poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “fantasy”

there is safety in numbers

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

over the river thames

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

if I don’t see you tonight

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

altered state of mind

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

teatime in the white room

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

walking out of the wood

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

phantom highway

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

january rain

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

somebody’s going to die in the land of fools

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

slow motion

an inside energy aspires foreign
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
the path homing around
new worlds
unfolding alien landscapes
and welcomed perils

incomplete thoughts bring
incomplete conclusions
progressive forward movements
in favor of slow motion replays

february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

on getting to first base

she caught me smiling
and pretended she really
never glanced my way

in a bout of bravery I decided
to get up from the patio table
and walked over to hers
and asked her softly
why she had looked my way

oh you reminded me of someone
she began
someone I once met in cincinnati

have you ever been to cincinnati
she asked me
batting her eyes and using her slender
index finger to flick off the long ash
from her virginia slim

no I said
I never have but I once promised myself
I’d like to become a speck in a sea of red
at the stadium there on the ohio river
and catch a foul ball with my bare hands

that sounds like fun she said
why don’t you sit down and share with me
more of your baseball fantasies

january two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

before the wall is smashed

we listened to pink floyd
all afternoon
before settling on watching the wall

neither sunlight nor lightning
could penetrate the electronic den
stocked with essentials and
adorned with colorful matter
that shined on the four corner speakers
slightly exposing fellow clan members
relaxing on the supersectional
and loveseat
and futon
and pink bean bag chair

sometime before the wall is smashed
a pizza delivery boy arrives unannounced

swarmed by our open arms
we tear into his flesh
only to stitch him
back together
like some old rag doll

november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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