where ducks once floated
now feed on algae-like grass
echoes in the valley
bounce off the bluffs & dissipate
into a stream
that once
was a river
raptors surveil from up high
zeroing in on the lowest denominator
—their symphonic wings
ushering in
the distant lightning
october two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
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dormant grass
shades of failing green
& dirty brown
river splitting the city
sluggish & low
rocky bottom exposed
clouds in the sky
like carnival animals
refuse to precipitate
manufactured rain
sprinkler casting prisms
children dash & leap
september two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the river is low & the tomatoes are green
and the valley is thirsty for rain
what did you say I was not listening
for you see there is only fire in the sky
and I am unable to look away
I don’t know about you
but I can’t explain a single thing
happening on these populated streets
and once the sun fades away
the heart rate may slow down
though none of this magically disappears
from the beginning the river was low
before the prophets awoke from their sleep
august two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the rain barrel is empty
going on a fortnight now
and the flowers
oh the flowers
they’re in need of a good cry
I’ve been dancing
every night in the twilight
the dormant grass
beneath my feet
an exhibition
to any god who may listen
july two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
first the brooks and the streams
and the creeks evanesced
suddenly going back to the well
was not an option
endless skies displayed the prettiest
of the blues in no particular order
ghost white and cerulean
ultramarine and
robin’s egg
the beauty of the skies continued on
for weeks and then months
unnoticed by the inhabitants searching
to quench their thirst
and soon thereafter the rivers ran dry
and the oceans receded
the mass migration had begun
march two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the river ran dry
the year of the drought
collapsing the water table
atop its own legs
the wishing well closed
from lack of moisture
turning back all the day dreamers
hoping for change
september two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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