poetry by j matthew waters

Archive for the tag “feline”

lost and unfound

the cat chased the crescent moon
deep into the night
encountering near death experiences
along the way
living and dying by the hour
until inevitably unseen

with the scent of the cat
fresh in the dog’s
sensory perceptions
he searched for days on end
until finally losing track of
his long-lost friend

promising to return another day
the dog headed back home
guided by a bright satellite
looming over the city
stray cats springing from the shadows
and jumping over the moon

Oscar & Chester

january two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Quantum Mechanics 901

Her name was Resurrection
and she was caught by surprise
many a times
mainly resulting in her own demise

She often fancied herself a catfish
and loved to swim in a sea of names
dominated by tasty tuna
she just couldn’t get enough of

I once tried talking her down from the roof
but she would have nothing to do with it
and weeks would go by before
I would see her again

She often mentioned she would love
to meet Schrödinger in the afterlife
if nothing other than comparing notes
on the natural order of things

july two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

number nine doesn’t live here

you rarely recall that night
you should have died
yet every time it surfaces
you completely understand
how kissing the world goodbye
is as simple as
landing on your feet

you imagine you were born
a feline with siamese blood
running through your veins
a cool cat who’s been
around the block six or seven
or eight times
but certainly not nine

crouched behind a waning moon
you patiently wait for hope to rise
above the horizon
feeding your mind with
giving you courage to carry on
yet another day

december two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Woman of the House

The cat roams the house
like it owns the place
talking to humans only
when hungry or wanting
a door open

She can be found
where the sun shines
like on a window sill
or in complete darkness
like a closet
depending upon her mood

She makes few friends
and is absolutely in love
with the woman of the house
which is sometimes her

Even now I’m not sure
why I ever give her
the time of day
or her very own poem

january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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