reality is a bit overrated
what with its wars
and all the pretending
that goes along with it
various men sporting colors
not making much sense
in this day and age—
red & yellow & orange
may two thousand twenty-four
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I want to do something more
but can’t quite put my finger
on it
the lost key
buried in the ground
found by a stroke of luck
the one opening a door that
suddenly appears in the garden
it welcomes a long lost world
expanding like a newborn galaxy
it’s impossible not to cross
the threshold
impossible not to leave
that which had become
comfortably numb
a sort of dalliance if you will
involving the former self
and the endless stars
september two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Much is going on these days this much we already know
the impossible is the New Normal
the Old One rewritten into temporarily discarded Fairy Tales
Bad Guys overshadow the Good Ones
the latter working haphazardly behind the scenes
occasionally sipping Whiskey & smoking Sensimilla
Nellie has become a distinct possibility alternating between
Home Base & Lake Geneva or outside Salt Lake City
the Cookie Monster too
his/her/their creators learning to clone in real time
he/she/they seen on Cruise Ships & Aeroplanes
a few spotted paddling along the Red River of the South
there are Time Capsules continually lifting off into space
& if you have enough Coin we may never see you again
july two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
I took him out I did
the one with the rich man’s gold
gave him the gun & buried the booty
It don’t matter which way the winds blow
the landscape constantly changing
go ask any old Sasquatch
What else is new
besides being on the run again
rolled up maps in my quiver
treasures in the southern hemisphere
january two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
let me dream like never before
cast into a strange accepting world
living and breathing effortlessly
neither on land nor in sea
rather somewhere in between
here there is no such thing
as rest or sleep or fantasy
always on the move like damselflies
flitting from flower to flower
kissing ghost-like amphibians
july two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
paint a pretty picture and play me a ditty
project brand new images inside this
lethargic and melancholic reverie
there are prized creatures to be caught
larger than anything this lake has ever seen
monstrous with fiery eyes and razor-sharp teeth
meandering and beautifully frightful
I’ve harnessed the wind using magical spells
cast upon my newfound partner
a ferocious winged dragon needing direction
together we paint pretty pictures in the skies
and play the most joyful ditties
swooping o’er the lake and taming the serpent
projecting brand new images for all to see
august two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the snow here never melts
where alien camels
once canvassed frozen desert
in search of water
without rocket propulsion
below the surface is the only escape
regardless the location
buildings collapse upon themselves
like cardboard towers
filling the void with smoke and mirrors
and concrete icing
evening turns to night
charcoal clouds descending
putting to rest dragons dreaming
deep inside the mountain
march two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she asked me if I was comfortable
and I said that I was
despite my face stuck against
mechanical looking glasses
which one is clearer she went on to say
one or two
and I answered one
she turned one of the lenses and asked again
and again my answer was number one
as I continued to answer her questions
without thinking
I wondered what in the world
we were doing here
and instead of saying one or two
or three of four
or would you remind repeating the question
por favor
I should have said
I would be happy to give you some
honest answers
over a glass of wine
sitting at a table for two
overlooking the river thames
june two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it’s just that my imagination is not
what it used to be
ever since the world started
picking up speed
somewhere near the turn of the century
and I found myself growing a tail
I didn’t know I was supposed to chase
a decade later I chopped it off
realizing how stupid it looked
on a man my age
instead took to the streets
falling in love with ideas
I couldn’t wrap my arms around
since money was no object I
experimented with synthetic drugs
that led to little red corvettes
the kind that went 100 miles per hour
by simply putting your foot down
come morning I would be surprised
to find the rising sun
encouraging me to brew some green tea
and swallow vitamins and minerals
that were supposed to keep me young
soon thereafter I would hit the bricks
waving goodbye one last time
telling anyone and everyone in my wake
if I don’t see you tonight
I’ll see you in saint louie
june two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
it didn’t matter if he was cold sober
or stoned out of his mind
he was just himself
no matter where he went
everybody knew his name
but he was no celebrity
he was just like everyone else
hustling the streets
peddling identities
he made guest appearances
on daytime talk shows
that nobody seemed to watch
he fell out of the sky and landed
upside down inside
empty multi-purpose stadiums
when the media caught up to him
one chilly april morning
he was soaked to the bone
like some frightened labrador
saying he had nothing left to say
except to be on the lookout
for the next big thing
april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the teacups were so small
but not as small
as the table and chair I sat upon
with my newfound
furry friends who chattered
nonstop and laughed
like animated mice
I sat pretty as you please
thumb and forefinger
holding up the flowery teacup
pinky sticking straight up
and smiling like a lunatic
at my mysteriously
fabulous companions
march two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
the trail started centuries ago
I could see it in my sleep
countless times
could feel it beneath my feet
step by step
weaving through rocks and streams
familiar faces diminishing
and reappearing in the wood
like angels and fairies and elves
encouraging me to proceed
perhaps protecting me
leading me past the rustic gates
introducing far-reaching fields
where the sharpest of barbed wire
could not deter me from
entering your sacredly wild dreams
june two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
one hundred miles an hour
is not that fast compared
to the past ten years
gone in a flash
such a blurry mess
god knows where everything
lost or stolen ended up
chasing the southern sun
down a divided highway
a cold one on my lap
flashing red lights
materialize in my rear view
sirens demanding I pull over
this souped-up monster
I don’t think I’ll let them
catch me today
and I disappear by bleeding
into the faraway landscape
my mind and body seemingly
finding new life
plugged into this fine machine
february two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
she told me she liked a good cliché
liked how it felt against the
tip of her tongue
she was the kind of gal
who loved to french kiss for hours
or so she told no one
I remember her telling me on
new year’s eve
to be at the bus stop at noon
where she’d pick me up and
we’d go picnicking in the park
it rained throughout the night
and well into the morning
and though the buses don’t
run on sundays
there I sat in the dark
wondering where she was
june two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
tower guards flash spotlights
across the desert sky filled with zeppelins
searching for someplace to hide
the wreckage in the field goes unnoticed
for nearly a fortnight
by the time help arrives nothing is out of place
ever since
black sheep wander the land of fools
where someone is certain to die
any given night
slaughtered by supersonic streams of consciousness
running artificial red lights
may two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
an inside energy aspires foreign
motivation
to locate new places for
cool isolation
working on remedies
to century-old habits
inside this allusion the mind’s
eye flits
like a butterfly
along winding stone steps
digressing into a deepening
pool of true change
even while away the doubts remain
false distractions replace
memories of sure
familiar space
progression continues on time
unchanged
the path homing around
new worlds
unfolding alien landscapes
and welcomed perils
incomplete thoughts bring
incomplete conclusions
halting
progressive forward movements
in favor of slow motion replays
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 