channeling your passion toward the unknown
and rubbing shoulders with forces not seen

old souls sidestepping in the shadows
just as lonely and desperate as the living
serenading their favorite verses a cappella
barely audible through plastered walls

well past midnight you are restlessly asleep
contemplating many intriguing options
playing them out in your so-called dreams
operating with full force your physical being




july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

one warm winter’s night


you come to me as a spirit
poking and prodding and
whispering sweet discretions in my ear
but I am fast asleep like a bear hibernating
periodically shivering
but mainly motionless and soundless
secretly enjoying a series of
interconnected dreams
leading me from one kiss to the next




july two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

wander this world


what is to become of me my love
now that the sun shines anew

tomorrow was meant for dreams
an inheritance of possibilities
unfulfilled by your sudden departure

hesitant to wander this world again
I beg the sun to sink no further
praying your undying love
resurfaces as you once promised




june two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

midmorning visions


settling into melancholic reflection
off and on rain and weakening sun
falling behind green glistening treeline
a reminder how tricks of the mind
turn fact into fiction

I’ve seen this scenery off and on
but each time the outcome varies
especially come midmorning
eyelids repeatedly blinking
dreams working overtime

though sunlight often penetrates
past horizontal slats
many times it’s nothing but madness
mysteriously flickering off and on
desperately trying to awaken me




may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

reconstructing until kingdom come


out of thin air paper castles
tower above cumulus clouds
constructed by men skilled at
shaping dreams into
concrete ideas

I remained at ground zero
unfolding plans on a tabletop
saying look see here
this is where we must rebuild

and so we burned everything
on the spot
a virtual bonfire slowly growing
visible by satellite
smoke in the sky billowing
shaped like an ark
carrying away pairs of anything
that ever was or will be





march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

start of a brand new day


there are no secrets in poetry
only rhyme and reason
and quiet determination

ambitious are young hearts
dying to be heard above
the din of repetition

fear not the word of others
rather practice the art
of reading and imitation

seemingly elusive dreams
are best captured at dawn
as they begin transitioning
like alien interlopers





march two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

see how they run


I imagine you’re sleepwalking
while I’m intermittently dreaming
your whitish curly haired lap dog
dressed in holiday sweater
leashed and pleading to go outside
to greet rising curved moon

it’s another mid-winter night
and I roam from room to room
trying to track you down
but as usual you’re one step ahead
sometimes disguised
as three blind mice
other times the carving knife





january two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

the tenured psychiatrist


the university paid him dearly to lecture
about his dreams
three days a week to hundreds of undergrads
recounting big winnings in vegas
trafficking drugs and humans in all kinds of worlds
and slaying fire-breathing dragons while
strolling through sherwood forest with
nothing but bow and arrow

like a time machine he dialed up
triangles and chains of events
and conflicts of interest
introducing the likes of mozart
and hitler and michael jackson
cameo appearances by jekyll and hyde
and the great houdini —
    elvis and jesus christ and charles manson
quietly waiting in the wings

he used his hands and eyes
to amplify the effect of his words
which were spoken mostly softly
occasionally loudly
and infrequently quite scarily

many would take notes
others would use smartphones as recorders
but the far majority simply sat back
relaxed and indifferent
going through the motions as if
they were living his dreams themselves





december two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

breaking new ground


three in the morning wakes
me like clockwork
as if cock is crowing at
stars falling from sky

was it fever or dream
that shook me wide awake
both former and latter
leaving me in cold cold sweat

I sit up and shift to edge of bed
my feet unable to reach anything
             this room is not mine
and where the door resides
I can’t begin to surmise

how do you escape from a place
that has no address
and how will I ever find the sun
if there are no windows to open
or cracks in walls to scratch





october two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

literary incendiaries


clearly he sought a connection
one in which nobody in the world
could ever have dreamed

how quickly one learns stars are stirred
beneath the belly of its creator
like a newly born burrowing mammal
drawn to its first light

and so he imagined there were only
three worlds to discover
        the second of which
lies upon the surface itself



july two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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