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and so the dream continues

she wakes and I sleep
the day has yet to break

sounds from below
incorporate into my dreams
sights and smells and those
unusual turn of events

I switch to my other side

there’s no sense anticipating
that tap tap tapping
on my second story window
something tells me
there are other ways
to be awakened
whether on my own or by
someone far and away
from someone
who once loved me




december two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

One beautiful dream

I dreamed of African violets
uprooted and transplanted and repackaged
transported from their ancestral lands
introduced to newly formed territories

I found myself walking unfamiliar streets
passing one storefront window after the next
each one blossoming with the latest
sensation of the season

How am I to distinguish the real
from the imaginary from the ever falling rain
replenishing the good earth with new life
one beautiful dream at a time




october two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

my story retold in the third person

these flashbacks
occurring with greater frequency
how young will I be
three or four hours from now
once giving in to the idea
the night is endless

I’ve come to accept
they’re no longer merely dreams
rather ageless recordings
reshuffled and replaying
a not too distant past
from a totally different perspective

at three-thirty in the morning
I’m wide awake
and quite positive
I’ve always been fast asleep

january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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

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

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